Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Hogwarts: Tuesday, September 1st, 1953 [Private]

Touchy subject? Alphard thought to himself. Anita had lost her rather intense composure. He figured it must have been a few years of the Slytherin commons at work.

"A surgeon? I think I read about them when I was younger. They're very skillful and make quite a bit of gold, don't they?" His mind wandered to a magazine he had found in his mother's study. "I bet he can drive an automobile." He wanted to ask her why she was embarrassed, but thought it inappropriate.

Anita couldn't help but laugh slightly at Alphard's description of a surgeon. "Yes, that's right," she replied with a meek smile. There was no point in explaining that gold was called 'pounds' or that most men could drive automobiles. Wizards just didn't seem to understand.

"Have you heard that there's going to be a big announcement before supper tonight," she cocked her head slightly. "I wonder what it could be about..."

Something Alphard had said seemed to have relieved tension. Thank goodness I've read so much about Muggles, he thought to himself proudly.

"There's to be an announcement before supper? We'd, err, better get going." He said, hoping he wasn't being too assuming. He noted the page that had sat open and unread, and dropped the book on Animagi into his bag. He stood up.

It was time for supper already? What a shame. She didn't manage to get any study in. With a loud 'SNAP', Anita closed her textbook and tucked it under an arm as she followed behind Alphard out of the library and into the common rooms.

Already students were starting to file in, taking their seats around their House Tables. With a polite wave, Anita separated from Alphard and sat next to her usual friends. Professor Dippet and all four heads of the houses were at the front of the room, waiting for everybody to take their seat. Eventually when everybody had taken a seat, Professor Dippet cleared his voice to quiet the chatter and command everyone's attention.

"Thank you," he began. "I am very proud to announce that this year, Hogwarts will be hosting a very important event - The Inter-House Championships. This event is only held every fifty years, you are all be honoured to be able to spectate and participate." The headmaster clasped his hands together. "As well as earning points for your house through normal means a tournament will be held over the course of the year where a single representative of each house will partake in a series of challenges - judged by myself and the Four Heads of Houses," with a sweep of his arm, he motioned to the other teachers standing around him.

"This event will test every aspect of a witch or wizard - all the knowledge and skills they have acquired through their studies, their logic and creativity, and the friendships they have formed. It will be dangerous, and competitors will be pushed to their limit. Any student over the age of sixteen may nominate themselves." There was a pause.

"Think wisely - this is not a competition for the faint of heart. If you choose to apply, you must submit an application to the head of your house. They will all select their own ambassador."

The Great Hall erupted as students turned to their neighbors to comment on the bomb that had just been dropped on them. The inter-house tournament; how could this not have been more anticipated? The heads of houses themselves were having a discussion. Dumbledore looked a bit defeated, Alphard noticed. Maybe that's why he seems to gruff these days. Professor Portens, his own head of house, was giving him a weak smile. Professors Emriti and Slughorn were chattering with great interest.

Jerry, the housemate that Alphard had spoken to on his first day was seated to his left. He was speaking to a fellow seventh year across the table. "Was the last one really in '23?" The other boy frowned and nodded tentatively.

"I suppose it must have been." Alphard was considering piping up when Headmaster Dippet beat him to it.

"I must remind you that you will not be exempt from any of your studies should you desire to compete; I must insist, therefore, that you do not take your nomination lightly. Enjoy the feast."

Alphard sat in silence listening to the group of Ravenclaw seventh years sitting nearest him. These seemed the boys at the Ravenclaw table most interested; the other tables were still chattering loudly.

An hour later, Alphard climbed into his four-poster bed and wondered to himself, Would I win? Would I even be selected?

Over the next few days the school was abuzz. There was still much unknown about the year's inter-house tournament, but that didn't stop students from clustered speculation when their schedules allowed. Alphard felt the same self-doubt, and for this reason he didn't join in.

On Thursday, Alphard walked into charms early to speak to Professor Potens.

"Good morning, professor. How many Ravenclaws have nominated themselves so far?"

Geraldine Portens was a short woman, ancient and gray. Her wrinkled smiles reminded Alphard somewhat of a doting grandparent. Indeed, she was so nice that she needn't be stern with her expectations. Her students did not need pushing; rather, they did their best so as not to disappoint her. It was this fear of disappointment that gave Alphard courage when she frowned at him. "Only seven. Dumbledore tells me there's not a Gryffindor eligible who hasn't nominated themselves."

