Chapter Text
The Hogwarts Express, Northern England
1st of September, 1994
Abraham Dumbledore — Abe to his friends — sat comfortably as he sank into the plush seat of his cabin aboard the Hogwarts Express, idly watching the English countryside roll past the window as green fields and hedgerows slowly gave way to the rugged stretches of the Scottish Lowlands.
Salem was currently curled up on his lap, the lazy cat taking a nap without a care in the world as he stroked her coal-black fur.
He'd placed a Silencing Spell around her as soon as he'd gotten on the train, something he'd guess she was glad about now, given the energetic game of Exploding Snap taking place right next to them.
"Blast!" Cedric, the only Hufflepuff in the cabin, cursed as his cards, unsurprisingly, exploded in his hands.
[Cedric Diggory]: Sixth-year Hufflepuff.
"Blew your load too soon, eh mate?" George quipped, causing his twin, Fred, to laugh at Cedric's misfortune
[Fred and George Weasley]: Sixth-year Gryffindors.
The brown-haired boy tried to look composed, though his ears did start to turn a shade of Gryffindor red.
"Doesn't matter, it's a crappy game anyway." He said, throwing the rest of his cards to the side.
"The game is fine as it is, you're just a shit at it, Ced," Abe said, amused at the normally composed boy's embarrassment.
"Is that a spot of red my eyes see? Is Mr. Perfect Prefect embarrassed by losing to us mere common students?" Fred began with a glint in his eye.
"Careful, Fred, or he just might give you a detention for backtalk," George said, suddenly straightening up, making his voice sound lower. "Fifty points from Gryffindor, you dimwits." He imitated a certain Potions professor.
"Alright, comparing Cedric to Snape is a low blow, even if he is uptight about the whole sticking to the rules thing." Abe laughed.
"You're one to talk," said Cedric. "I have no idea why McGonnagal thought it was a good idea to make you a prefect, you're almost as bad as they are!"
"Hey, that's not fair," he replied, faking indignation as he wagged his finger at the Hufflepuff. "Their general mayhem and troublemaking have been down ever since I took office!"
"It's true," one of the redheaded menaces said, putting his arm around the Dumbledore heir's shoulder. "Ever since Abe here became one, our regrettable run-ins with our esteemed prefects have gone down to practically nothing."
The other twin, George, then conspicuously tucked away the patrol route for the first month that Abe had "clumsily" dropped when he and Cedric got back from the prefects' meeting. "Aye, brother mine, we're law-abiding model students now."
"Right," Cedric said, rolling his eyes at the bullshit. "Anyway, have you guys heard anything about what's happening this year? Dad's been pestering me all summer about practising my spellwork as soon as I got back to school."
"Not really," said George, putting his cards down. "Dad was acting all weird about it, all hush-hush. Apparently, the Ministry is planning some big secret event for this year. Honestly, considering the attack at the World Cup, I'm surprised they're doing anything more than damage control."
Abe frowned. He'd spent the last few days of summer with Cedric and the twins at Ottery St. Catchpole, but before that, he had been away with Uncle Albus on their yearly summer trip when the incident at the World Cup happened.
After he started Hogwarts, his great-uncle thought it would be a good idea to spend some time with him, as some sort of amends for how long the headmaster had been absent from Abe's life up until that point.
His grandfather and great-uncle weren't on the best of terms, to put it lightly.
So, Abe and his uncle took a week or two every summer since his first year at Hogwarts to spend some time together, and of course, the madman's idea of a good family bonding experience was to create a portkey to some random place in the magical world for both of them to get thrown into and explore.
The two of them had sworn never to tell Aberforth about that close call with the manticore in Tibet.
"Luckily, nobody got hurt," Abe said, fiddling with his wand. "Aside from the Death Eater wannabes trying to look tough while juggling Muggles around, that is."
"It was plenty scary though," said Fred, uncharacteristically serious. "The Dark Mark in the sky, it was the first time since You-Know-Who fell that it was used."
A beat of silence filled the cabin as the four of them digested that worrying fact, the cards in Fred's hands popping half-heartedly.
