chapter 33

The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter where Harry went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.

Harry noticed too that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.

Other members of the staff seemed oddly tense too.

"Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!" Professor McGonagall barked at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus.

When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffiindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down beside Fred and George at the Gryffindor table. Ron led the way over to them. They'd only just sat down when Harry began speaking, "Soon we'll find out if I'm as cursed as we think!"

"Only a day left," Ron agreed. Fred and George also nodded along with a "Hear, hear".

Hermione looked confusedly between them, "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing!" all four say at the same time. They began eating before she could drag the truth out of them.

"You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?" Harry asked. "Lee thought any more about trying to enter?"

"He asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling," said George in amusement. "She just told him to shut up and get on with transfiguring his raccoon."

"Wonder what the tasks are going to be?" said Ron thoughtfully. "You know, I bet we could do them, Harry." Ron joked. "We have three years of experience," he said with a wink and a laugh.

"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," Fred shot back with a laugh. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks."

"Who are the judges?" Harry asked.

"Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," said Hermione, and everyone looked around at her, rather surprised, they'd kind of forgotten she was there. "Because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage."

She noticed them all looking at her and said, with her usual air of impatience that nobody else had read all the books she had, "It's all in Hogwarts, A History. Though, of course, that book's not entirely reliable. A Revised History of Hogwarts would be a more accurate title. Or A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School."

"What are you on about?" said Ron, though Harry thought he knew what was coming.

"House-elves!" said Hermione, her eyes flashing. "Not once, in over a thousand pages, does Hogwarts, A History mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!"

Harry shook his head and applied himself to his scrambled eggs. His and Ron's lack of enthusiasm had done nothing whatsoever to curb Hermione's determination to pursue justice for house-elves. True, both of them had "joined" her spew-buisness, but they had only done it to keep her quiet. It had been a waste, however; if anything, the contracts they'd signed seemed to have made Hermione more vociferous. She had been badgering Harry and Ron ever since, first to wear the badges (that they had vanished), then to persuade others to do the same, and she had also taken to rattling around the Gryffindor common room every evening, cornering people and shaking the collecting tin under their noses.

"You do realize that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned, and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslaved?" she kept saying fiercely.

Some people, like Neville, had paid up just to stop Hermione from glowering at them. A few seemed mildly interested until Hermione began raving about the elves being enslaved and that they should be free. Many regarded the whole thing as a joke.

Ron now rolled his eyes at the ceiling, which was flooding them all in autumn sunlight, and Fred became extremely interested in his bacon (both twins had refused to buy a S.P.E.W. badge). George, however, leaned in toward Hermione.

"Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?"

"No, of course not," said Hermione curtly, "I hardly think students are supposed to -"

"Well, we have," said George, indicating Fred, "loads of times, -"

"To nick food," Fred added.

"-And we've met them, and they're happy. They think they've got the best job in the world -"

"That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!" Hermione began hotly, but her next few words were drowned out by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead, which announced the arrival of the post owls.

Hermione was furious with them after that, and once again left them for the library. Harry had began wondering how he had even managed to be friends with here for the last three years. Not only because she was insufferable, but because she was never around! This thing between her and the library wasn't a new thing, she had always ditched them for the library, or a book. Harry was beginning to think that the only reason he had managed up until now was because of the potions and compulsions. That might actually be it… it wasn't like she had any other friends.

So, while Hermione dug her nose in some book, and the rest of the school was dying in anticipation for that coming evening. No one Harry saw in the common room could concentrate on the homework they were working on. Harry, himself, only managed to translate a few sentences of his Ancient Runes work before giving up.

After lunch, Harry, Ron, Fred, and George quickly walked down to Severus' office. Draco was already in the room, meditating. His eyes opened as the door shut behind Fred.

"Still have to work on outside awareness," Harry heard Severus mumble. The first few times they'd actually managed to "turn their senses inwards", as Severus called it, none of them had been aware of their surroundings at all and had easily been "sneaked up" on.

Harry was a little miffed at how difficult he found this. Aren't I supposed to be a natural Occlumens? When he had voiced that question, they had actually seen Severus snort. "Natural doesn't mean you don't have to put in any work," Severus had said, "It only means it comes more naturally and 'easier'." Harry had pouted for the rest of that Sunday. Now after meditating for an hour before bed every day – that was their "homework" – it came easier, as Severus had said.

A few Sundays ago, Severus had deemed the walls, shield, and faux layers adequate and had taught them to the next step – the method of loci. They were supposed to order their memories. Severus had warned against a chronological order, simply because it would be easy for any Legilimens to follow the "thread" between memories – if they got past the shields.

