The glimmering orange sunlight crept through the windows of the hospital wing. Newt woke up to the array of warm colours, rubbing his eyes and sitting up in his bed.
"Rise and shine!" called out Madam Pomfrey, who walked over to him and tipped a large tray of gelatinous ointment over him.
"GOD!" he exclaimed, his body jolting up due to the shock. Even though he had felt the sensation before, his body wouldn't adjust. "Could you at least warn me next time?" he asked her, agony running through his voice. She nodded.
"I've heard today that Dumbledore will be announcing news of the Triwizard Tournament today." she told him, "Since you can't be there, you can listen to it on the radio I'm supplying you with." She placed the radio on the bedside table. "Change it to radio station Groove 95.3 for the latest." she winked, walking to other patients, which there weren't many.
"Thanks." he nodded, changing the radio station immediately. The radio made a screechy static noise as it switched between channels. When the radio finally stopped screeching, it played its jingle:
"Groove 95.3. The best ever school radio. Groove 95.3."
"Haha." Newt laughed, "The school is great at creating catchy and hilarious jingles!" he stifled his laughter as the radio conveyed actual information.
"Students of the school," Dumbledore's voice reverberated around the Hall, with the radio blasting his voice. "Today I will announce the Triwizard Tournament and its participants. But," he paused, "You all need to show a little school spirit." he paused again to gauge the audience's reaction. No response.
"Well then…" he muttered. "How surprising." This was just audible by Newt, who chuckled at both Dumbledore's actions and all of the school's responses. "Anyway. We'll move on from that by announcing the champion for Durmstrang Institute!"
A cheer erupted from the Durmstrang side. "The champion from Durmstrang Institute is…" he paused, "Drumroll please!" A unanimous groan. "No drumroll? Sure," he whispered to himself. Newt continued to listen.
"Get to the point Dumbledore!" he muttered. "We aren't gonna be here all day!" he continued, "Well, I am." he realised.
"The champion from Durmstrang Institute is Henry Manning!" he exclaimed. Henry was a student who prided himself on his physical abilities. He had jet black hair, tanned skin, green eyes and a gnarly jawline. Many girls from both schools fangirled as he strode up to shake Dumbledore's hand.
"Thank you for giving me this opportunity!" Henry commented, his voice deep, shaking his hand swiftly.
"Don't thank me! Thank the students," he responded.
"Will do." he nodded his head politely, returning to his school table.
"Now, for Ilvermorny, the North American wizarding school." He drew his gaze over to their table, the majority of the students waiting in anticipation.
"Their champion is… Drumroll please." Another unanimous groan. "OK. No drum rolls!" he exclaimed. "Their champion is…" he repeated, "Amelia Silverliner!"
She was sitting next to her sister, Noelle. Amelia was boasting about how she would end up being chosen. She was rather short but had bright red frizzy hair, shaped up like a crown on her head. The heels of her shoes were heightened especially for her, attempting to give her a slightly oppressing demeanour.
"Yes!" she exclaimed, "I knew it! Beat that Noelle!" She jumped up, soaking herself in the misty air of fame, glory and fortune that she always received from her friends.
"Hahahaha!" she cackled. Noelle frowned, creases appearing all over her face.
"Damn it!" Noelle banged the table in fury. "Of course she'd receive the opportunity!" she muttered, "But can she live up to it?" she thought, smirking, beginning to create possible ways to plant seeds of doubt around her sister that would eventually sprout into revenge. Amelia gracefully made her way up to the Headmaster, shaking his hand.
"Why is it that only the brightest stars shine? AKA, me." she boldly questioned.
"Well, the other stars in the galaxy have other ways of shining, you know." he smirked, "AKA your sister that thinks she has no chance of being in your standards."
"Enough pep talking." she interrupted. "My sister is a disgrace. Before you continue..." she paused, "I'm off." She waved with a queen-like manner to her audience, gliding back to her table, most of the students in awe.
All of this was audible on the radio. Newt gasped, because of the kind of trash talk that Amelia gave her sister behind her back as well as directly to her.
"What a nasty sister indeed!" he muttered.
"Now…" he paused, "For the best champion of all. The Hogwarts champion!" he exclaimed, clearly biased. "The Hogwarts champion is…" he paused, without segwaying into drum rolling or anything of the like, "Theseus Scamander!" he exclaimed.
"Did that just happen?" Theseus questioned quietly.
"Come on up!" Dumbledore encouraged him.
"This is for you Newt. You too Leta." he thought, determined to win. He walked briskly up to the Headmaster, greeting him with gratitude.