"Anyway," Cedric said, trying to lighten the mood. "My dad's been pretty tight-lipped about whatever's going on this year, even though he kept dropping hints all summer about something important happening at Hogwarts."
"Whatever it is, it requires dress robes, since those were on the school list this year," Abe added. "A ballroom dance, maybe? Or some kind of formal event?"
"Maybe," Cedric said, pensive.
"A dance, huh? Good time as any to score with some birds," George said, grinning as he elbowed his twin, who got up and started to mimic some old-school dancing, much to Abe and Cedric's amusement
As they left England behind and the Hogwarts Express sped into the distance, Abe and his friends spent the journey laughing and chatting all the way to school.
It was good to be back.
Thank God for magic, Abe thought as he and his friends hurried to the carriages, a quick cast of Impervius keeping all of them dry despite the heavy rain.
He felt bad for the first years, though, who were going to cross the lake drenched as all hell; hopefully, McGonagall would be kind enough to dry them off before the Sorting.
The four of them climbed into one of the magical carriages and set off toward the castle.
After running into Peeves and narrowly dodging a balloon filled with suspiciously smelling liquid, they made it into the Great Hall. Cedric headed to his table, and the remaining three went to the Gryffindor one.
The tables slowly filled in as Abe took stock of this year's staff. The usual suspects were all there, as expected, but the seat normally reserved for the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was occupied by someone… unusual.
He elbowed the closest twin — George, probably — and nodded toward the teachers' table.
"Is that who I think it is?" Abe asked, pointing at the heavily scarred man wearing a trench coat and sporting a magical prosthetic eye.
George looked to where he'd nodded, before raising his eyebrows. "Holy shit. Mad-Eye Moody?"
[Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody]: Former Head of the Auror Corps and Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Even though Moody was busy talking with the headmaster — currently seated on his completely humble golden throne — the man's mad eye suddenly swivelled toward Abe, almost as if it had heard its owner's name being spoken.
The eye lingered on him for a couple of seconds before its gaze swept around the room, checking the doors, the enchanted ceiling, the rest of the staff... and finally turning back to the headmaster. Moody himself never turned his head or looked away from Uncle Albus.
"Blimey, guess we're finally getting some good DADA teachers for once," Abe said, slightly unnerved as he tried to shake off the creepy stare.
Last year, with Professor Lupin in charge of Defence Against the Dark Arts, they had gotten the best education since entering the school. Lupin had caught their classes up with the previous years' curriculum — which had been barely taught competently by Quirrell and damn near neglected by Lockhart — and then pushed them further.
Shame about the whole werewolf thing, though. The man's secret had somehow leaked to the Board of Governors, who'd promptly demanded his sacking.
Fred, who had noticed who he was talking about, brightened. "Damn right. If half the stuff Dad told us about him is true, the bloke's seen everything there is to see. This year's already looking up!"
Not long after Fred's statement, the doors of the great hall opened and the first-years-to-be came in, most of them looking around with the typical wonder in their eyes, with one boy in particular almost vibrating in place.
Leading them was Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration Professor and easily Abe's favourite teacher, who, despite her strict appearance, was a big softy at heart (not that he'd ever say that out loud, otherwise she'd transfigure his tongue into something particularly unpleasant).
Floating right behind her were the famous three-legged stool and atop it, the Sorting Hat, both of which she placed at the top of the stairs leading up to the teacher's table.
As soon as she placed both of them down, the Sorting Hat's flaps came alive, taking the shape of a leathery face, before it burst into song:
"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!"
As the song finished, the entire hall erupted in applause, with the hat doing its best to mimic a bow, to limited success.
After that, McGonnagal unrolled a long roll of parchment and started calling the names of the first years.
"So," started George, "excited for the Duelling Club this year? Heard that dear Cedric has been working hard all summer on his spellcasting." He asked, faking nonchalance. "Something about finally humbling you?"
"It's a bit worrying, honestly," said Fred. "Bloke has barely taken his hand off his wand all summer, keeps jerking it this way and that, hoping for a spell to come out, polishing it all night, it makes one think that this obsession with you goes a bit beyond a friendly rivalry."
