So I saw this idea from a tumblr post of what if a Slytherin had been the Hogwarts champion instead and I really liked it, so I'm going to try to write it. Who knows, maybe it'll work, maybe not. But this is the first (pretty short) part.

"There's a rumor going round, Warrington got up early and put his name in," Dean told Harry. "That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth."

Harry, who had played Quidditch against Warrington, shook his head in disgust. "We can't have a Slytherin champion!"

"The Hogwarts champion," Dumbledore announced, "is Cassius Warrington!" The cheers from the Slytherin table were almost enough to block out the dumbfounded silence at the other three tables. Scattered applause came from the Ravenclaws, but the Hufflepuffs looked rather put out, the Gryffindors downright furious.

"I'd have taken pretty boy Diggory over him!" Ron declared, and Harry couldn't help but agree. Warrington sloped off in the same direction as the other champions, Harry watching with bitterness. Would it be too wrong, he wondered, to cheer for Viktor Krum or Fleur Delacour after all? Anything was better than a Slytherin. He was about to voice this to Ron when a hush fell over the room as Dumbledore made his closing words, and then the goblet blazed again. Dumbledore caught the paper and stared at it. More silence.

"Harry Potter."

Harry's head spun. How had his name gotten into the goblet? He hadn't entered, he couldn't pass the age line. Everyone was staring at him now, no one was applauding. He met Ron's eyes, registering his friend's shock and hurt, but before he could say anything-if, indeed, he had been able to get words to come out of his mouth, Harry was sent out with the other champions. Fleur, Viktor, and... Warrington. He recalled Ron's sentiment, and felt it even more strongly. At least Cedric might have given him the benefit of the doubt. Warrington? Not a chance. He would think Harry had undermined him. The Slytherins would kill him. Stifling a groan, Harry hoped without hope that the situation would be fixed. Half an hour later he stood in front of the Fat Lady, the fourth Hogwarts champion.

Warrington had been a little surprised, to tell the truth. He had assumed Diggory would win, or even Johnson. Of course, he hadn't let that stop him, and good thing too, it turned out. And then, of course, Potter. It always was Potter, wasn't it? At Quidditch, at house points, Gryffindor's golden boy he had been and, Warrington (in addition to most of the school) suspected, would be for the next four years. Still, he thought, with grudging respect, it couldn't have been easy to get his name into the goblet. He could have convinced an older student to do it, but Cassius was pretty sure no one in the school knew how to trick the goblet into thinking there were four schools in the tournament. Dumbledore could maybe, but why would he? The tournament was dangerous, and feeding Potter's ego didn't seem like quite a good enough reason for risking his life. Uncomfortable, but unable to think of other ways it could've happened, he decided to worry about it later.

/

"Per laborem," Cassius muttered, the door to the Slytherin common room sliding open. He was met with cheers as he entered into a room set up for a party, bottles of smuggled firewhiskey on the table along with some of Hogwarts finest foods. It was a good party, he assumed, and he was honored that they'd done it for him, but in all honesty, he was a bit relieved when he slipped into his own dorm, reveling in the silence, which, regrettably, didn't last long, as Adrian Pucey came into the room.

"You know, the party's for you, you're supposed to be the last one there." He did know, he just didn't particularly care. Adrian sat down on his own bed. "Bloody Potter, right?" Cassius snorted.

"Are we surprised though? His first year the stone, his second the chamber, last year Black... it was bound to happen." Adrian nodded in agreement, then smirked.

"I bet Dumbledore gives him 50 points just for being a champion."

"60 for living a year without quidditch."

"70 for going to class with the added responsibility."

"100 for waking up the morning of the task," threw in Andrew Fawley, the third roommate, causing actual laughter to begin. They went on for a while until all three were practically crying, much to the confusion of Jack Bagley, the final sixth year Slytherin. The confusion on his face, of course, only served to make the other three laugh harder until eventually he gave up on trying to get an explanation out of them, grabbing a bottle of Ogden's finest from his suitcase and returning to the party. Finally, the laughter died down and tears of mirth were wiped away from the corners of the boys' eyes.

"Anyway, well done mate. You deserve it." Warrington appreciated the sentiment, but he rolled his eyes.

"Save it for when I beat Potter into the ground," he responded. Fawley grinned.

"Malfoy might actually kiss you," he responded. "Might anyway, by his talk tonight. He was talking about making badges."

"Merlin," Cassius groaned.

"I'm not sure if the idea was more to support you or knock Potter down though," Fawley continued. "Maybe both. Seems like a Malfoy thing to do."

"Merlin," Cassius repeated. "Can he get any more embarrassing?" Fawley shrugged, obviously unconcerned with his friend's dilemma.

"He's sort of right though, you know. The other houses aren't too happy about Potter sneaking in again. Well, besides Gryffindor, of course. You might actually have more support this way."

"Gee, I'm so glad people support me because they're upset about Potter. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside," Warrington said drily, rolling his eyes.

"If you two are done, I think we all have Potions to get done if we don't want to work on it tomorrow," Pucey put in. Two heads turned his way in disbelief.

"Your best friend just got selected as Hogwarts champion, and you're thinking about Potions?" Andrew sounded incredulous, a look of disgust on his face. Honestly, it was doubtful if he would be passing any of his classes without Pucey. It wasn't a matter of intelligence, he just didn't see the point. Pucey shrugged.

"He's near head of our class, part of the House team, and he volunteers to help first years with transfiguration. Volunteers. To tutor. Pardon me for being rather unsurprised."

"It looks good on applications," Warrington defended. "Besides, it makes McGonagall like me, and that has to be worth something, right?" The looks he got in return suggested that he was not, in fact, right. "Anyway, it could just as easily have been Diggory. Or any of the seventh years for that matter."

"Okay fine, it's pretty impressive," Pucey relented, and then grinned wickedly. "How much do you think it's killing the Gryffindors that their only stake is a fourteen year old?"

"Merlin Warrington, if you let a fourteen year old beat you..."

"Don't even finish that thought Fawley," Warrington warned, but the image was unfortunately stuck in his mind of Potter lifting the triwizard cup as he stood off to the side. "Great Salazar, don't finish that thought." He felt almost queasy, like before a quidditch match. Quidditch... that made him think... "I need a training plan."

If you have any suggestions at all, please feel free to bring them up! no guarantees I'll put them in, but I'll definitely consider them! Also, as this story progresses, people with accents are going to speak, but for clarity purposes, I'm not going to write them in (I just think it'd probably end up really confusing and inconsistent).