It's only been two days since the beginning of term, Ron,' Hermione explained wearing a rather indulgent smile.
'It feels like we've been here for ages,' the red-head sulked, reaching for the nearest rack of toast.
'We were here a bit earlier, but still, it's barely September and nothing is happening until October.'
'It's a travesty,' Ron mumbled around a mouthful toast. 'All that hype about the bloody tournament and we have to wait until October to enter.' Hermione's eyes narrowed at the swear word and Ron instinctively retreated out of elbow range.
'Not much point entering now, mate,' Dean interjected. 'Got to wait for the other two schools first.'
'Are you going to enter?' Seamus asked playfully.
'Nope,' Dean responded, unaffected. 'I choose life. I had a research about it when I heard. It's been cancelled for centuries because all the champions kept dying before the end.'
'Doesn't sound like eternal glory to me,' Neville piped up from across Ron. The second youngest Weasley had made his way through the toast rack and was now polishing off half a plateful of eggs.
Where does all the food even go?
Harry had managed a decent breakfast by his standards. Some bacon, a pair of fried eggs, several pieces of toast and the mushrooms Hermione had snuck onto his plate out of concern. He wasn't even that thin anymore. When he'd first come to Hogwarts he'd been all skin and bones, but three years of abundant food had filled him out well enough and quidditch had gifted him a little muscle to his frame. Neither Mrs Weasley of Hermione seemed to have noticed any of it.
'Sounds like unexpected death to me,' Seamus grinned. 'Still, I'm entering. They'll have made it safer or something now, I'm sure.'
'Well,' Ron emerged from behind his napkin, 'if you see a basilisk, just summon Harry and hide for a bit. That ought to do the trick.'
'That's pretty much the plan,' Dean laughed. 'I'll let the seventh years know. They're the ones who'll get chosen anyway. The tournament is supposed to have the best possible student chosen from all the entered names.'
'How does it know?' Neville asked curiously.
'Magic,' Dean shrugged. Everyone turned to look at Hermione.
'What?' she responded. 'I'm not interested in a silly tournament, we're almost at OWL year now.'
'That's a point,' Harry realised. 'I'd wager the champions will all be sixth years really. No exams that year.'
Ron nodded. 'I'd agree,' he chuckled, 'if I wasn't putting my name in. Can you imagine Percy's face?'
Harry laughed. 'You'd get another howler from your mum,' Dean pointed out.
'Worth it for eternal glory.' Ron seemed quite taken with the idea. 'Pretty much everyone in Gryffindor is putting their name in, even some of the firsties wanted to.'
'House of the brave,' Seamus explained.
'House of the brave and Neville,' Dean corrected. 'Maybe you'll be champion, Nev. Up for it?'
Even Hermione smiled at Neville's suddenly pale face. 'I prefer to leave that stuff to Harry,' he stuttered. 'Giant snakes, swords, dark lords and lethal tournaments are his area of expertise.'
'It's about time it was someone else's turn,' Ron decided forcefully.
'Madam Pomfrey might not let you out next time,' Seamus added.
'We've got double Defence with Mad-eye,' Neville spoke up nervously. 'Madam Pomfrey might be seeing all of us if what I've heard is true.'
'Oh,' Harry swivelled to look at the attention shy boy. 'What did you hear?' He had decided after learning the hard way that it was best to keep an eye on the revolving Defence Against the Dark Arts post.
'Apparently he's been talking about the Unforgivable Curses,' Neville explained. His voice had shrunk under the rapt attention of his audience.
'Bit of an odd thing to teach,' Dean muttered after a moment.
Harry had to agree. They'd covered a handful of mostly useless jinxes and hexes and a lot of information on dark creatures that were best avoided, but little else. Last year they'd done some good work on defending against things like boggarts, but the greatest danger seemed to come more from other wizards. In his case that was usually the teacher themselves.
'It's probably useful, though,' Ron decided in the silence. 'Dad says those three spells are the ones that are most often used by wizards involved in the dark arts.'
'We're about to find out,' Dean said, glancing at his watch.
The so named Mad-eye Moody's class room was full of rather nervous looking students, but the grizzled ex-auror was nowhere to be seen.
'Oi, Potter,' Malfoy sneered. 'How did you enjoy the World Cup? I heard you collapsed again, saw a dementor did you?'
'No, Malfoy,' Harry gritted, 'I did see a blond man in black, hooded robes, though. Did your father enjoy his after-party?'
The slimy pure-blood recoiled as if struck. 'My father had nothing to do with that. As if it wasn't enough that you pranced around with mudbloods and blood-traitors, you've lowered yourself to slander too.' He turned away to a simpering Pansy Parkinson before Harry could remind him that slander was pretty much all Malfoy managed on a day to day basis.
'Ignore him, Harry,' Hermione said coolly, covering his wand arm with her hand. Ron seemed to be considering hexing the blond as well, but his temptation was abruptly quelled by the arrival of their professor.
Professor Moody was even more unsettling up close than he had been in the Great Hall. Above a nose that had a sizeable chunk missing an electric blue eye whirled frantically across the room. It stopped only to hover over each student and to peer suspiciously into the shadows around the edges of the room.
He heaved himself down past the desks, his wooden leg clunking on the stone floor with each step until he came to the front.
'I am Alastor Moody,' he growled in the immediate silence. 'I served as an auror in the war against the Dark Lord and I've seen almost all there is of the dark arts and not from a practitioner's perspective.' From behind his desk he retrieved a large, bell-shaped jar. It contained three quite large spiders.
There was an audible scraping noise as Ron's chair moved slightly further back.
'When it comes to the dark arts, I believe in a practical approach. There's nothing out there that will really prepare you for what's to come. I survived the war, but it cost me an eye and a leg and more to do so.'
He unscrewed the top of the bell jar with stiff, jerky motions and placed it on the desk in front of him.
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