Chapter 76: 3-1

Hermione was boycotting the meal. Without even a glance at the sweet, enticingly fragrant desserts, she glared at her empty plate, fists clenched tight. Ron was trying every trick in the book to make her give up her resistance, but it was having the exact opposite effect.

Ah... right, it’s that time of year, isn't it. Ignoring Hermione’s gaze—which was practically begging for my agreement—I picked up a piece of treacle tart. If nothing else, I need to make sure to put a stop to her indiscriminate knitting trap. That will only lead to tragedy.

Reaching for my third piece of treacle tart—it suddenly occurred to me, far too late, that I should have answered "treacle tart" when Astoria asked me what my favorite food was—I waited for Dumbledore's signal. Just as I extended my fingers toward a fourth piece, Harry caught my hand to tell me I'd had enough, and the remains of the feast vanished from the tables.

"You have all eaten and drunk well. Now, might I ask you to lend an ear to an old man? There are a few things I must announce. First of all..."

The students, who had been relaxed by the usual start-of-term greetings, suddenly tensed as one at Dumbledore's "announcement."

"The Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What?!"

A massive chorus of protests erupted from the Quidditch-loving students. The players, in particular, were having none of it. Naturally, even Gryffindor's star Seeker, Harry, looked ready to shout, Merlin's beard!

"However, there is a grand event taking its place. I am quite sure you will all enjoy it immensely. The teachers, too, will be devoting their all to this endeavor... And so, it is with great pleasure that I announce that this year, here at Hogwarts—"

Bang. The doors to the Great Hall burst open with a clap of thunder. A man stood there, possessing a magical eye and a face so fierce it made Professor Lupin's scarred visage look downright cute—Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. ...Or at least, he looked like Mad-Eye Moody.

Completely unbothered by the students' rude stares—though his magical eye was swiveling madly, surveying them all—Mad-Eye strode up to Dumbledore. After exchanging a few words, he took the seat at the staff table that was always empty this time of year. A murmur of confusion rippled through the students as the reality of what that meant set in.

"Allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year, Professor Moody."

Only Dumbledore and Hagrid clapped. Ahem. Gathering himself, Dumbledore continued.

"As I was saying, over the coming months, our school will be welcoming select students from two other schools: Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Yes, it seems a few of you are familiar with the names. Now, the reason for this is—we are incredibly honored to have the privilege of hosting the Triwizard Tournament here at Hogwarts."

At the unfamiliar name, the murmuring among the students grew louder. Watching the children with a fond smile, Dumbledore began to explain the details.

Joyous whispers gradually spread among the more adaptable students, and the Great Hall was soon enveloped in excitement. Everyone imagined themselves shining as the Hogwarts Champion. Then, their shoulders slumped in disappointment at the age restriction rules. —However, our ambitious, shrewd businessmen of the future hadn't even considered giving up. To them, the sudden windfall of a thousand Galleons was a prize they wanted so badly they could taste it.

Even after returning to the common room, Ron seemed somewhat influenced by the twins, who were conferring with a rare level of seriousness. ...I just hope things don't get impossibly strained between him and Harry this time.

Fourth-year classes began the next day. True to form, Hagrid had managed to breed those hideous monsters, the Blast-Ended Skrewts (for once, I had to agree with Theodore's assessment that he was "out of his mind").

Trelawney spouted nonsense about the planets and peddled her favorite phony predictions about Harry's death (though I wonder why she never predicts anything about me).

It was a disaster from day one. But the crowning blow was Thursday's Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Imperio."

The Imperius Curse—one of the Unforgivable Curses Ron had named—was cast upon a spider. The spider tap-danced. Everyone laughed. —It was a sickening sight.

Knowing that the man waving his wand at the spider was an impostor, his displays of the curses and warnings to "stay vigilant" just looked like he was playing house and mocking us.

However, it was also a fact that this class—taught by the man disguised as Mad-Eye—would become crucial for Harry and my best friends in the future. That was just one more thing that rubbed me the wrong way.

