The Quidditch pitch was completely unrecognisable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right at the front, to a vast maze, and the passage beyond it looked dark and creepy.

It had been kept quiet generally from champions, the schools and the public because of the whole issue of what had happened last time with he-who-cannot-be-named turning the cup into a portkey, and the small matter of a dead Hogwarts student.

Last time it had taken a month to grow the hedges on the pitch, but this time round fertiliser, expert herbology and clever wandwork had seen this maze assembled remarkably quickly.

The use of a maze for the final task was therefore one that if announced ahead of the day, would have had every seer from Cornwall to the Hebrides uttering prophecies of death and destruction. Quite frankly, the Department of Magical Sports and Games had enough of seers meddling with the bets on quidditch scores without them stealing the press focus on the impending glory of one of the schools (preferably Hogwarts).

Around the edge several members of Hogwarts staff were stationed wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, prepared to go in and pull out any students who got out of the depth and sent up red sparks. But with a team of five, it was less likely that this would be the case. Some might have suggested the task were easier, but they had not seen what was within.

"Champions, champions welcome to your fourth and final task," Lockheart beamed at the twenty champions who were dressed in their tournament robes, wands in hand. He was dressed no less flamboyantly than the night he had announced their names, this time in purple and gold with fine embroidery and a cloak that fluttered in a breeze that wasn't really there. His blonde moustache seemed to have taken a life of its own on his top lip as he smiled and addressed them with grand arm gestures.

"The stands are filling with your classmates and professors, friends and honoured guests who are here to see which of you raises the Tetrawizard Tournament Cup. I am sure you are all very excited." He flashed them all a bright smile.

"It's really very simple, the Tetrawizard Cup is in the centre of the maze, and the first team to touch it will receive full marks." It didn't take a Tetrawizard Champion to fill in the next part, that it wasn't just going to be a case of navigating hedges.

"Should you get into difficulties, send up red sparks and you will be rescued, understood?" Lockheart's expression insinuated that nobody would be quite as weak as to do that.

Drawing his wand to his throat, he turned away and addressed the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the fourth and final task of the Tetrawizard Tournament is about to begin," his voice filled the stands and the crowd fell quieter to listen.

"Let me remind you how the points currently stand. In first place on 1,149 points are Salem, in second place on 965 points are Durmstrang Institute, in third on 859 points is Hogwarts School and finally in fourth place on 534 points, Beauxbatons! The teams will enter the maze according to their current standings, and race to the centre facing puzzles, challenges, beasts and spells. They must navigate the maze as one, and reach the centre together, and seize the Tetrawizard cup with a hand from each of them."

Lifting a golden whistle from around his neck, Lockheart turned and addressed the champions.
"So, on my whistle Salem - three, two, one..!" And away went the first school, dashing into the entrance.

"Durmstrang! Three, two one…!" Another ear piercing whistle and away they went.

"Ready Hogwarts! Three, two, one…!"

Then at last it was time for the final team to enter.
"And Beauxbatons - three, two, one…!" The whistle was blown for the final time, as the last of the champions rushed into the maze.

---

This thread is open to all attending the event, whether you be in the stands, writing news, reporting on the radio, cheering on friends, patrolling the edge waiting for red sparks or visiting.

"I think they look good," Branwen Strangely said from under her vibrant crimson hat, the mark of one of the rescuers.  "Strong.  Ready.  Rich full leaves."

One might have thought she'd begun describing the champions of Hogwarts, but instead she was self-congratulating her work on growing the hedges.  "I worried, you know," she said to her neighbor, "that the rapid growth would impede good foliage production, but it's thick.  That Ministry herbologist really knew her stuff.  Amazed at what these young growers can do these days.  All show and no substance, though. I'd say this hedge won't last a day past the weekend."

Branwen had only been at Hogwarts for a few months and so had missed the majority of the illustrious international event.  Her feelings about the visitors and their apparent disruption was already plain but she'd been all too eager to be involved when asked.  She'd even been present in the heated argument with Madam Hooch who had hotly disagreed about the pitch being used for such a purpose again. 

'But the players don't even use the grass! They're on brooms,' many had argued, but the old coach wouldn't hear it.  Tradition won out, of course, and thus the hedge went up.

"I'll just be keeping an eye out for sparks just to the right there.  Nasty trap was set there, if I remember.  Hope they don't stumble down that way."

"Most of the game," Tulojow corrected, somewhat absent-mindedly as she kept a careful eye on the field.  The younger witch (if only by a few years) seemed more interested in the greenery crisscrossing the quidditch pitch but Tulojow's attention was fixed on the drama unfolding within the maze.  "The quidditch matches do start from the field.  It would be impossible to have a fair toss off with the hedges in the way." 

The Hospital Hut had a reputation for being a seedy source of gossip and Tulojow had heard comments on the matter from all sides.  The Healer had understood the Quidditch coach's perspective and she'd understood the tournament designer's perspective.  In the end, she'd been too eager for the final event to worry much about the squabbling.  In a few days, the tournament would be behind them and the pitch would be put back in order in time for any forthcoming matches.  There were more pressing matters at hand. 

