In the afternoon, Neville Longbottom passed by the compartment. When he spotted Harry and Ron, he excitedly slid the door open and stepped inside.
"You guys went to the World Cup, didn't you?" Neville asked eagerly, eyes shining as he looked at Harry and Ron.
"Sure did," Ron grinned. "Check this out, Neville..." He held out his souvenir model for Neville to admire.
"Gran didn't want to go," Neville said forlornly. "Wouldn't buy the tickets. Oh, that looks amazing! Can you tell me all about the Cup?"
"Of course..." Harry and Ron chimed in together and launched into a full recap, starting from the tent campground all the way to the pre-match buzz.
"Oh, we saw him up close, Krum!" Ron said excitedly. "We had seats in the top-tier box, "
"Once-in-a-lifetime chance for you, Weasley."
Draco Malfoy appeared at the door, with Crabbe and Goyle looming behind him. Both of them seemed to have grown at least a foot over the summer.
Apparently, they'd been eavesdropping outside the compartment door, Neville hadn't shut it properly.
"We didn't invite you in, Malfoy," Harry said coldly.
"What's that, Weasley?" Malfoy pointed at the cage holding Pigwidgeon, atop which sat a shabby, maroon dress robe. The ruffled collar looked moldy, and the cuffs were edged with equally ridiculous lace.
Ron tried to hide the robe, but Malfoy was faster, so he grabbed the sleeve and yanked it up.
"Take a look at this!" Malfoy laughed gleefully, holding the robe up for Crabbe and Goyle. "Weasley, planning to wear this? I mean, this was fashionable... back in the 1790s."
"Shove off, Malfoy!" Ron snapped. His face had turned the same shade as the robe. He snatched it back from Malfoy.
Malfoy laughed shrilly. Crabbe and Goyle joined in with their usual dull chuckles.
"What's the matter, Weasley? Are you thinking of entering? Trying to win some glory for the family?" he sneered. "There's prize money, you know... maybe enough for a decent robe for once."
"What are you talking about?" Ron asked angrily.
"You want to enter, don't you?" Malfoy repeated. "I bet you do too, Potter. Never miss a chance to show off, right?"
"Either explain what you mean or shut up and leave, Malfoy," Hermione said sharply, lifting her eyes from Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.
A smug smile flickered across Malfoy's pale face.
"You mean you don't know?" he said gleefully. "Your dad and brother both work at the Ministry, and you still don't know? Wow. My father told me ages ago... he heard it from Cornelius Fudge. Of course, Dad's always dealing with high-level Ministry people, probably too high up for your father, Weasley. Guess they don't trust him with the important stuff..."
"Draco," came a calm voice, "you might want to lower your volume. And perhaps stop bragging that your father leaked a confidential and unsigned Ministry event to you, especially something he heard directly from the Minister of Magic. I'm sure the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be very interested in that little breach."
It was Anne who spoke, her eyes never leaving the book she was reading.
"Reeve?" Malfoy seemed startled as he noticed Anne sitting quietly in the corner of the compartment. He hesitated, either from surprise or recalling his many humiliating losses against her in the past.
"Hmph. Reeve, you can go on keeping company with this lot of misfits," he muttered before motioning to Crabbe and Goyle. The three of them disappeared down the corridor.
Ron jumped up angrily. "Misfits? What's that supposed to mean? His dad's rubbing elbows with Ministry bigwigs? Ha! My dad could get promoted anytime he wanted... he just likes where he is."
He slammed the compartment door shut, hard enough that the glass pane shattered.
Anne glanced at the broken shards on the floor, then returned her attention to her book.
"Ron!" Hermione scolded. She looked at Anne, pulled out her wand, and muttered, "Reparo!" The shattered pieces reassembled into a perfect pane and set themselves neatly back into the frame.
"Anne, your aunt or uncle must've told you what's going on at Hogwarts this year?" Ron asked as he plopped back into his seat.
Anne flipped a page and replied offhandedly, "Nope, they didn't. Uncle Aaron was going to, but Aunt Diana said it wasn't finalized. Then they got caught up with the World Cup, and I never asked again."
Ron looked a little more cheerful upon hearing Anne hadn't been told either, but then frowned again.
"Why not? Aren't you curious?"
Because I already know what the event is, no point bothering two people who are always swamped with work.
"Not really," Anne replied.
Ron, Neville, and Harry exchanged glances and fell silent. Soon the compartment was filled once again with Quidditch chatter from the boys, while Hermione and Anne returned to their books.
Only, Hermione didn't seem quite as absorbed in reading anymore. Every so often, she stole glances at Anne.
After a long afternoon on the train, the Hogwarts Express finally pulled into the station. The doors opened to pouring rain and rolling thunder.
Students from other compartments dashed into the downpour with cloaks or robes pulled over their heads, making for the carriages parked outside the station.
