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SEVEN BABE WITH THE POWER

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       "VOODOO," SAYS HOLLY, waiting for the passage to emerge out of the castle bricks. Part of her is glad that she's only just gotten here, because if she was a first-year, descending those stairs into a dark passageway, she'd end up bursting into tears out of fright. It is a little frightening. But she's walked plenty dark hallways at night-time to ignore the possibility of looking in a mirror and seeing Bloody Mary.

       That, and she's cursed with Susannah. All thanks to a muggle trend — changing ashes into diamonds. Susannah's mother apparently wore the necklace every single day, until she didn't any more, and it became lost, and it was found, and it was sold in a nice jewellery shop near her grandparents' house, where her dad thought, that would be a nice birthday present.

       Thanks, Dad. 

       Sometimes she remembers the amount of terror in her bones, when she woke up and saw Susannah dissolve into her vision, floating next to the window. Holly almost screamed. Almost. Again. She's a tough cookie.

       She's got to be a tough cookie, if she wants to win this. She knows that she isn't as knowledgeable as the older champions, and from what her friends have said, Harry's been in enough life-threatening situations to compensate for his lack of knowledge. He knows what to do, or else he wouldn't be breathing today. Holly, however... She can duel?

       Her doubts are pushed out of her thoughts the instant that the passage into her common room opens up. Holly's greeted with an uproar of cheers; the little first and second years are letting out whoops, green and silver confetti dancing in the air. The old gramophone next to the bulletin board bellows into life.

       Pansy and Tracey rush forwards, both putting an arm around her. The applause and cheering continues as Holly's brought further into the common room, the passage disappearing behind her. Her friends all stand around her, as if the amount of people interested in her requires almost every fourth year student to guard her. She isn't porcelain. Anyway.

       Draco asks, "How did you do it, then?"

       And Holly reaches a crossroads.

       She could say that she doesn't know. She could tell them the truth and say that she has no idea, she's a little bit concerned, if she's being truthful. She could pour her heart and soul out and fuss over why she's in the tournament.

       Or, she could bend the truth. It isn't lying. Lying would be to make up how she did it, how she put her name in. But if she were to bend the truth — if she were to say something vague, but not disclose whether or not it was her that put her name in — then she isn't lying. She's just changing things a little. Cast some details in the shadows, and put the light on specific things. Nothing wrong with that. It looks better this way.

       Or — she thinks of a third option.

       "You know, I'd tell you, but," says Holly. Most of the people in the common room are listening. She looks around for a minute, before grinning. "How about we focus on what's important? Slytherin's going to win!"

       That causes another uproar. Students are cheering, clapping their hands, using spells to create fireworks in the air. Green and silver, of course. Holly looks around at her friends, who are all wearing massive smiles, and Harlow extends his hand, to help her step up onto the coffee table next to a couple upholstered sofas. Her dad calls them Sherlock Holmes sofas.

      Everyone's listening again. "I mean, I know I got here a little late," says Holly, now that she's found her balancing, and tried her best to ignore that she's standing on a table, she's going to have a detention tomorrow evening if Snape walks in. "But it doesn't take a genius to notice that the other houses — to put it bluntly — think we're evil."

       Someone shouts, "We're fucking not!"

       Susannah, who's dissolved into Holly's vision, crosses her arms. She rolls her eyes. "They're creative, aren't they?" she says. Holly would look at Susannah and give her a look, give them a chance, but her heart's beating too quickly too pay full attention. The amount of people smiling and clapping makes her feel on top of the world.

       "But you know what? If they think that we're cunning, that we're ambitious — then they're right! And there's nothing wrong with it! Yeah, we're resourceful — and I'm sure as hell going to need that to win! Because if I win, Slytherin does—"

       "Which we deserve!" shouts Pansy, her hands clasped together. 

       More applause. Holly continues to grin, glancing around at the amount of students looking up at her. She hears someone shout something around the lines of Potter stinks, to which she tries not to frown. Now, what she's not going to do is bash other champions.

