II
DEATHNOTELY HALLOWMESTUCK
Friendship is Wizardry
Chapter 2: The Door Keeps Opening
The villagers of Little Hangleton no longer called it the Gaunt Shack, nor did they call it anything at all, even though the Gaunt family had lived there some years ago. It stood at the bottom of a hill just outside the village, its one window boarded, ivy spreading over its surface, and overall just in an immense state of disrepair. Though it hadn't looked great even in its day, it now looked like it was just barely standing.
The villagers all agreed the old shack was creepy, even before it was abandoned. The Gaunts had been a very strange family, and the villagers tended to keep away. In fact, a great many of them were relieved as one by one the Gaust mysteriously disappeared, and not once did anybody think to visit that old shack ever again...
Except for a young boy named Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tom was a Gaunt on his mother's side, and one fateful evening he decided to return to his roots and investigate the Gaunt Shack. Presumably the reader knows the rest of this story already, so we will skip over the gritty details.
Nevertheless, a precious family heirloom was stolen on that day - a ring that had once belonged to a certain Marvolo Gaunt. Many years later, the ring managed to find its way back into the Gaunt Shack, and was hidden in a place where Tom Riddle was sure nobody would find it.
Several years after that, exactly forty seconds after Tom Riddle's name was written in a certain notebook, the ring began to shudder violently, before shattering into a million pieces. The force of this miniature explosion caused severe damage to one of the shack's load-bearing planks, causing the entire structure to come tumbling down.
And thus the Gaunt Shack, and Marvolo Gaunt's ring, was no more.
The weeks passed by very quickly, though not a day would go by when Harry didn't see the arm. He wondered why it was there. Who it belonged to. Why it seemed to be only following him. Why it wouldn't let anyone else see it.
However, he was able to ignore the nagging sensation of being watched, thanks to his excitement for the Triwizard Tournament. As Halloween came ever closer, anticipation grew, until it was almost like the arms weren't even there.
Until, of course, Halloween finally did arrive, and the arms were suddenly everywhere.
"The decorations this year sure are impressive," said Hermione.
"Yeah, look at these arms," said Ron, poking one, which poked him back in retaliation. "So realistic!"
"Guys!" exclaimed Harry. "These are the arms that have been following me all year! Look at them, they're plain white, with no hair - exactly how I described them!"
"Well, the mystery's solved then," said Ron. "You were seeing Halloween decorations!"
"You can't be serious."
Ron shrugged.
"Let's face it, Harry," said Hermione. "What are the odds that you were actually seeing some sort of disembodied arms floating around? It's likely you just saw some stray decorations, and that led you to believe you were seeing them everywhere, even when they weren't really there."
"Not you too, Hermione!"
Hermione shrugged.
Harry sighed as they arrived at the Gryffindor table and sat next to Dean and Seamus.
"So I heard Warrington put his name in the Cup," said Dean.
"Oh, ew," replied Ron.
The rest of day went fairly well. Harry was more paranoid than ever about the arms, but that paranoia was easily replaced with excitement as the day drew nearer and nearer to a close. Everything was going perfectly great, until...
"Harry Potter," called Dumbledore.
Harry sat still, very aware of everyone's eyes suddenly on him. The whispering started almost immediately.
"Harry Potter?"
"But how? He can't have gotten his name into the Goblet..."
"It's simply impossible!"
Harry turned to see Ron and Hermione staring at him.
"I didn't do it," he said. "I didn't put my name in. You know I didn't."
They merely continued staring.
"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called again. "Harry, up here, if you please."
"Go on," whispered Hermione, giving him a slight push.
Harry stumbled out of his seat and begun walking up to the high table. The whispers were getting louder.
"Of course Harry gets chosen! Because he's just so special."
"It's called the Triwizard Tournament, not the Quadwizard Tournament!"
"He's not really going to compete, is he?"
Harry looked up at the table. It hadn't gotten any closer. Everyone was still staring at him.
And then, the most peculiar thing happened. Something stark white appeared out of thin air - Harry recognized it as the arm, only this time it was holding something. There was a popping noise, but it went unheard over the whispering.
Then, the hand began to pour some sort of liquid into the Goblet of Fire, seemingly dousing the flames. Harry was surprised to see Dumbledore and all of the teachers were doing absolutely nothing about it. They didn't even notice it - they were too busy staring at him.
At last, Harry arrived at the high table.