He snorted at the ginger's innuendo, along with a few of his housemates who overheard the conversation.
Abe had joined the Duelling Club back in his second year, with his friends joining the following one, since they were a year below him. Aside from the disaster that was Lockhart when he, of all people, decided to run it, it'd been one of the most fun activities in Hogwarts, with him as the reigning champion for the past two years, a practically unbroken streak following his tenure.
"Well," he tried and failed to contain his mirth, a semi-condescending smirk adorning his face. "Let's just say that no matter how much Cedric practices, the number one spot is still firmly mine."
It was then that the Sorting finished, with several new students sitting at the Gryffindor table as well as the others.
His uncle, instead of standing up and giving his usual speech, simply clapped twice. In an instant, the golden plates filled with steaming food, sending rich smells drifting through the Great Hall.
Abe tucked in immediately, piling his plate high with mashed potatoes, roast beef, chips, and anything else within his reach.
Not much was said after that. With a full feast laid out, even the chattiest students fell silent, determined to devour as much as possible. The House-Elves outdid themselves — as always.
When the last of the plates had cleared and everyone sat back, stuffed to the brim, the headmaster rose. He tapped a fork to his crystal glass, producing a sharp ring that echoed across the hall, far louder than it had any right to be.
"Now that we are all watered and fed, I have some start-of-year announcements," he began, his deep voice being heard across the hall as everybody quieted down.
"First of all, I would like everyone to give a warm welcome to our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Alastor Moody."
A polite wave of applause followed. Many students leaned forward to get a better look at Moody's scarred, weathered face and revolving eye. If he was bothered by the staring, he didn't show it.
"Ahem," his great-uncle continued. "As well as the newest addition to our staff, there is one more bit of news I have left before sending you all off to bed. This year, our school has the honour of hosting a very exciting event — something that has not happened for over a century. And so, it is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
Pandemonium hit the hall, as everyone exploded into chatter at once.
Albus Dumbledore waited, radiating endless patience, until the noise dipped from stampede to merely wild excitement, then stroked his beard — a habit Abe had picked up from him, except his involved the bit of fuzz on his chin.
"As I was saying," he continued, "some of you may not know what the Triwizard Tournament entails, so I hope those who do will forgive me for a brief explanation and allow their attention to wander freely."
"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."
At that, the whispers came back, with one first-year Hufflepuff fainting.
"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," his great-uncle continued, "none of which have been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."
"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-list of contenders at the end of October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Hallowe'en. An impartial judge will decide which student is going to represent their respective schools, with the most competent, tenacious and capable being chosen to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and the one hundred thousand Galleons personal prize money."
At that revelation, the buzz picked up again, with Fred whispering furiously, "I'm going for it."
"Me too, one hundred thousand Galleons? That's enough money for a lifetime!" George also said, the twins' faces alive with the prospect of glory and riches, and Abe couldn't say he was any different.
"So am I," he said, a feeling of excitement growing in his chest.
Glory, riches, personal recognition, and the chance to finally step out of his family's shadow and make a name for himself?
He was going to win this bitch.
But that was apparently not all — as Abe's uncle made immediately clear when, all at once, the Great Hall went strangely quiet, like someone had plunged the entire room underwater.
"As I was saying," he continued, his voice cutting cleanly through the muffled stillness, "eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year."
"Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" — he raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, the twins looking thunderous — "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be extremely difficult and dangerous, no matter what precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh years will be able to cope with them."
"I will personally ensure that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen, for that will be most embarrassing and painful for any who try."
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. And I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us," he said, looking over his half-moon glasses with a stern look. "And will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected."
He clapped his hands once. "And now, it is late, and I know how important it is that you all be alert and rested for your lessons tomorrow. Bedtime! Chop chop!"
The hall erupted into motion as students streamed toward their dormitories.
Not Abe, though, as he and the twins caught up with Cedric as they were leaving through the door.
"Can you believe it?" Abe asked him as he dodged a group of Ravenclaws heading for the staircase.