"Horrible weather…" Anne muttered. She pulled an umbrella from her bag, then paused to look back. As expected, the Gryffindor trio hadn't brought umbrellas.
Kids these days are so careless. Aren't they worried about catching colds? Then again, at their age, getting soaked probably seems cool. Anne remembered how many Quidditch matches were played in full-on storms.
She pulled out a second umbrella and handed it to Harry. "Only one extra, share it with Ron." She tilted the other umbrella over the compartment door and turned to Hermione. "Come on, we'll share."
Hermione nodded silently and stepped under Anne's umbrella. The sky was too dark for anyone to notice how red her ears had turned.
At the front of the platform stood a towering figure, calling out to the first years.
"First years! Over here! We're crossing the lake, just like tradition…"
When he saw Harry and the others, he waved enthusiastically.
"Hiya, Harry! See you at the feast, if we don't drown first!"
Anne gave the shivering little first years a sympathetic look.
"Wow… ferrying across the lake in this weather. What an experience…"
Climbing into a Thestral-drawn carriage, Anne sighed with relief. The rain was so heavy that even with an umbrella, they still got soaked by windblown spray.
The long procession of carriages trundled up the path to the castle, splashing water all along the way.
By the time Anne reached the castle doors, many students were already crowding the entrance hall, dripping wet and shaking water from their hair.
Apparently, someone thought they weren't wet enough, Peeves the Poltergeist floated above the crowd with a bunch of large, red balloons filled with water, which he gleefully tossed down at random.
Professor McGonagall's angry voice echoed from the Great Hall.
"Peeves! Come down this instant!"
She slipped slightly on the slick floor, which only made Peeves howl with more laughter.
"I didn't do anything!" Peeves cackled, lobbing a balloon at a group of fifth-year girls. They screamed and fled into the Great Hall.
"They're already wet, anyway! Oi, kiddies! Catch!"
He threw another water balloon, this time at a group of second years just stepping in. It burst near Anne's feet, narrowly missing her. She glared at him.
Peeves froze mid-throw, clutching two more balloons. Then McGonagall shouted, "I'm fetching the Headmaster! Peeves, this is your final warning!"
With a whoosh, Peeves vanished up the marble staircase, balloons still in hand.
"All of you, inside!" McGonagall barked. "Into the Great Hall! Quickly!"
As the crowd flowed in, Hermione leaned close to Anne and whispered, "Anne... was it just me, or did Peeves look like he was afraid of you?"
"Huh? Me?" Anne replied casually. "Don't be silly. Peeves is scared of Professor Dumbledore, that's all. Anyway, I need to head to the Slytherin table."
Hermione stared at Anne's back for a while before heading to Gryffindor's table.
The Great Hall was as grand as ever, decorated with extra flair for the welcome feast. Hundreds of floating candles illuminated the shining golden plates and goblets. The four house tables were packed with students, buzzing with chatter. At the far end of the hall was the staff table, where the teachers sat, facing the students.
"Anne!" Fanny waved from the Slytherin table. "Over here!"
"Hey, Fanny. Good evening." Anne sat down beside her.
"You didn't get wet?" Fanny asked, glancing around. "Everyone else is soaked. I thought you'd be too. And, " she lowered her voice, "Malfoy and his goons got hit by Peeves's water bombs... I heard them complaining just now..."
Anne looked over at the trio. They were furiously ranting about Peeves and appealing to the Bloody Baron for disciplinary action.
"I brought an umbrella," Anne said. "Then McGonagall chased Peeves off, so I got lucky. Hey, how come you didn't go to the World Cup? I sent you a letter over the summer, but you never replied."
"Ugh..." Fanny grimaced. "Don't even mention it. My parents dragged me to a bunch of formal gatherings. We had to represent our family at royal functions all over Europe, plus opening ceremonies in New Zealand and Australia... They were busier than ever during the World Cup. Never knew which continent I'd be on the next day."
"Well then, I guess you're forgiven for not writing back," Anne said.
At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall opened and everyone fell silent. Professor McGonagall led in the long line of first years. After the Sorting Hat finished its song, Anne sat up straighter and grabbed her fork and knife, eyes fixed on McGonagall's mouth, willing her to hurry up.
Once the last student had been sorted, McGonagall removed the stool and the Sorting Hat.
Anne now turned her gaze to Professor Dumbledore's face.
Dumbledore rose from his seat, arms spread wide in welcome, beaming at the students.
"I have only two words to say," his deep voice echoed through the hall. "Let's eat!"
Anne immediately straightened, stabbed a juicy cumin-spiced lamb cube, and popped it in her mouth, already reaching for the jug of fruit juice.
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A/N: Any guesses on who Anne will dance with at the Christmas Ball? 👀
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