Can A Phoenix Love A Lion? (Hermione Granger x Male Reader)

36. The Triwizard Tournament

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled up Crookshanks in her cloak as they left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was coming down so thick and fast it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads.

At the far end of the platform a gigantic silhouette called for the first years.

"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," Hermione said fervently, shivering next to Y/N as they inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for them outside the station. Y/N, Hermione, Harry and Ron climbed gratefully into one of them, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.

Leaning against the window, Y/N could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. Y/N, Hermione, Harry and Ron jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps, looking up only when they were safely inside the entrance hall, with its magnificent moving marble staircase.

"Blimey," Ron said, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak—ARRGH!"

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Y/N looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above them, Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

"PEEVES!" an angry voice yelled. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Y/N's arm to stop herself from falling.

"Ouch—sorry, L/N."

"That's all right, Professor."

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" Professor McGonagall barked, straightening her pointed hat and glaring up through her spectacles.

"Not doing nothing!" Peeves crackled, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.

"I shall call the headmaster!" Professor McGonagall shouted. "I'm warning you, Peeves—"

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.

"Move along!" came Professor Flitwick's squeaking voice. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

Y/N, Hermione, Harry and Ron slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors in front of them, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. Y/N walked past the Slytherins, the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Ravenclaws as Hermione, Harry and Ron went on to the Gryffindors.

The Sorting of the new students into Houses was going to take place as usual. Behind his back, Y/N could hear Ron complaining at the Gryffindor table: "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I could eat a hippogriff."

Then came Hermione's voice, "Where's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

Y/N looked up and down at the staff table. Tiny little Professor Flitwick had taken his place on a large pile of cushions. Next to him, Professor Sprout talked with Professor Trelawney. Snape, with his sallow-face and greasy hair, sat next to Professor Trelawney. Then came Professor McGonagall, and, at the very centre of the table, Professor Dumbledore, his chin resting on his long, thin fingers, looking up at the ceiling as though thinking. There was definitely no new face here.