"You made it!" Dumbledore exclaimed joyously, "Now do us proud!"
"I'll do my best." he nodded, walking back briskly to the Hogwarts table.
"Yes!" Newt exclaimed ecstatically, laughing with glee. "That's the spirit Theseus!"
"That's amazing! Good on him!" Leta muttered. "We'll have to help him soon…" she thought, "What might they throw at us? How dangerous will it be? What if no one ends up winning? Or what if it is a hoax?" Her questions overtook the celebration of Theseus. She shivered at the thought.
"Now…" Dumbledore continued, "To all of the champions, good luck. You need to stay behind to be interviewed. To the rest of you, you can depart." The majority of the school rushed away, murmurs spreading around like wildfire. The three champions were left alone in the Great Hall, the Headmaster beckoning them to follow him.
"Come on!" he said. "You lucky three are about to become history in the making!" he smiled, rubbing his hands together. He led them out to a small, sunny grassy courtyard. There was a slender, blonde-haired woman in front of them. The trio stared at her with curiosity. She was wearing a green flowing dress, brown square glasses and was holding a long feathered quill and clipboard.
"Rather eccentric," Henry muttered under his breath.
"Well, here are the interviewees!" she smiled happily at them. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Rita Skeeter, journalist and editor for the Daily Prophet. Right." she paused, looking down at her clipboard, "Who's first?" She pointed her quill at each of them.
"I suggest we do this in an orderly fashion. Alphabetical order perhaps?" Dumbledore suggested.
"Alright then," she muttered. "Amelia. Come with me."
"With pleasure!" she smirked.
Rita led her into a cramped, dingy room with two timber chairs placed opposite each other. The pair took their seats.
"Do you mind if I use a Quick Quotes Quill?" Rita asked her.
She shrugged her shoulders, not knowing the object in her hand.
"Amelia Silverliner, correct?"
"Mhm."
"Ilvermorny?"
"Yes."
"Age?"
"That's a bit personal!" Amelia snapped.
"Well," she paused, "Fame and fortune don't come without a cost," she smirked. "Age?" she repeated.
"17," she muttered.
"Now, how do you think you'll tackle the tournament?"
"Head on. Cheat. Lie. Steal. Whatever it takes!"
"Give me a minute…" she muttered, her quill scribbling quickly on its own.
Rita read out her notes to herself, which read:
Amelia Silverliner is a pompous, snobby girl from Ilvermorny, aged 17. She has frizzy hair the size of a beehive and the colour of a tomato.
She quotes that, "I'm destined to be a star through this tournament! I'll knock everyone out of the park." Her attitude continues to demonstrate her egoistic values. Amelia has decided to take things seriously and attack with all hell breaking loose. Will these tactics cost her the game? Time will tell.
"Alright. You may leave," she spoke.
"Before I do…" she paused, "I AM NOT SNOBBY!" she yelled childishly, her hair waving around crazily.
"Point proved!" she exclaimed, "You can leave now."
"Hmph!" she huffed, neatening her hair and breezing out of the room.
"So… How was it?" Both of the other boys questioned.
"None of your beeswax!" she retaliated, "But... If you really want to know," she slurred, "It went rather well."
"Sure 'bout that pipsqueak?" Henry challenged her, turning to look her in the eye.
"Positive." A determined smirk grew on her face, unfazed by the comment.
"Your turn, Henry," Dumbledore instructed.
He walked briskly into the room, ruffling his hands through his hair, before sitting down, crossing his legs.
"Age?" She imposed it without hesitation.
"Um��" he hesitated before answering, "Isn't it obvious?" he challenged her.
"Well, I'm testing for any irregularities or illegalities." she stared straight into his emerald green eyes.
"I'm no irregularity or illegality." he chuckled, glancing around the room. "17."
"As I expected," she commented, her quill dancing on the paper. "Now, how do you plan on crowning yourself the Triwizard champion?"
"I think my Quidditch abilities will come in handy as well as the other physical strengths I have."
"Position?"
"I think that's also apparent." He flexed his muscles slightly.
"Beater?" she stated blandly, staring unimpressed.
"Quite right." He gave her a charming smile.
"Your little charms aren't gonna fool me." she smirked, "Although it could fool your audience," she muttered.
She examined her writing, which read:
Henry Manning is a handsome, physical boy from Durmstrang institute, also aged 17. He has well-tanned skin, jet black hair the colour of ink and a rather charming smile.
he quotes, "My quidditch skills will take me to the end. I think I have a fair chance." Henry believes that his charms and physical stability will give him an advantage. Henry's results purely depend on the challenges awaiting our champions. Will he rise or will he fall? Time will tell.