       Holly's helped down off the table by Harlow, who she holds onto to jump down. She's congratulated by all of her friends, and Daphne spends a good five minutes hugging Holly as she speaks to others. As she speaks to the first years, who know as much about the school as Holly does. As she speaks to the seventh years, who know far more about the school than she does, but are willing to share their knowledge. To help. They all win if she wins. And she will.

       A while passes, and Holly pulls her friends to the side. She knows that she needs to set up a game plan as quickly as possible. Her dad's a sports fanatic, and from the jargon she's heard him say over the years, the brief summary of how to win is this — know what you're doing. Holly knows that this works. That's how she got out of Durmstrang, with a little plan she knew off by heart... She still remembers it, actually.

       Holly thinks she can hear Magic Dance by David Bowie play on the common room's gramophone. That must have taken a lot of lying, considering half of their house despises muggles. Hm. Her thoughts, for a minute, dissolve into the lyrics — "You remind me of the babe — What babe? — The babe with the power — What power? — The power of voodoo — Who do? — You do! — Do what? — Remind me of the babe!"

       She gets back to her senses. This is her dad's fault. Her life's been sewn together with the Beatles and David Bowie music ever since she was born. (She doesn't think it's a bad thing, though.)

       "I need to speak to you all," she shouts, trying to be heard over the music and the chatter. Her friends seem to hear her, thankfully. Harlow's busy talking to Blaise (adorable, Holly thinks) and it's only the girls, which means they don't have to worry about the charm that keeps boys out of girls' rooms. "Do you think we can sneak out—?"

       "It'll be practice!" says Millicent, smiling brightly. The other two girls nod in agreement, looking just as ecstatic as everyone surrounding them. Holly feels excited about the tournament, about throwing herself into action, but also, she can't help but feel excited about the other thing. All of these students look over the moon — because of her.

       So, the four girls make their way out of the common room, and towards their dorm room, slipping through the crowd and darting out into the hallway. Tracey walks ahead to open the door, and they all step in, before anyone notices that the champion's missing from the celebration.

       "I will win, just to make things clear," says Holly. Her friends grin at her. Surprisingly, Pansy looks so excited, she might start jumping up and down. Like an excited dog, when they can see their dinner or their favourite toy. "But I need some help?"

       Millicent nods. "How, though?"

       "Well," says Holly. "My dad's obsessed with sports, and he's always said that an agile body leads to an agile mind — and an agile mind always wins. I used to do duelling and swimming at Durmstrang, maybe I could practice duelling with you guys? And then there's swimming, which I can do on my own — maybe someone should be there, in case I can't avoid the squid quick enough, but, then again, avoiding the giant squid could be good at testing the agile mind thing."

       Tracey leans against the wall. "My mum works at the Prophet," she explains. "And whenever there's been work dos and stuff, the sports editor always says how the teams that win normally have the most media coverage before the matches — 'course, they mean Quidditch, but it still stands, right?"

       Daphne nods, sitting down on the closest bed to the door. "So we make sure that they're talking about you, in all of the newspapers and magazines—"

       "Rita Skeeter believes anything you tell her, so we've got the Prophet down," says Pansy. Holly sees Millicent nod in agreement, and if anything, Holly's pleased that her friends don't believe the nonsense that the Prophet vomits out. "And the others will follow suit, if they think that you're the champion to be interviewing."

       Holly nods, beginning to pace up and down their dorm room. "Rita Skeeter's bound to appear sooner or later, the Prophet will want the news first about all of the champions," she says. "I can start from there. And if the other papers and magazines don't ask for interviews and stuff, then we can just offer them, right? Say something about, well, surely, you want to have  something in your publishing about the tournament? We can do it — we will do it—"

       "And you're Slytherin, Rita Skeeter's always had a bias for us," says Pansy. She walks up to Holly, holding onto her hands, nodding as she speaks. "So she'll obviously write a glowing article about you, and of course the other magazines and papers will want to speak to you, if your piece is the best!"

       Holly nods. "But in the meantime," she says. "I need to be at the same level as the older three. They've learnt more at school, I need to catch up — or, at least, know what to do in certain situations, they won't tell us what the first task is, so I need to be ready and prepared for anything under the sun."

       "We can get the older Slytherins to go through the more advanced charms, and Defence lessons, with you," says Daphne.