"Crucio."

The Cruciatus Curse, which Neville had named, struck the engorged second spider. The spider writhed, convulsed, and suffered in silent agony, thrusting the visceral terror of pure pain before everyone's eyes.

"Professor," I raised my hand. "Professor—that's enough, surely."

Hermione was holding Neville's hand. Neville—was staring intently at the spider. He stared so fixedly that he seemed completely numb to his nails biting into his skin, his teeth nearly chewing through his own lip, and his whole body trembling from sheer tension.

A third spider was brought out. Seeing Mad-Eye's eye shift unmistakably toward Harry, I raised my hand once again.

"...Hmm, you're Maria Potter, aren't you? —Go on, then. Let's hear it."

"Maria..."

As the entire class watched anxiously, wondering what would happen to the third spider, the brilliant witch who had, as always, figured it out before anyone else, looked at me with a tearful face.

It's okay, Hermione. I won't let you—or Harry—answer this.

"Avada Kedavra."

The spider perished. Right in front of Harry's eyes. Struck by that worst of green lights, it simply rolled over and died. An eerie silence fell over the children, reaching every corner of the classroom. After that, no one spoke a single unnecessary word until the class was dismissed.

Spilling out into the corridor, our classmates were buzzing with excitement, as if they had just watched a spectacular show. The only ones who looked solemn were me, Harry, Hermione—and Neville.

"Neville."

"O-oh, Maria. That was an... an interesting lesson, wasn't it? Very stimulating. I'm, I'm starving—what's for dinner, I wonder? An interesting dinner... oh, no, I mean, dinner is—"

"Neville, take a deep breath. You don't have to smile."

As I rubbed his hunched back, I could feel the cold sweat soaking right through his robes. Neville, his lips pale, gently gripped my robe in return.

"Neville..."

"—Longbottom."

It was a gentle voice. —Chillingly so.

"It's all right, Longbottom. Come to my office. Let's have a cup of tea. I've got a book you might like... You two are all right, aren't you, Potter?"

"Yes," we answered together.

I—and Harry—answered clearly. It surprised me a little. It was one thing for me, since I was prepared for it, but for Harry to have such a resolute look on his face... Even though his fists remained tightly clenched.

"Go on, Neville."

"Maria..."

"Go warm yourself up with some tea, and then come down for dinner. I'll save a seat for you."

"...Okay."

I patted Neville on the back a few times and sent him off. It's fine. The man posing as Mad-Eye isn't the sort to make the blunder of targeting anyone other than Harry and raising suspicions. He is calculating and rational. —Bartemius Crouch Jr. is.

Giving a slight bow, I took Harry's hand and walked away. Naturally. Act your part, Maria.

"Um, Harry? Maria?"

"Hermione. Would you mind if we took a little detour?"

"Oh... yes. Yes, of course."

Hermione cast a sidelong glance at Ron, then gave me a firm nod, as if to say, Leave him to me.

Parting ways with our best friends who were heading to dinner, we searched for somewhere we could be alone. Naturally, we ended up near the lake, where I often meet up with Draco. Habit shows itself in places like this.

Pulling Harry by our still-clasped hands, we sat down together on the grass.

"Mum and Dad... they died like that, didn't they?"

Finally, the tension left Harry's hand. The four crescent nail marks left imprinted on his palm were red and painful-looking.

"They did," I replied, almost curtly, letting Harry rest his head against my shoulder.

"...Do you think it hurt?"

"Quicker than falling asleep, I'm sure."

Borrowing the words of him as I knew them, I gave a small smile, and Harry sniffled softly like a fussy toddler.

"Harry."

"Maria."

Harry was hugging me, practically leaning his entire weight on me. Just like a child. ...Right. This boy is a child.

"I'm so glad you're alive, Maria. Otherwise... I might have been all alone. I would have had to live all by myself."

"...Harry."

I stroked the black hair that I always took such care to keep perfectly fluffy.

You're exactly right, Harry. You—no, I—was all alone.