"Well," said Dumbledore. "Through the door, Harry." He wasn't smiling.
Harry turned towards the doorway and walked along the table, still very much aware of everyone's eyes on him. He walked through the door into a room with a roaring fireplace and a bunch of paintings. As soon as he did, one of the paintings leaned over to whisper into the ear of another.
The other champions turned to face him. They thought he had been sent to pass along a message. He didn't know what to say.
"Well?" asked Fleur. "Vhat iz it?"
Harry merely shook his head dumbfoundedly. The other champions stared at him, waiting for an answer. Fortunately, the awkward silence was eventually broken by Ludo Bagman walking in, holding the Goblet of Fire.
"Extraordinary," he said, taking a drink from the Goblet, "Absolutely delicious!"
Within seconds, Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Snape scrambled in all at once, shutting the door behind them.
"Mr. Bagman, I implore you," said Dumbledore.
"Relax," said Bagman. "It tastes great! Any of you want some?" He held the Goblet out to the champions, who all shook their heads nervously.
"Mr. Bagman, we have no way of knowing whether this substance is poison," exclaimed McGonagall, "Not to mention the fact that the Goblet of Fire is not meant to be drunk from."
"Relax," Bagman said again, taking another drink as everyone else in the room winced. "It's just some sugary soft drink. Not a single drop of poison!"
"And how would you know that?" questioned Snape. "There are fifty million varieties of poison in existence, and about forty-two percent of them are tasteless."
Bagman shrugged. "Well, I'm not dying or breaking out into hideous warts, am I?"
Harry shuddered, remembering the bad experience he'd had on his first day back.
"Let us just ignore zis unimportant drivel," said Madame Maxime, "And return to ze matter at hand."
"I agree," said Professor Karkaroff.
"Very well," said Bagman. "May I introduce the fourth Triwizard champion?"
There was an uproar, but Harry's mind was quite suddenly taken off the conversation, as he noticed two things he recognized very well.
The first was, of course, the arm. It was floating right by the fireplace, but this time, it was different. In its hand it held the second thing - a solid black notebook engraved with white bone letters. The Death Note.
Harry stopped himself from gasping. The hand made a movement, as if to throw the book into the fireplace, but just then...
"Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" Dumbledore asked calmly.
It took him a few seconds to process the question. "No," he said.
"He hesitated," said Snape. "He is obviously lying."
"That's enough, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, before turning back to Harry. "Did you ask an older student to put it in the Goblet for you?"
"No," said Harry vehemently, looking back towards the fireplace.
The Death Note was gone, but it didn't look like it was in the fireplace. The arm was shaking its fist towards the doorway. Harry turned to face it. It was wide open.
Harry felt something flat and rectangular slide into his pocket. He was about to reach in there, but he held back for fear of touching the Death Note. He looked back at the door. It was closed shut.
"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work that way," Bagman was saying when Harry returned to the conversation. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out - and been filled with this delicious beverage." With that, he drank down the last of the liquid and handed the cup back to Dumbledore, who glared at him slightly before taking it.
"You really shouldn't be doing that, Bagman," said Mad-Eye, storming into the room and slamming the door behind him. "For all we know, whoever filled up that cup could be the same person who put Harry's name in it. And let's face it - whoever did that probably did it because they were hoping he'd die in the tournament."
As the visiting headmasters began to accuse Moody of excessive paranoia, Harry thought. Could it have been the arms? Were they really hoping to kill him? It had tried to burn the Death Note... Perhaps to keep him from using it to kill Voldemort?
Suddenly, a dark thought crossed his mind. Could the arm belong to Voldemort?
He felt something slide into his empty pocket. He turned towards the doorway. It was still closed. He looked behind him. An arm disappeared just as he turned.
He dug into his pocket, taking out his dragon-hide gloves, and a ballpoint pen. He tried not to make a big deal out of putting the gloves on. He uncapped the pen silently. Reaching into his other pocket, he took out the Death Note.
After making absolutely sure nobody was looking at him, he flipped the notebook open and scribbled in a name.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle."
His scar burned red-hot, but only for a second. He winced.
"It seems to me, however," said Dumbledore after Harry slipped the notebook back into this pocket, "That we have no choice but to accept. Both Harry and Cedric will compete in the tournament."
Harry felt the notebook slip out of his pocket. He turned towards the doorway. It was wide open.