For better or worse, Tulojow had twice the opportunity to feel the joys of victory.  Family loyalty had her rooting for Salem.  School loyalty for Hogwarts.  She'd be satisfied with either of those schools winning though she was hoping Salem would come out ahead.  Not only for her great nephew's sake but to show the Tournament committee that they'd been right in inviting the American school to join the competition. 

"The French.  Look," Tulojow lifted her head, watching as the French students appeared to round on some strange, nerve-rattling creature.  "Who's handiwork was that?"

"GO GO Gryffindor, STAY TOUGH Hufflepuff, SCORE SCORE Ravenclaw, GET IN Slytherin!"

Ariadne was excitedly trying every chant that had ever been heard in the past six years of her Hogwarts stay, from the quidditch pitch stands, her voice bellowing as ever to try and encourage her fellow Hogwarts classmates to cheer on their champions. A maze made it pretty hard to see where people had got to, but not very long after all the teams had scampered in, there were spells and flashes and were those balloons?.

Soon enough they were singing the Hogwarts song in all sorts of weird tunes and harmonies, someone had found a bugle or some other loud trumpet-like instrument and the cacophony from the stands was brewing, despite not realising that the champions in the maze couldn't really hear them, what with all the hedges and the clanking of armour as the Durmstrang team took down 8 knights.

For however Ariadne was a bit sore she'd missed out on competing, she accepted that the goblet was just telling her it wasn't her time yet, and was making up for it in cheering on the home side.

Complete with a Gryffindor lion head hat, Ariadne was full of beans.

"Mexican wave!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air.

The TetraWizard Tournament had, thus far, appeared to be quite an interesting one. Of course, Autumn had never heard of it before her arrival and even so, she had never seen something so intense and dangerous. She had spent a lot of time reading into the tournament to discover that it was usually three schools competing, but she liked the idea of including the fourth school and she enjoyed seeing students from other schools. When she learned that she was a witch, she had never thought that there were so many people all over the world with the same abilities!

Sitting among the stands of the quidditch pitch, Autumn looked down at the ground, amazed at how different it looked. She briefly considered what the maze might actually consist of, what could possibly be inside. As the nature of this tournament already suggested, she was positive whatever it was would be scary and challenging. The man in the purple and gold began to speak, and the crowd seemed to quiet down while the man began to speak to them, his voice loud enough to be heard around him. Hogwarts was in third place, which was rather saddening to the competitive Autumn who could do nothing but cheer and hope.

The poor French students, being in last place and having to wait until the others had all started for themselves to enter. Autumn began to imagine what could be happening inside the maze to everyone, perhaps battling scary, dangerous creatures and being bitten by who knows what! Perhaps they were getting possessed or fainting from fear! She snickered at the last part, wondering why they would have even put their names in the goblet if they were going to faint from fear. How exhilarating it must have been to hear their names called, or even now, to enter this maze without knowing what was ahead. Being only twelve years old, Autumn had not even let herself imagine what it would be like if she had been older and allowed to compete.

The cheers of the other students pulled her out of her imagination, leading her to remember what was actually happening. "GO HOGWARTS!!" She cheered, seeing a wave start and jumping up with it. Autumn let the excitement overwhelm her and finally felt the air that was rather cool and eerie to her. She continued to cheer, beginning to feel a little impatient for the results.

The Hogwarts section had just broken out into a rendition of the school song, and so the supporters from Beauxbatons countered with a flock of blue birds who fluttered over Hogwarts in a vexing divebomb.  Any contact with students cased the spectral avians to vanish in a feathery blue puff.

Branwen beamed at the bursting school pride.  It was quiet exhilarating and she was certainly eager for the Hogwarts champions to prevail - or at least show their best.  Her companion Tulojow Nagde was her usual stoic self and Branwen had found that her manner threw her off kilter.  Always so  measured! Branwen often found unflappable people to be difficult, although they didn't lack merit for it.

"Oh that's Gaubert!  I remember him from the Goblet.  Someone was telling me he covered himself in berry juice in a previous task? He must really be something to be chosen twice.  That or Beauxbatons has a dearth of suitable candidates, not that I'd ever say something so uncharitable."

"Good work, lad!" she shouted, as if to absolve herself of actually having said it.

Ambrose ducked as birds flocked towards them but they were just conjured by the Beauxbatons supporters in the stands. Down below they could see the odd occurrence though it wasn't always clear who or what. At least there hadn't been any red sparks going up for emergencies, but the cup was still elusive. Ambrose had crossed all his fingers and toes for Hogwarts.

"Hey Tim!" He clapped his younger brother, a second year Ravenclaw on the shoulder from behind, "you could be in there next time, or you guys," he addressed Tim's friends and some first year Ravenclaws, including Autumn Moore who had been cheering along with them.

"Unless you're too chicken!"

News of what each of the tournament teams were doing within the vast maze was filtering back to the crowd at regular intervals through a variety of magical means and the not-so-magical when stewards on brooms swept back and forward to address with loud voices how Beauxbatons had escaped quicksand, and how Durmstrang had puzzled out the riddle of the Sphinx.