"Yeah, it's wild! All those hints Dad was dropping this summer — this was what he meant!" Cedric said, grinning with the same excitement humming beneath Abe's own skin.
"Yeah, fantastic," George muttered darkly. "Except apparently we're not even allowed to enter our names."
"Bugger that," Fred said fiercely. "We'll put our names in anyway. Show him we're good enough."
Abe quietly looked at Cedric, who replied to his look with raised eyebrows. Abe shrugged his shoulders before ending their silent communication by clearing his throat.
"Anyway, Fred and George were mentioning how you spent your whole summer training. Something about trying to beat me?" Abe threw him the gauntlet.
At that, Cedric smirked — the infuriating, confident kind of smirk that made Abe want to duel him on the spot. "Oh no," he said. "There won't be any trying this year."
Abe barked a laugh. "Those are fighting words, mate. Sure you can back them up?"
He casually shrugged. "Why not now? Duelling Club room?"
"You're on."
They headed off together, the twins trailing after them — already whispering furiously, no doubt hatching the first draft of what would become a catastrophically complicated plan to get themselves into the tournament.
If nothing else, it was going to be an interesting year.
The two of them climbed onto the raised platform in the Duelling Club room while the twins darted about, lighting candles and filling the space with an uneven golden glow.
Flicking his wrist, Abe's wand dropped neatly into his hand from its holster in his sleeve. Angling it before his face, he bowed. Cedric mirrored him. Then both of them turned their backs and walked ten paces.
Abe spun —
— and immediately caught his foot on a bloody crack in the platform. He stumbled, windmilled, and promptly ate the floor.
Cedric didn't hesitate. "Stupefy!"
The jet of red light tore toward him, but Abe rolled away just in time, Cedric shouting something triumphant that was probably very rude. He scrambled to his feet —
— only to see a second spell, cast silently, coming straight at him.
Protego! Abe thought sharply.
A translucent circular shield burst to life around him, humming from head to toe. Cedric's spell pinged off it with a sharp clink before dissipating into formless magic.
With his footing steady again, the two of them paused — wands raised, breaths measured — each waiting for the other to break the stalemate.
Abe's wand twitched the moment Cedric drew in a breath.
A silent Expelliarmus shot from his wand in a thick red beam. Cedric's eyes widened dramatically as he tried to throw up a shield, but, unfortunately for him, Abe's spell was faster.
The Disarming Spell smashed through Cedric's half-formed Protego and sent his wand spinning clean out of his hand, skittering across the platform.
Cedric stared, disbelieving, at his wand clattering against the far wall. Then he looked back at the older boy.
Abe grinned.
Now this was going to be fun.
"Immobillus," he cast his first verbal spell since the match began.
Cedric, without his wand, could only try to dodge the attack — but he was a step too slow. The spell clipped him in the leg, and for half a heartbeat, he tried to fight it, muscles straining against the magic, before freezing mid-motion, suspended awkwardly in a very undignified half-somersault.
Abe exhaled, letting the tension bleed from his shoulders, twirling his alder wand in a loose, easy loop between his fingers. It still thrummed faintly with his magic, warmth pulsing through the wood, and he could almost feel a smug little echo coming from it in return.
"Well, Cedric," he said, doing his best not to grin, and failing miserably. "Seems like all the wand-polishing was for nought. Maybe next year, when I'm not here to embarrass you, eh?"
His smile went fully smug as he flicked a silent Finite Incantatem, releasing his friend from the paralysis. Cedric dropped the last few inches and hit the wooden platform with a solid thud.
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled as one of the twins returned his wand. "I almost got you at the start. Not my fault you've got stupid reflexes."
Abe clapped him on the shoulder. "Excuses already? Not even midnight and you're in midseason form."
Chuckling and trading jabs, the four of them finally headed back to their respective dorms. The thrill of the duel had washed away the nerves from the Triwizard announcement, leaving Abe pleasantly exhausted. He changed into his pyjamas, dropped into bed, and drifted off almost instantly, going to sleep with the thought of glory and riches in his mind.