Chapter One: Without My Fame
"If you come to fame not understanding who you are, it will define who you are."
-Oprah Winfrey
The doors to the Great Hall burst open as a procession of young men clad in dark brown cloaks storms in. They each carry matching staffs that spark as the students slam them against the floor in unison. Harry watches them, fascinated by their precision, and amusedly hears Ron gasp. "That's Viktor bloody Krum!"
Harry follows Ron's fervent pointing to the end of the procession, where Viktor Krum and the man Harry assumes to be Durmstrang's headmaster stride confidently down the center aisle. The headmaster appears to be a tall, imposing man with eyes that seemed to dig into your soul. The man reminded Harry of Professor Snape, minus the greasy hair and degrading sneer.
Harry's attention is diverted back to the Durmstrang students as they finish their routine by twirling their staffs, again with perfect synchronicity, into the air, then bringing them down harshly onto the stone floor. Dumbledore rises from his seat and greets the Snape-like Durmstrang headmaster as the students move off to the left side of the Great Hall. 'This is all so dramatic,' Harry thought to himself irritatedly.
Beauxbatons Academy of Magic arrives much more gracefully, with the doors gently swinging open. The students glide down the aisle, wearing baby blue dresses, shawls, and hats. Harry watches with mild disinterest, but he notices that Ron's attention is completely overtaken by a particularly beautiful blond young woman. Harry elbows Hermione, and they both roll their eyes as Ron practically drools over her.
At the end of the procession, the giant headmistress follows and greets Dumbledore with a kiss of her hand.
Dumbledore turns to the many students gathered, and the room slowly grows quiet. "This year...Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament!" The Great Hall erupts in cheers. "We are happy to welcome the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang here. Please, treat Hogwarts as your home during your stay. I ask that you all find seats amongst the Hogwarts students already seated."
The newly-arrived students walk amongst the four House tables until they each finds open places to sit. Journals of a deep amber color appear in front of each seated student, with the student's name elegantly inscribed on the book's spine.
"I am sure your excitement about the Triwizard Tournament has not caused you to forget our other favored tradition," Dumbledore says slowly, "of an all-inclusive competition that pairs students and teachers from all our schools to communicate anonymously and guess each other's identities. For those of you not familiar with this tradition, the rules are listed on the backs of your journals. Good luck to everyone, whether you are also participating in the Triwizard Tournament or not! Now enjoy tonight's feast!"
Harry looks at Ron and Hermione inquisitively. "Have you heard about this before?"
Before Hermione can speak, Ron starts talking with his mouth already full of mashed potatoes. "My siblings have told me about it. Remember Tom Riddle's diary in second year? How you and Ginny talked to him and he could respond? These journals are pretty the same. Except no talking to dead people or being attacked by dead people."
Hermione takes advantage of Ron's pause to smack his head and reprimand him by saying, "Ron, that's disgusting. I know your mother didn't raise a pig." She picks up her journal and shows Harry the rules on the back. "Basically, when you open this book, you can ask a question. Someone in this room will answer it. The book won't let them write anything besides the truth, so you can trust everything they say to be true, at least from their perspective," Hermione pauses to take a breath and then quickly continues, "They will then ask you a question that you must answer. You will also be compelled to tell the truth. This goes back and forth until one of you can guess the other's identity. Whoever guesses correctly moves on in the competition and is paired with another person, until there is either one winner or the Triwizard Tournament ends," Harry picks up his journal curiously and pulls out his quill, but before he can even open the book, Hermione slams her hand over it hastily. "I almost forget to mention it, but you can only ask a particular question one time, even if you talk to multiple people. So don't waste all the good questions right away. Also, you can't just ask for their name. The book won't tolerate any questions it seems to be too much of an obvious cheat."
Harry pauses and carefully asks, "So no one that I talk to in this book will know who I am?"
Hermione nods. "But they'll figure out who you are if you give away too many details about yourself."
So I have the chance to talk to anyone in this room without them knowing who I am! I'll be just like any other person, without Voldemort and my dead parents, without people disliking who I am before I even talk to them. I can finally be normal, not a freak or a hero to those around me.
The feast dies down, but before anyone can leave, Dumbledore stands up once again. "Some final pieces of information about the Triwizard Tournament: due to some fatalities in the past, only witches and wizards who are of-age may enter this year. You will have until tomorrow's feast to enter your names in the Goblet of Fire."
Outraged cries filled the Great Hall as Dumbledore sat down once more. Harry personally didn't see the issue. It's not like entering the Triwizard Tournament seemed like a good way to ensure one's survival anyway. I pity anyone stupid enough to risk their life in a competition as pointless as this.
Harry lies in his bed that evening after the feast. His journal is sitting in his lap, still unopened. He takes a deep breath and tentatively opens it. This is my chance to be normal. With a shaky hand, Harry dips his quill in ink and asks his first question. Did you just arrive at Hogwarts today?
A few seconds pass, before an answer in practically illegible handwriting appears below his question. yes. did you just arrive at Hogwarts today?
Harry sighs and hopes the conversation will get more interesting. No. Are you male or female?
His mysterious partner responds with, male and asks what house are you in?
Harry chuckles at how basic smalltalk has suddenly become so useful, and then he pauses for a moment. How can I answer this without giving away too much? The best one. Do you play Quidditch? He grins triumphantly when the book lets him get away with that answer.
A half hour passes with no answer. I'm liking this competition so far. And I think I might actually be decent at it. He whispers, "Nox," and drifts into a content, dreamless sleep.
