A/N: This is where my story begins to take its own shape, as opposed to that written by JK Rowling.
There are snippets from the novel, however it is certainly not rote, and the differences are somewhat important. Especially towards the end of the chapter.
On that note, the chapter is rather short, under 1500 words. This won't be an ongoing trend, I am merely setting the scene for the story to 'begin'.
Anyways, enjoy.
He was used to his presence causing mutterings, exclamations and shock, but as Harry entered the smaller room, the murmurs of the portraits spread like ripples, tweaking his ire at the petty gossip. Witches flittered between frames, the words "cheated" and "fourth champion" floating back to the boy who lived.
As he quietly made his way to the crackling fireplace, Harry ignored the portraits - they could have been murmuring about the Heir of Slytherin all over again. It was all the same. Harry would be heard only after everyone else had made their judgment, and proven wrong.
Two solutions presented themselves to Harry as he continued further into the room. He could compete, try and make the most of the terrible situation. An alternative idea began to form in the back of his mind, a chance for control over his future. Importantly, a future where he wouldn't be competing against the impressive trio silhouetted against the flames.
The french champion, Fleur Delacour, looked around at the whispering of the portraits, noticing Harry's approach. He idly noted the patterns of light reflected in her silvery hair, which moved with a life of its own. Pushing back the lust building in his chest, Harry peered gently at her, assessing the young witch. "What is it?" she asked with the hint of a sneer as she looked down to him. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"
Blinking, Harry paused before responding. Someone had finally asked what had happened, albeit in a roundabout manner. "There's been some sort of mistake. I don't know what's going on, but someone's tricked the Goblet into accepting a fourth champion." Sighing at their blank stares, he finished, "me. But I don't want in. I don't need the money, and I don't want the fame." Harry shrugged, what else was there to say?
Krum looked thunderous at the idea, Cedric pensive, and Fleur curious. She stepped toward him, tilting her head in confusion. "How iz it, that a boy, could trick ze Goblet of Fire, a powerful magical instrument?"
"Ms. Delacour, I have just told you that I don't know what's going on." Pointing to the door he had just come through, Harry's eyes hardened in frustration. "I have not been close enough to that Goblet to put my name in, neither did I ask an older student to put my name in for me."
Fleur's dark eyes widened slightly at his rebuke while Cedric chuckled ruefully, "Harry I don't know what you do to deserve such luck. Your perpetual place at the centre of some unexplained event in this school is ridiculous."
Unsure quite how to take the Hufflepuff's comment, Harry laughed bitterly at Cedric's reaction, while ignoring the rushed footsteps entering the room. "Extraordinary!" Ludo Bagman muttered as he grabbed Harry and swung him round. In a flash, Harry had slipped his arm from the ministry official, who's eyes were alight with excitement. The man reminded him far too much of Gilderoy Lockhart.
"May I introduce - incredible though it may seem - the fourth Triwizard champion?"
"No." Harry said firmly, stepping further away from Bagman. "I won't compete. There must have been a mistake."
Bagman looked at Harry incredulously, skepticism written across his face. "Mistake?" he finally declared, "No, no, no my boy, not at all. Your name just came out of the Goblet of Fire! You are a triwizard champion."
At this, Cedric shook his head in annoyance, turning back to the fire. Krum frowned, while Fleur stepped up to Mr. Bagman, her anger outweighing any attractive aura exuding from her. "Evidently zair 'as been a meestake. 'Arry 'as no need for this glory and fame. You are familiar with ze one ze British call Voldemort, non?" Bagman flinched, whether at her contemptuous gaze, or her naming of the Dark Lord. "E does not want to, 'e will not compete. E is just a boy!" Harry nodded his thanks.