"In this technique the subject memorizes the layout of some building, or the arrangement of shops on a street, or any geographical entity which is composed of a number of discrete loci. 'Loci' means places." He interrupted the text. "When desiring to remember something the subject 'walks' through these loci in their mind and commits an item to each one by forming a link between the memory and that item," Severus had read out of a book fashionably named 'The Magic of Minds'. When all five of his students had looked back at him, all with good impressions of question marks, he had sighed, "Would an example be easier?"

Every one of them had nodded, and Severus had sighed again. "Say someone used Hogwarts as their 'mind palace'. All memories would be placed somewhere in the castle. They could put all memories corresponding to potions – anything from ingredients to the potions they know – in the potions classrooms. Any charm spell in the charms classrooms and so on. The memories can be any item in those rooms, like books, furniture, or even the brick making the walls." Severus explained. "Then, when recalling these memories, they would 'walk' the corridors to the right room and find the right item. Do you understand, now?" he had asked at the end.

Harry, after much thought, decided that the public library he frequented (read: escaped to) as a child would be the base for his "mind palace". The books were the memories, and each bookshelf had its own "topic". The front desk was the entrance for both himself and any Legilimens that made it that far. Three long rows were of his time before he turned 11, each school subject had a good few meters of the multiple rows they occupied, and he had multiple rows of memories of all the different people in his life. Of course, his library had rooms that isn't in the "original"; one door lead to the chamber of secrets – only opened by a parsaltongue password – and hosted his bad memories that he'd rather forget, like anything to do with Vernon for example.

There was also a door that led to a special room. With Occlumency one could access memories that may have been forgotten, Harry had found memories of before that fateful Samhain in 1981. That special room was a replica of his nursery and housed all the memories he had of his parents – and anything else from his first year alive. The room was more guarded than his chamber of secrets, hidden behind walls, shields, and multiple passwords.

Severus had assessed their "mind castles" every Sunday since, and had given them pointers, like the stability of the illusion, or helped them with the finer details. He had also helped them set up shields and wards, even traps and passwords inside the illusion – so that if a Legilimens got in they would still have a horribly difficult time getting anything.

What took the longest was sorting through all their memories, and not fall into a panic attack. All of them had memories that they'd rather forget and sorting through – analyzing and, sometimes, reliving – them was not something pleasant. Harry still hadn't sorted through everything, and a good chunk of his memories were stables of books and other things stashed around everywhere in his "mind castle".

Draco finally had that panic attack about Moody transfiguring him into a ferret that first Sunday they worked on sorting their memories. Long overdue, if you ask Harry, but still none the less expected. Harry was kind of impressed and concerned that it'd taken so long.

Harry had had multiple. From falling off his broom because of the dementors the year before to times Vernon was especially vicious with his hits. Every single one made him feel weak, like he was still that child – toddler, really – that cowered in the cupboard under the stairs back at Privet Drive. Harry hated it.

When it was an hour before they were supposed to meet up in front of the castle Severus ended the lesson and gave them some tea to calm down. They talked about everything and nothing, found out how the search was going; no one had found anything yet. Harry had searched half a night just two days ago. It had been slow going, with all the spells needed cast and avoiding Filtch and Mrs. Norris. He'd only found that there are so many rooms not in use, and probably not stepped into since Dumbledore was a student.

They'd had to wear the full uniform down to Severus' office, since they knew they wouldn't have time to get to Gryffindor tower to get them between. Their cloaks had been hung over their plush chairs' backs or thrown over the arm of the chair. They shrugged them on as they left the dungeons and made their way to the assembly in the entrance hall at 17.30 (A/N: 5.30pm for the Americans, do I have any of those?).

Sadly, they had to part with Severus and Draco, they still couldn't be seen getting along.

The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines. The twins had to stand back with the other 6th years, while Harry and Ron found the 4th years closer to the front.

"Weasley, straighten your hat," Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."

Parvati scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.

"Follow me, please," said Professor McGonagall. "First years in front... no pushing...!"

They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Harry, standing with Ron on his right in the fourth row from the front, saw Dennis Creevey positively shivering with anticipation among the other first years.

"Nearly six," said Ron, checking his watch and then staring down the drive that led to the front gates. "How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?"

"I doubt it," said Hermione, who had just found that standing on Harry's left was just the right place for her.

"How, then? Broomsticks?" Harry suggested, looking up at the starry sky.

"I don't think so... not from that far away...."

"A Portkey?" Ron suggested. "Or they could Apparate - maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?"

"You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?" said Hermione impatiently.

"Don't think there's gonna be anyone under 17, anyway," Harry commented, "they can't participate because of the age restriction."

They scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent, and quite as usual. Harry was starting to feel cold, the school uniforms didn't have temperature-regulating charms. He wished they'd hurry up... Maybe the foreign students were preparing a dramatic entrance... He remembered what Mr. Weasley had said back at the campsite before the Quidditch World Cup: "always the same - we can't resist showing off when we get together...."