"So, I've already figured out that she's a third year Ravenclaw who isn't very popular and frequently finds herself the target of bullying!" Hermione exclaims as Harry sits down with Ron and her for breakfast.
Harry makes a plate of fruit and eggs for himself as he remarks, "That sounds like Luna Lovegood to me."
Ron makes what Harry assumes to be a noise of agreement, though it's hard to tell when the redhead has a mouthful of bacon.
Hermione's eyes light up thoughtfully as she contemplates the idea. "I can test that theory." She quickly scribbles a response and question in her journal and then intently gazes at Luna, who is eating her own breakfast not far away at the Ravenclaw table. Luna glances down at her book and writes something. Exactly when she stops writing, Hermione glances down at her own book, where Harry sees that a response has appeared. "It's definitely her!" Harry watches her carefully write You are Luna Lovegood. Her journal briefly lights up blue and the pages flip, as if blown by a strong sudden wind, until settling on a blank page.
"Of course Hermione is already on her second person. I still have no idea who my first person is," Ron grumbles. "What about you, Harry? Please tell me I'm not the only one struggling here."
"Well…" Harry glances down at his journal and trails off as he sees a new response written. yes. Are you in Ravenclaw? "All I know is that he's a Quidditch player from Durmstrang with a hatred of capitalization and terrible handwriting. I don't know what to ask next though because the only person I know who plays Quidditch from Durmstrang is Viktor Krum."
Ron perks up. "There are only four Quidditch players from Durmstrang that showed up here." He points at Viktor and the three guys he's talking to. "Obviously one is Viktor. But there's also Adrian Gillevet, Mihai Olga, and Constantin Moraru."
As they're watching, Viktor and one of the others stand up and place their names in the Goblet of Fire. Harry looks at Ron. "I think I just found my next question." He returns to his journal. No. Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?
Harry hurriedly hides his journal underneath his plate and watches out of the corner of his eye as one of the two Quidditch players' heads shoots up and scans the room with a scowl. Harry notices that many other people in the room are using their journals, so he decides to take his own journal back out from underneath his plate.
The Quidditch player's response appears so darkly, it looked as if he was trying to murder either his quill or the book. Harry wasn't sure which. no… Did you put your name in the Goblet?
Harry leans over to Ron and murmurs, "Who's the really upset-looking one?"
"Still talking about the Quidditch players?" Ron whispers back.
"Yeah, the one with blond hair trying to kill his eggs?"
"Adrian Gillevet. He's the keeper on Viktor's team."
Harry turns back to his journal and writes, in very neat handwriting, You are Adrian Gillevet. His notebook mimics what Hermione's had done minutes earlier: it flashes blue and the pages flip frantically until they settle on a blank one.
A loud slap echoes through the Great Hall. Harry looks up to see Adrian angrily mumbling under his breath, his journal thrown to the floor a few feet away. He stands up. Viktor and the others laugh at their friend's misfortune as Adrian races out of the Great Hall.
Harry spends his day in a good mood, even though he's currently sitting in Potions class. I won my first round against Adrian. I can't wait to see who I'll get to talk to next without my fame. I feel normal for once! Not even Malfoy or Snape could-
He is then abruptly dragged back to reality when a sharp paper airplane jabs him in the head. Harry starts to unfold the paper, but then Snape swoops in and snatches it from his hands. "Passing notes, Potter? Let's share this with the whole class then, shall we?" He pauses dramatically and clears his throat before reading the note aloud. "Once upon a time, there lived a child named Potter. His parents despised him so much that they begged for death and happily took advantage of the opportunity when it arrived. There is also a poorly-drawn picture of two smiling dead people." The note bursts into flames in Snape's hand as Snape looks around the room with a sneer. "Desperate for attention, are we, Potter?"
Harry glances away from Snape angrily while he fights to keep his eyes from filling with tears. For a brief moment, Harry's eyes meet Malfoy's. The Slytherin has a smirk plastered on his faces and gives Harry a wink. Harry face gets hot with anger and his blood boils. He slowly points to himself, then at Malfoy, and mouths, "After class."
By the time class ends twenty minutes later, Harry looks for Malfoy frantically, but the blonde is nowhere to be seen.
That evening, the Great Hall buzzed in anticipation of the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament Champions. Harry, however, was not as excited for the event as he had been that morning. News of Malfoy's note had spread around the school like wildfire, and everyone seemed to believe Snape's accusation that Harry had written it himself. Everyone shook their heads pityingly and whispered to each other when they saw him. Whispered had followed Harry ever since he first stepped foot inside Hogwarts, but these felt different. These whispers seemed to crawl under his skin and take residence inside him, multiplying beyond measure until the only thoughts he had left were just as pathetic as everyone thought he was.
Dumbledore calls for silence. The chatter in the Great Hall quiets. Harry's self-deprecating thoughts do not.
Harry forces himself to pay attention as Dumbledore picks names from the Goblet. Fleur from Beauxbatons. Ron claps profoundly for her, and Harry tries to join him, though he does so half-heartedly. Viktor from Durmstrang. Both Ron and Hermione cheer. Harry barely maintains a smile. Cedric the Hufflepuff from Hogwarts. Harry hardly hears the name. But then… the Goblet flashes blue again and sends out another name. Harry's daze is shattered when Dumbledore calls out, "Harry Potter!"
He can't breathe. He can't hear what anyone is saying. He stands up. Hermione and Ron are saying things to him, trying to grab his hands. Dumbledore is beckoning him. I can't do this. Harry stumbles towards the doors of the Great Hall.