corridor leading to Slytherin common room

Up from her seat faster than most of the other professors, Professor Greengrass strode quickly to the entrance of the Slytherin common room, where all of her pupils were being led by their head boy. As she descended into the dungeons, the air became muggy, more humid the deeper under the lake she went. At the end of a long corridor, she waited by deep green double doors with silver painted into the carving in the wood, and just as she had halted beside the portal to the common room, the boisterous noise of the crowd of Slytherin first years approaching echoed down the hall.

All of the little eleven-year-olds in their silver and green pushed and shoved to get into the common room first, while prefects ushered them forth into the large foyer. Professor Greengrass moderated the rest of the students dawdling along after the main rush of overexcited prepubescence, but just as the head boy himself was about to enter the common room and shut the large double doors, Greengrass motioned for him to stop, saying in a low, urgent voice, "Lovegood."

As he stepped back out from the room and shut the doors, leaving them alone in the corridor, she pulled him a little away from the entrance way to speak. "I trust you paid good attention to the Headmistress' welcome speech, although I can't say I blame you if you didn't. Is it too soon to ask if you've considered speaking to me about the tournament?

"You are very talented, Lovegood. You've got cunning and ambition. That's why you're a Slytherin. But you're sharp like your family." Her thin lips curled into a smile, and she reached up to pat his shoulder. "If you do it, this is me cheering you on."

Lorcan, taken unawares by Professor Greengrass' approach, looked at the hand on his shoulder and paused. He hadn't been expecting such prompt endorsement from his Head of House - or from anyone, really. But then, Professor Greengrass had always been given to the vocal recognition of potential.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, looking her in the eye. She wasn't a tall woman, but she had a presence that seemed to bring him down a few more notches than he was used to. "I have every intention of submitting my name for consideration. I can confidently name several other students with the very same intention."

He didn't say this with any insecurity, but in his customary, matter-of-fact tone of voice that conveyed neither concern nor confidence. His actual feelings - whatever they may have been, discussing a deadly tournament of which he wanted to be a part - were imperceptible.

"Do you have any advice?"

The professor looked for anything in her student's cold stare that might have told her what he thought of the tournament, what he was feeling about entering a competition that might cost him his life, but there was nothing in the blank, slate gaze.

"Keep an eye on the others. The other Hogwarts contestants for the Goblet of Fire aren't your comrades until they are out of the way. Remember your house, and the stigma with it; others might be reluctant to support a Slytherin champion. Watch your back. This competition is more dangerous than many people suspect, going in. Students have died, although last time, it was a matter of war, and not the tournament itself.

"That's all I can tell you. I'll be waiting to see your name to be considered. Go on, to your dormitory."