       Millicent nods. "Obviously, they want to help. If you win, we all do."

       Holly holds onto her necklace, waiting until she sees Susannah appear, floating above one of the beds, before she continues. "I also need to figure out what each judge is going to be looking out for," she says. She glances up at Susannah, who sends her a thumbs-up, getting the message loud and clear. A smile on her face, Holly turns back to her friends. "But I can sort that."

       "We've got this," affirms Tracey, nodding.

       "Yeah," says Holly. "We've got this."

—✧—✧—✧—✧—

       HOLLY LIKES TO think she's a little metamorphic.

       As the daughter of a man who knows how to get his seat in the room where it happens, she had the feeling that it was something to do with being around him her entire childhood. And, even if it wasn't because of his professions' need for charisma, she thought he must have something to do with it.

        Even by fourteen, Holly's recognised that certain situations, certain people, call for different qualities of someone's personality. Sometimes you have to speak to someone who washes their food down with complaints about everything under the sun, and often the easy option is to nod and agree, even if you rather liked the way that the restaurant prepared their vegetables. Holly and her dad both had that quality, knowing how to assess a situation and figure out the best way to fit in.

       But thank the heavens that Holly's learnt this over the years — even as a little girl, pretending to like numeracy over literacy around certain teachers, and vice versa, at her primary school — because now, she's counting on it. Holliday Lippincott isn't just your average girl, the one who spends too much money on moisturisers and mascara. Holliday Lippincott is the Slytherin champion. Holliday Lippincott is going to win the Triwizard Tournament.

       So she needs to act the part. She'll excel in every lesson. She'll be the manifestation of agile body, agile mind. She'll play up her Slytherin traits, and the mystery surrounding her — you'll attract reporters, Tracey told her earlier. Which is good. Get the newspapers, get the support. Holly can do this... She's got this.

       "Right, so," says Holly, as they walk into the Potions classroom. "I'm thinking of getting some practice in tonight, before dinner — it's raining outside, so maybe we can start on duelling, or something? I sent the letter to my dad this morning, so we can go straight from Potions and sort something..."

       "I don't mind helping you out," says Harlow, who's spent most of the day carting Holly away from crowds of students asking how she became a champion. Holly smiles at him. Her friends are cool. "If anything, it would do us all some good, if we manage to learn some of this stuff, too..."

       "Could you imagine?" says Pansy, grinning. The girls move to sit at one of tables, whilst Harlow re-joins the other boys. "Because our Holly's the champion, we all start to get better grades."

       "I'd call it a miracle," says Daphne, sitting down. "Nothing will save me from my fate — royally failing Potions."

       Holly begins to laugh, like the rest of her friends do, but she glances over at the badge on Pansy's robe, and the joke about failing Potions doesn't seem as funny anymore. A lot of the Hogwarts students have been dishing these badges out — ones in favour of her, and ones in favour of Cedric. But, the badges all have one thing in common. They swirl and twist and the text saying SUPPORT THE [either HUFFLEPUFF or SLYTHERIN] CHAMPION, [either CEDRIC DIGGORY or HOLLY LIPPINCOTT] to a catchy, clever slogan. POTTER STINKS. Holly sighs. She doesn't know him, but she thinks it's unfair. And also stupid, and silly. But, anyway.

       "Antidotes!" says Snape, now that the class has settled in their seats. Like always, Draco and Harry had gotten into an argument, so Granger (what's her first name?) and Goyle (does he have a first name?) were absent from the lesson. This time, their arguing resulted in the world's worst duel, and now the two were at the hospital wing, sorting out their injuries. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one..."

       Indiscreetly, Snape looks towards Harry. Holly frowns. Surely someone can see an issue in a teacher poisoning students. Considering Holly used to be at Durmstrang, where that was just your average detention, no biggie, and she sees a problem in this, surely someone else does? What?

       Someone knocks at the door. A little boy with a red-and-gold tie walks into the classroom, moving his way towards the front of the classroom. Snape frowns. "Yes?"

       "Please, sir," says the little boy. "I'm supposed to take Harry Potter and Holly Lippincott upstairs."

