Although Tonks knew it was about Harry, not her, when she read the letter she wished she hadn’t told Sirius what the tournament reminded her of.
Dora Tonks—
This isn’t the only news I’ve received, and none of it is good. Harry also wrote me a very concerning letter. I’m coming back straight away.
Tell Remus and Andromeda not to have kittens. I know what I’m doing. I’d write to them too, but the fewer people I contact, the better.
Sirius
P.S. I keep forgetting you’re Tonks now. Good for you; I always wondered why your mum named you Nymphadora.
“On a scale of saliva-flavoured Bertie Botts and an itch on the nose, how bad is this?” Tonks asked her flat-mate with a nervous laugh.
Remus sighed. “I never thought he’d really stay far for long. He didn’t escape Azkaban to bathe in the sun, Tonks, he escaped Azkaban to help Harry. And apparently … Harry needs it.”
Tonks didn’t want to say it, but she knew she had to say it. “Does this mean… someone’s trying to cause trouble again?”
Remus didn’t respond. Tonks wished he would.
Belle et Intelligente
Fleur had never got along with other girls after puberty.
As a young child, girls loved her, “because you look like a princess.” The problem was, once her looks were able to woo boys, she became a threat. It didn’t help that she refused to be modest, despite her mother’s best efforts. What was the point? She was more beautiful than most people. Of course, there were other things that came with it — people tended to assume you didn’t have brains, for instance. Fleur knew she was clever. She knew she was capable. So did Madame Maxime, whose secret only Fleur and her family knew.
She had thought she might make a friend at Hogwarts — an actual friend, not a giggling tag-along with a permanently purple nose from a botched magical modification spell — but things were so strange here, so different from Beauxbatons. Not to mention some of the pestering with silly questions, mostly centring around her apparent home city of Paris that was to her what London was to most of them.
Still, Fleur had the tournament. She was confident that she would be chosen, and sure enough, her name was called.
Fleur ignored the petty sobs of her Beauxbatons classmates and proudly made her way to the Headmasters. She would prove that she was a beautiful, awe-striking, clever young lady.
From Lille.
We Are Hufflepuffs
Megan could feel the heat in the common room as everyone waited for Cedric with folded arms. No one spoke a word until Cedric returned.
“Well?” Bronson, another seventh year, demanded. “Is Potter still entering?”
“Yes,” Cedric said.
“No!” A sixth year exclaimed. “That can’t be! He’s not old enough!”
“He has no choice now,” Justin pointed out.
Megan rolled her eyes. “And he knew it.”
“Well,” Cedric began, “he says he didn’t know anything about—”
“—Oh, come off of it!” Ernie interrupted. “He knows about everything!”
“We’ve been wrong about him before,” Susan said softly.
Megan wanted to agree with Susan, because she had a very good point. In fact, at the time Megan hadn’t been so sure that Harry had really attacked Justin. But Ernie was right; Harry and his friends did seem to know about everything. Every time there was a catastrophe, they were involved somehow. And they were so secretive; even people in their own House didn’t seem to really know them. Was it really so hard to believe that they’d jinxed the Goblet? Harry, at the very least?
Megan was also angry that Hufflepuff had lost their moment. Hufflepuffs were the underdogs; everybody knew that. Cedric was the best of them, and Megan’s chest had swelled with pride when his name had been called. Not just because she fantasized that a troll would abduct her and he would come to her rescue, but because she knew he would win. Hufflepuff House would be given respect. But what chance did they have now?
“He didn’t look like he wanted it,” Susan was saying.
Ernie snorted. “He just realized how much trouble he’d got himself into.”
Megan nodded in agreement, along with most of the common room.