But all of a sudden it was very clear that a winner of the task had been found. Great trumpet victory blasts came from each corner of the quidditch pitch, and fireworks shot into the sky in Salem's colours. There was a roar from Salem's stand as they identified with the colours.

All of a sudden there was a pop and a crack and the five Salem champions appeared haphazardly on a stage before the stands, clutching the cup - victorious. Soon after, the other teams began to pop into place.

"Glorious!" Exclaimed Flash Lockhart with his voice booming from the sonorous charm. His face was ecstatic as he shook hands with all of the champions as they appeared, clapping Salem on their backs with far too much gusto considering the students had just exerted almost all their energy to survive those horrible tasks.

"Commiserations! But fantastic display!" He congratulated Durmstrang, "Bad luck! But bloody awesome show!" He told Hogwarts, probably less politely than he should of, and his attempt of French to console the Beauxbatons team was not worth repeating, "Always next tournament!" He suggested to them on realising that he'd made a hash of it.

"Congratulations Salem!" He addressed the crowd, stepping aside so that the American school could take centre stage.

"SALEM!?!" Ariadne exclaimed, a mixture of horror, disbelief and a inkling of relief that it hadn't been Durmstrang on the stage before them with the cup.

The Americans were besides themselves in their brash way, as they did, excited and whooping for their five champions. Then one by one the other teams popped into the space, looking like they'd been pulled through hedges backwards - well, technically some of them had been.

Ariadne joined the great whoop and cheer at Hogwarts made it back - these were here classmates, and whatever their house, she cheered for their team.

"Oh well, ribs and coleslaw and all the rest for the end of term feast then?" She asked those around her, all the cheering having given her a roaring appetite to go with her lion headdress.

The sight of four teams, twenty champions stood on the stage allowed Edwin to finally feel a little more at ease about this final task. Throwing so many students inside a maze with limited visibility, plenty of dangerous creatures had been a mission and a half and his Department had been called in to manage risks, of which there were more than he could document.

Still, they were all out alive and nobody had been whisked off to the Dark Lord, so he might get home before midnight tonight, if they could convince the sphinx to get back in a box for transportation and clear up the marsh without any of the buggers escaping. The tournament, and particularly this task had become one of the largest multi-departmental operations in some months, and he had a long round of beers at the Leaky Cauldron for his team in the next week or so.

Wincing at the horrific French from his counterpart, Lockhart from level 7, Edwin departed his perch and mobilised his senior colleagues, as the cleanup had to begin immediately to return the Hogwarts quidditch pitch back to normal.

"Seems a shame to level it all, I realise Professor Strangely," Edwin remarked to the Hogwarts herbology professor who he had overheard marvelling at the shrubbery earlier in the afternoon, "so if you'll be nicking off with six foot or more, we won't complain."

Branwen did not attempt to hide her disappointment that Hogwarts had come in third.  It was no secret that she'd found the Tournament and the visitors inconvenient.  (Although this event had been dreadfully exciting!) It was just a misfortune they'd lost.  As she'd heard it, Salem had been a contender to triumph from day one. 

A gentleman was speaking to her.  Tall, middle-aged - she recognized him as Edwin Glass, Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.  She concured with a sad look.

"It really is.  It shall have been a very sturdy hedge.  Sadly, his lifespan was to be stunted in the end, withering well before solstice.  Accelerated growth spells, you see.  Really mess with a hedge's constitution."

She shrugged, a simple mourning for the doomed shrubbery.

"No deaths though! You've got to be pleased.  All that paperwork."

"Pity." Edwin remarked at her explanation of how the hedge would not be of great service to her. She was a good couple of inches taller than him and quite an imposing woman with her personality and voice. Despite what the other staff might have mentioned about her chatty nature, he'd not found her to be repulsive by any means.

"No deaths though! You've got to be pleased. All that paperwork."

The Head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes gave a smile after a beat, considering to himself that it had been quite sad that there hadn't been some commotion other than the champions making it through one way or another.

"Of course, though, would you know I have to fill out less paperwork for a corpse than I do a serious injury? It's almost as if Level 1 wants to know why they didn't die." He gave a shrug of his hands, walnut wand in hand to assist with the process.

"I suppose it's much the same for you, or have none of them been eaten by your carnivorous varieties yet?"

Branwen had to laugh at Glass's supposition as to why a fatality had less red tape than a maiming.   It'd be just like the Ministry of Magic to have such macabre and befuddling policies. 

"You can't imagine!" she flustered blithely.  "That venemous goat trap will be famished.  Now I shall have to procure a goat.  My stranglevines, the tempting nightshade.  The champions were well-prepared.  I should have made it more challenging."

"Professor Strangely!"  A tournament representative was gliding towards them.  "If I could grab you, madam, we need a hand with the hedges so we can get through to collect the sphinx and doxies."

"Well, it's been a pleasure, Mr. Glass.  I shall pray for doom and dismemberment to occupy your time.  And idle brain is an addled one, as they say.  Cheerio!"

And with that, Branwen sat upon her broom to follow.