        "Potter has another hour of Potions to complete," says Snape. Holly feels her heart sink. Let this be over early. She doesn't mind Potions, but she cannot stand how muggy the classroom is. "He will come upstairs when this class is finished. Lippincott, take your things with you."

       Holly frowns, but chooses to get on with it, because what is she going to do? From the sounds of things, Snape's had a bias towards the Slytherins since the dawn of time. So, she packs her things away, but she continues to stand next to her desk, in case he gives in and lets Harry go.

       "Sir — sir, Mr Bagman wants them," says the little boy. You can tell he's Gryffindor, jeez, who's got the guts to talk back to Snape? "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs..."

       Photographs? Oh, no. Holly's still recovering from the catastrophe that was her Year 6 school picture. Thank God that was her last year of primary school, because she'd rather swim with the giant squid than see someone who's seen that picture, pink hair wrap and all.

       "Very well, very well," says Snape. He looks pissed off. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."

       "Please, sir — he's got to take his things with him — all the champions—"

       "Very well!" says Snape. Holly inches towards the classroom door. She passes her friends on the other table, and Harlow sends her a thumbs-up. Draco raises the badge on his robe, for her to see it. She smiles back at them. "Potter — take your bag and get out of my sight!"

       Holly's slipped out of the classroom already, by the time that the other two walk into the hallway. She waits for them to appear before she starts walking. "It's amazing, isn't it, Harry?" says the little boy. Rude. "Isn't it, though? You being champion?"

       "Yeah, really amazing," says Harry. Holly's walking ahead of them, so she lets herself smile at his sarcasm. "What do they want photos for, Colin?"

       Ah. So the small boy is Colin.

       "The Daily Prophet, I think!"

       "Great," says Harry. Holly glances over her shoulder, and sees that Colin's stopped walking, so she does the same. She holds onto her necklace, running the diamond along the chain. A comforting shadow appears. "Exactly what I need. More publicity."

       "Good luck!" says Colin. He gestures towards the classroom door next to them, and Holly moves forwards to knock on the door, waiting a polite five seconds before letting herself in. She keeps the door open for Harry, and she steps further into the classroom, where the desks had been cleared to make a massive space in the middle.

       Holly glances at Harry, who looks like a fish out of water. She's about to walk over to Viktor, to speak to someone that actually likes her, but Bagman strides forwards. "Ah, here they are! Champions four and five! In you come, Harry, Holly, in you come... Nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment—"

       "Wand weighing?" says Harry.

       There's a woman in the room, dressed in the brightly-coloured robes. Both Holly and Susannah pick up on the Quick-Quotes Quill — the one Tracey was talking about earlier — and the camera next to her. So she must be Rita Skeeter.

       "We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the task ahead," says Bagman. Susannah's trying to use her ghostly powers to make Rita Skeeter to think of Holly — by this, Holly means that Susannah's shouting Holly Lippincott into Rita Skeeter's ear, in hopes that she hears, and thinks it's her own thoughts, not some random ghost. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter, she's doing a small piece on the tournament for the  Daily Prophet..."

       "Maybe not that small, Ludo," says Rita Skeeter. "I wonder if I could have a little word with Holly and Harry before we start? The youngest champions, you know... to add a bit of colour?"

       "Certainly!" says Bagman. "That is — if they have no objection?"

       Harry begins, "Er—" as Holly smiles and walks towards Rita Skeeter, introducing herself as Rita Skeeter guides her towards a door in the room. Holly believes it's a broom closet. Charming.

       Holly escapes the room after a few minutes, leaving the room after sending Rita Skeeter one final polite smile. As she walks out of the broom closet, she looks at Harry, and gives him an odd look. She's trying to warn him, that it's terrible, but he doesn't realise. She tried to help.

       She speaks to Viktor whilst they wait for Dumbledore to arrive, moving over to the chairs set out in the middle of the room. Apparently Karkaroff was being particularly nasty this morning, because of her, an escaped student, being a champion for another school. Oops. Viktor's halfway through explaining what's been going on at Durmstrang in her absence, talking in a hushed tone, when Dumbledore arrives in the room.