"Well... it is amazing," Bagman paused, before his ludicrous grin crept back, "FOUR Triwizard champions. The odds are... unheard of." He smiled at Harry, causing the fourth year to narrow his eyes. This man had done little to inspire any confidence in the boy who lived. "As you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year, an extra safety measure. Your name came out of the Goblet... you're obliged Harry... It's such a huge honour... You will just have to -"
Before the Quidditch champion could finish, and before Harry could hex the man for his stubbornness, the door slammed open once more, a large group rushing in. Professor Dumbledore led the charge, followed by Mr Crouch, Madame Maxime and Professors McGonagall, Snape and Karkaroff. A swish of Snape's wand shut the door behind Karkaroff, cutting off the dull roar coming from the Great Hall. A part of Harry's mind noted Bagman scurrying to the side at the appearance of the remaining adults.
Fleur turned toward the adults, a glint of concern in her eye. "Madame Maxime, zey are saying zat ze boy Harry Potter is to compete also.' Harry bristled at her ongoing dismissal of him as a mere boy, but he was glad for her intervention, whatever the motive. For whoever got him out of the tournament, he would be eternally grateful. It was about time someone stood up for him. Competing for eternal glory was just not something Harry was interested in. Shuddering at the thought, he concentrated on the confrontation between the large Madame Maxime, an angry Karkaroff, and the most powerful wizard in the world.
"Otherwise," Karkaroff was saying, "we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."
"It's no ones fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," Snape said quietly, his greasy hair glinting not unlike Fleur's in the fire. Harry snickered at the comparison, drawing another glare from Professor McGonagall. Before the potion's master could further sully Harry's name, the Boy Who Lived looked to the Hogwarts headmaster.
"Professor, why is Snape here? As neither my head of house, nor Cedric's, he has no business being involved in this discussion."
"That's Professor Snape, Harry" Dumbledore responded, not missing a beat.
Snape bristled, his eyes glinting with malice. "Once again Potter, you fail to -"
"Thank you Severus," said Dumbledore firmly. "Unfortunately Mr. Potter, I may require Professor Snape's presence for the administration of Veritaserum, amongst other reasons. Allow us to deal with this situation."
"Professor!" Harry exclaimed, but the Wizengamot Chief Warlock had turned back to the senior wizards and witches, his gaze elsewhere. At some point, Professor Moody had slipped in unseen. A remarkable feat with the wooden leg he was encumbered by. Harry sighed, moving to the furthest corner from the adults and Triwizard champions. He needed none of it, wanted none of it. And once again he had been cast aside.
A fire burned inside Harry, indignant at the abuse. The ongoing neglect by those called to care for him. He didn't want to be in this tournament, so why should he be?
He barely noticed his drawn wand, the tight grip squeezing the Holly with a detached focus. The walls blurred as he spun back to the adults, eyes ablaze and aura flaring. He had lost control, for the first time since he could remember. Rage pulsed through him, his body tingling from the magic and adrenaline pumping through him. Anger at the wizarding world brought his arm up, his wand pointed at the roof. The candles lining the walls flickered as if beset by an unseen wind, portraits retreating from their frames.
Barely aware of the words spoken, he roared in a voice impossible to ignore,
"I, Harry James Potter, swear on the magic within me, that I will NOT participate in the Triwizard Tournament, as decreed by the Goblet of Fire."
The silence that followed his declaration was as short as it felt long, time stretching as Harry smiled triumphantly at the slack jaw of his Headmaster. His smile was replaced by shock as a great gust blew the small door from its hinges, portraits splintering at the shear force. Beyond the doorway, the Goblet glowed, tongues of flame erupting from the rim. Golden fire rushed at Harry, striking him in the chest, filling him with a warm glow.
In a heartbeat, the glow faded, and the candle light stabilising once more. Harry looked at each of the adults and the triwizard champions, his eyes telling the story for him, his smile triumphant. He was done with the Triwizard Tournament. Gaze settling on Dumbledore, a movement at the fore of Harry's head caused him to clutch his scar, wincing at the sudden, intense pain flashing through his skull.
The last thing he saw was Professors Snape, Moody and Karkaroff clutching their arms. Then darkness took him.
A/N: So you're probably curious as to where this story is going to go. Me too! :) I have a general idea, but the best laid plans are often wrought disposable when push comes to shove. But I'm looking forward to seeing what I can do.