𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗨𝗻𝘁𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗢𝗳 𝗖𝗲𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗰 𝗗𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗼𝗿𝘆

The Triwizard Tournament •~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•¥•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The carriages were pulled along the gravely pathway, through the gates guarded by winged boars, towards the castle. To Muggle eyes the castle is only forsaken ancient ruins, maybe once mighty, but now only crumbling walls. I feel sorry that such a wonderful - and of course magical - place should be kept a secret from them.

Thunder boomed loudly, lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the sky in quick flashes of light. The carriage arrived at the stone staircase, which led to the great oak doors to the Entrance Hall. Once the door was opened, I walked swiftly up the steps with my hood up, through the oak doors.

My cloak was a bit soaked, but my hair seemed to be fine, I couldn't say the same about some unfortunate people though. Apparently, someone thought it would be funny to throw water balloons at unsuspecting people.

"PEEVES!" a furious voice yelled, unmistakably Professor McGonagall. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall had come storming out of the Great Hall, then suddenly skidded on the wet floor, and caught Hermione by the neck to save herself. "Ouch - sorry, Miss Granger -"

"That's all right, Professor!" Hermione gasped, rubbing her throat to erase the pain.

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" Professor McGonagall shouted.

"Not doing nothing!" Peeves chuckled, throwing more water balloons at some fifth-year girls.

"Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" He laughed, then lobbed another ballon at a gang of second years.

I sighed, exasperated, and left the scene to enter the Great Hall. I made my way towards the Hufflepuff table, and took a seat near my friends. The five tables were decorated with golden plates and goblets, candles were hanging in mud-air with nothing to support them other than a simple Levitating Charm.

At the fifth table at the top of the Hall, sat all the professors, including the silver-bearded Headmaster Dumbledore himself. Then a thought popped into my head.

'Who will be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher be?'

For some odd reason, not one Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has ever stayed for more than one year. Some believed it was a curse, me being one of them. But nobody had real proof, unless you count the fact that every teacher who has taught the subject either died, got sacked, had to quit for some reason or (in Lockhart's case) suffered from a Memory Charm.

Suddenly, the double-doors to the Great Hall opened, and in came Professor McGonagall, followed by a long line of first-years. They either had excited, nervous, or down right petrified expressions on their faces. Professor McGonagall walked up the the top table, and pulled out a three-legged stool and placed on top the Sorting Hat. Everyone was silently staring at the Hat, just waiting. Then a narrow tear opened up like a mouth, and the ancient Hat began to sing.

    "A thousand years or more ago,
               When I was newly sewn,
               There lived four wizards of renown,
              Whose names are still well known:
              Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,
              Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
             Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,
             Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
             They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,
             They hatched a daring plan
             To educate young sorcerers
             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 favourites 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!'