       Dumbledore looks around. "Where's—?"

       "He's in the broom closet," says Holly.

       The next thing Holly knows, is that Rita Skeeter exclaims, "Dumbledore! How are you? I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"

       "Enchantingly nasty," says Dumbledore. Holly and Viktor exchange a look, now that Karkaroff has appeared in the room. It takes a couple minutes before Holly realises she was starting to sit closer to Viktor, at the sight of her old headmaster. And she's meant to be a champion. "I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita, but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard."

       Well. He's not wrong.

       Harry darts out of the closet, moving as fast as his legs can manage. For a minute, Holly tries to get his attention, to give him a sympathetic smile, to be polite, but he's too busy trying to sit down with the rest of them. He takes a seat next to her, but they don't talk at all. Instead, Holly turns to Viktor, who smiles softly.

       "May I introduce Mr Ollivander?" says Dumbledore. He motions towards an ancient-looking wizard standing next to a window, with white wispy hair, the kind old-old people have. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

       "Miss Lippincott, could we have you first, please?" says Mr Ollivander, as he moves closer towards them. No, not move. More like glide. He's a graceful old man, Holly thinks.

       Holly stands up, stepping forwards and handing him her wand. He takes it in his hands, tracing the holly leaves engraved into the handle. "Hmm... Ebony and dragon heartstring... Inflexible... Ten inches..." says Mr Ollivander. He grips onto the wand and exclaims a spell, flower petals spouting out of the wand. Holly keeps on eyeing her wand. She's a little protective. "This is in good condition."

       He hands Holly her wand back. She smiles at him, and sits back down, between Viktor and Harry. As she looks up, she sees Susannah performing a teddy-bear roll, pausing halfway through to shout down at Holly, "You killed it!"

—✧—✧—✧—✧—

       "I FIGURED SOMEONE should check she hasn't kidnapped you," says Holly, moving away from the wall in the hallway, as Harry — the last champion out of the classroom — leaves the room. Harry looks a little confused, and Holly shrugs. He's not making it easy, is he? She's trying to be polite. He is not. "She took forever getting enough pictures of me, and you're probably a little more interesting to her, considering you're this chosen one—"

       "I'm not the chosen one," says Harry.

       "Right," says Holly. She raises an eyebrow. "Anyway. I thought it would be best, to make sure she didn't shove you into that crocodile handbag she's got."

       "Thanks," he says.

       Holly wants to grumble. He isn't making this easy, is he? She's trying to be polite. She's really trying to be friendly, to have some sort of... Well, not friendship, but more like, an acquaintance-ship. Is that a thing? Holly thinks it should be. She hopes they can be acquaintances. Especially since they both shouldn't be in this tournament, in the first place.

       OK. Holly goes through the list in her mind, on how to keep conversations moving. Her first thought is to ask a question. "So," says Holly. "Why were you sitting on your own, in Potions?"

       Harry's head spins to look at her. Holly shrugs.

       "It doesn't matter," says Harry. He glances at her, and she thinks he notices the look on her face, completely unconvinced, because he looks slightly annoyed. Oops? "You'll just tell your friends, won't you?"

      "Not necessarily," says Holly.

       She hasn't told them about Susannah. Or her dad being a muggle. Or her mother's letter, the one titled Holliday dearest. She's barely mentioned Durmstrang to them. Why would she let them know that, oh, I spoke to the guy you all hate. He said this.

       "Right," says Harry.

       This is ridiculous. Is this because she's a Slytherin? Part of it has to do with her friends, he mentioned them. All Holly's trying to do is be nice. Is she coming off the wrong way? She's smiled at him, she's waited for him outside of the classroom. What else is there? Let him win the tournament? Yeah, right.

       "I was trying to be polite," says Holly. She frowns at him, picking up her pace once she spots the Great Hall. "I thought it would be a good thing, to at least be friendly with the other champions, and especially with you, considering we both shouldn't really be in this tournament. But whatever. Gryffindors have to do everything on their own, right?"

       With that, Holly walks off, sitting next to Harlow. She lets out a sigh. "You guys were right," she says. "Gryffindors are tools."

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