"I'm done with you." she said dryly, "Bring in the next one."
"Hey Theseus, you're up." Henry called out to him, "Don't let her go over your head." he nudged him on the shoulder. Theseus smiled back, rushing over to Rita.
"So…" the journalist paused, "Lucky last, huh."
She was expecting a response but was greeted with silence.
"Ok, Mr Cagey," she commented, "Right. Age?"
"16." He shivered slightly, a cool breeze whipping through the cabin.
"Ooh! Is that an irregularity or illegality?" She was piqued with interest.
"Irregularity. A unique one. Young for the year but still acceptable." he said casually, attempting to maintain composure under Rita Skeeter's pressure.
"Interesting. Any skills?"
"Not much. I suppose academics." he shrugged, whilst he struggled to rack his brain for a noticeable talent. "Morals," he suggested.
"I'm sorry kid, but morals don't help you to achieve your goals in a competition as serious as this," she stated. Theseus' shoulders sagged, his self-confidence creeping lower and lower the more he was questioned.
"How do you suppose you'll conquer everyone else?"
"Wit. Problem-solving. Luck." he enunciated each word, hoping that he wouldn't be criticised.
"I'll jot that down," she muttered.
The final interviewee's statement read:
Theseus Scamander is a tall, smart boy from Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry, aged younger than his fellow competitors at 16. He has fair skin, brown hair the colour of wood and a somewhat confident demeanour.
He quotes that he will use "Wit. Problem-solving and luck," to overcome his competition. He believes that his academic skill, knowledge and morals will also give him an extra edge. The fact that he is younger than the rest is most likely to be his downfall, but it could also be his saving grace. How will we find out? Time will tell.
"Easy. You're done," she stated.
"Thanks." he nodded to her before moving out of the room.
"So��� How was it all, your first taste of Triwizard fame?" Dumbledore winked.
"Glorious," Amelia spoke, staring at her competitors.
"Mysteriously pleasant," Henry replied.
"Unusual," Theseus mumbled, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor.
"Well, however you felt, it's only gonna get harder from here." Dumbledore saluted them before flashing out of sight.
Henry strode off without hesitation. Theseus attempted to walk briskly away from Amelia, but she tagged along.
"Why are you off in such a hurry?" she questioned, continuing to stride at Theseus' pace.
"Brother's in hospital, no time to waste."
"Noelle's supposed to be there. Race ya!" she sprinted ahead of him.
"Your sister right?" His hair was waving in the wind.
"Uh-huh." she nodded back.
The pair rushed off, engaging in some sort of mutual competition to reach the hospital wing. Theseus claimed the crown as he watched Amelia huff and puff up the last set of stairs.
"God, you're good." she panted.
He nodded back to her before looking out for Newt.
"He's not here," he muttered. "Trelawney's in his place…"
"And where's Noelle? NOELLE!" she yelled.
The pair of them were in his case, Newt finishing off his notes on Kelpies at his desk, Noelle lying on the floor, eyes fixated on his hair.
"It's peaceful here, huh?"
"Yeah." he sighed, relaxing his shoulders greatly. "That's done," he muttered, slamming his notebook shut.
"You should relax!" she encouraged him, "No use working while you're sick!"
"True, true." he sighed once more, moving to sit next to her. "Not yet!" he exclaimed, facepalming himself before standing up. His mind skyrocketed from relaxed to productive. "I have to feed the Mooncalves now, for nutritional stability!" he emphasised the last three words.
She stared at him as he strode around the case in circles, mesmerised.
"Ok, ok, ok…" he muttered, "Accio." A silver bucket full of pellets zoomed his way. He clicked his tongue several times, in a specific rhythm. The Mooncalves dashed over, chirping, their eyes conveying hunger.
"Wow!" she gasped.
"I know." he winked at her. "Good boys! Jasper, Murray, Chris, Felix." He threw several pellets in their direction, which floated in the air before gravitating down. The four of them gobbled down their food, the girls waiting patiently.
"Now for your feed!" He swung his attention to the remaining four. "Good girls! Olivia, Sophia, Millie, Hannah." The four savoured their food, eating with more care. The boys rushed back to their enclosure.
"Hah. You named one Millie!" she commented, "Coincidence? I think not!"
"Pure coincidence," he muttered. "Now that that's done…"
"You can relax!"
"Nope. I think I heard my brother outside, your sister too! We better go see them." He ran his fingers through his hair, before rushing up the stairs. Noelle groaned to herself, before following him.