"Professor, I'd like to compete."

Professor Portens eyebrows raised, "Really, dear? I suppose some experience would do well to compliment all the reading you do. Speak to me after class if you're sure of yourself." She smiled and turned away from him.

Students were slowly starting to file in now.

A lot of the Slytherins started chattering at the announcement of the cup. It seemed that almost everybody wanted to apply. Anita remained silent - of course she wanted to enter, but in her gut she felt she had no chance of actually being accepted. Slughorn was a good man, but it was a well-known fact he had his favourites. She'd never stand a chance of being selected.

That night, she lay awake in bed. One part of her mind was ordering her to submit an application - even if she was not chosen, the same would be said of many of her fellow housemates. There would only be one competitor and thirty or more others who were not successful. That part of her mind said there was no harm in applying. The worst that could happen was mere rejection.

But that wasn't what kept her awake. The other part of her mind told her that she wouldn't be able to handle being selected. Not the actual tournament - that didn't scare her. But the gaze and whispers from her house. It was well known she was muggle-born. Even half-wizards were relatively uncommon in Slytherin. Everybody would be gossiping about the mudblood representing the pure house. Being selected as the participant would likely gain her a few Slytherin enemies.

After hours of thought, she realised she couldn't just let this opportunity pass by without even an application. She would always regret not trying. She crept from her bed and slid silently into the commonroom. Once there she lit a torch and in the darkness of the night she penned her application.

The next morning there was something remarkably different about Anita. Her hair was more dishevelled than usual, her eyes red and droopy. She squinted in the bright daylight as she shuffled into her class - Charms. Seems they were sharing it with the Ravenclaws this year. None of her friends seemed to have arrived yet - but there was one face she recognised. She greeted Alphard with a lazy wave of her hand and sat alongside him.

Alphard walked to the far corner of the room and sat second from the end; it was across the way from the door and furthest from Professor Potens. It was not that he was delinquent, or worried that Professor Portens would be unimpressed with his charmwork. Alphard was late to his very first charms lesson and it was the only available seat. A creature of habit, he had been sitting there ever since.

Earliest of the students to enter the classroom was Anita Witte. She looked rather more haughty than usual.

"Good morning. Worried you would be late?"

She offered him a meek smile, before turning her head to yawn. "No, just got up earlier than usual," she didn't make eye contact as she spoke as she slouched down onto the desk. How embarrassing, she couldn't be like this during the lesson. She sat upright once again and put on her fakest smile.

"Excited about the Inter-House Championships? Think you will nominate yourself?"

The sudden change in demeanor did not escape Alphard.

"Err, I think I just did. Is it something you're considering?"

"You think...?" She asked. How could you be unsure if you nominate yourself or not? To his question she replied with a hesitant tone. "Yes. ...I wrote my letter of intent last night."

Alphard flushed. "Yeah, Portens told me to speak to her again after class if I'm sure. You wrote your letter of intent?" Alphard was hasty to change the subject. He paused. It was starting to make sense.

She's often so tidy, her posture rigid in its perfection. What is she distracted by? He gave her a warm smile.

"Did you ... submit the letter of intent?"

"Yes, of course." What good is a letter of intent if she kept it for safekeeping. She smiled - but it was a reflex to hide her nervousness. There was no warmth in it. "I visited Professor Slughorn's office before lessons today. There were already about twenty other applications on his desk."

Alphard was selfishly curious; much like her blood status, this tournament seemed a sore spot for her. The tournament was much less personal, though, so he started to ask, "How do you feel about your chances," but was cut off by Professor Portens.

"Good morning class. We'll be jumping right in, this year, to our lesson plan. You all did so well with your summoning and banishing charms last year that I feel there is no need for revision;"

Alphard could feel the chests puff out; for students in Professor Portens' own house this was uplifting to hear.

"we will therefore be learning the spell to make water this morning. The incantation is Aguamenti, and I will demonstrate thus."

Professor Portens pointed her wand at a nearby bucket and gave it a flick. Water shot from the tip and the bucket filled.

"You may begin." With another flick, buckets appeared on the desks in front of each student.