𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 | f. weasley

sixty-nine

THIS TIME, CASSIE WAS BORED. Again, don't get this wrong, the Gryffindor party was a roaring success. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface; Lee had let off some Filibuster's Fireworks so that the air was thick with stars and sparks. Dean had whipped up some impressive new banners — Cassie could not stop gushing over them and how insanely talented Dean was — which depicted Harry zooming around the Horntail's head on his Firebolt.

Harry had arrived a few moments back and was now heaping food on his plate as if he'd forgotten how food tasted like entirely. Everyone was rushing around the boy, showering him with praises, breathing down his neck, asking him a galore of questions while the poor boy stuffed his face to avoid answering any of them. Ron was yelling at a few rowdy menaces - first-years that held no sense of personal space and wanted to touch Harry's wounds and scar and face and body - it was getting increasingly creepy; all while Cassie watched from the stairs leading to the dormitories.

It was a beautiful view. You could see the crowd, sway to the music, and enjoy the party with your own little private bubble. Blaise was in Dean's room, taking a few moments for himself — the party had been rather over-stimulating for him, even before Harry had appeared. Maybe the Slytherin parties weren't all as crazy as the rumours made them seem. Fred had stopped by quite a few times over the past hour to make sure Cassie was feeling alright (the day had been rather emotionally exhaustive and all the weariness was slowly catching up as the adrenaline wore off) and was currently galivanting around the common room, entertaining anyone and everyone in his purview. It was surreal how he always seemed to have a smile on his face and this contagious excitement that would light up the room he walked into. His charisma would radiate so brightly, that Cassie was worried if it were ever to turn into light, everyone in the world would go blind. Fred was truly one of a kind – magical and irreplaceable.

A loud chant snapped Cassie out of her thoughts — Lee had just passed Harry the golden egg. Standing on top of his chair so everyone could see, Harry dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open. The moment it opened, the most horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing filled the room. It was like a group of tone-deaf people were playing in an orchestra, producing the most ghastly, brain-muddling, blood-curling piece of music - if that is what you could even call it.

But Cassie did want to call that 'noise' music. There was a certain rhythm to the wails – a tone of purpose and certainty. This was not an ordinary harrowing scream.

"Shut it!" Fred bellowed his hands over his ears. On seeing the sight of the crowd wincing in pain, protecting their ears, Cassie was surprised to see her hands still fidgeting with her tie. She had winced, most certainly, but hadn't covered her ears. It was like her brain was used to it but just hated the sound of it.

Sigh.

"You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!" Neville was yelling, making Cassie roll her eyes. The Tournament was crazy, but most certainly not that crazy.

"Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal," said George. "They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing . . . maybe you've got to attack him while he's in the shower, Harry."

Cassie snorted. It would make quite an interesting side quest, no matter how bizarrely specific it seemed.

"Who was yelling?" a voice came from behind her, taking a seat a step above where Cassie had made herself comfortable.

"The egg,"

"The egg?"

"The egg."

"Weird. But I wouldn't put it past the Tournaments quirks," Blaise shrugged, "A screaming egg?" he murmured, almost mad at himself for missing the sight of that.