A/N: Well, here we are...another chapter...quite obviously...hello to everybody out there and thank you all so much for reviewing.

Did you know that Psilocybe montana. the type species of the well-known genus of hallucinogenic mushrooms, does not contain any psychedelic compounds? No, neither did I. But apparently the supreme being that controls Wikipedia does.

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early. Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast,

read the sign in the Great Hall. The entire school was abuzz with excitement in the two weeks between the posting of this proclamation and October thirtieth. Naturally, Harry, Ron, the Weasley twins, and indeed most of Gryffindor decided to use their resources wisely, always pestering her with interrogatives about Durmstrang.

The school building itself was undergoing a thorough cleaning; it was decorated in full grandeur to entirely impress the visitors. The teachers, too were making quite sure the students would not fatally embarrass Hogwarts in some atrocious way. But when Professor McGonagall politely asked Neville, after a rather problematic transplant of body parts, to "kindly not reveal you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!", Bellacine could barely keep herself from bursting out laughing.

On the morning of the thirtieth, Harry received another reply from Sirius. He read it to them in a hushed voice over breakfast that morning. "'Nice try, Harry. I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself. Don't forget what I said about your scar.'"

"He shouldn't have come," she whispered at once. "And he shouldn't be using his real name on letters...just think, imagine if Hedwig was intercepted...."

"Why d'you have to keep switching owls?" asked Ron.

"Hedwig'll attract too much attention," Hermione answered. "She stands out. A snowy owl who keeps returning to wherever he's hiding...I mean, they're not exactly native birds, are they?"

"No...," Harry said absentmindedly. "Can I borrow Pig to write next time?" he asked Ron, and then looked across the table at her. "What about you? You have an owl too, don't you...I mean, Malfoy's got one, I've seen him getting packages...."

Bellacine shook her head. "Durmstrang," she explained, reaching for the platter of bacon rashers. "We couldn't have owls or any other pets...its' really not that sort of a school, you know? If you were supposed to be getting something from your parents or anything like that you had to go to Novy. Professor Novy. If anything came for you, he'd have it; he's sort of the deputy headmaster. Like McGonagall."

The bell, thankfully, rang early in Potions and everyone escaped quickly, relieved; they deposited their things in Gryffindor Tower and ran down to the entrance hall, where Professor McGonagall was ready to inspect them.

As the students of the four Houses passed muster, they filed out to the grounds directly in front of the castle. A limpid crescent moon shown, reflecting onto the Black Lake. Bellacine grinned with anticipation- Durmstrang of course would be coming by ship; she was excited to show her friends that her old school was just as magnificent as Hogwarts was.

They waited for what seemed like forever; it was getting very chilly with an icy wind sweeping off the dark water, although she suspected some of the first years were shivering with adrenaline anticipation and not cold.

"Aha!" exclaimed Dumbledore delightedly about twenty minutes or so later. "Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!" She glanced around eagerly, not sure where to look; a sixth year shouted out and pointed to a shadowy shape hurtling over the uppermost branches of the Forbidden Forest.

"It's a dragon!" someone screamed, hiding their head under their cloak.

"Don't be stupid...it's a flying house!" cried another first year. His guess, actually, was decently close: As the shape descended in the direction of the grassy stretch between the students and the lake, Bellacine saw it to be a giant pale blue carriage that definitely was at least the size of a house, pulled by twelve Abraxan horses, all palominos.

The vehicle hit the ground with a stupendous crash; before the carriage had even stopped rocking on its wheels, the size of the giant pumpkins growing behind Hagrid's cottage at least, a door swung open, a boy in powdery blue robes leapt out, and unfolded a set of steps at the bottom of the door. He sprang back respectfully.

From the interior a black-clad foot was extended with much care- only it was most certainly not a normal-sized foot; it was the size of a toboggan. And like it, the woman that followed, dressed head-to-toe in black satin, was most definitely not a normal woman. She was twice the size of an ordinary person, and the only person Bellacine had ever met who was even close to rivalling her height was their Care of Magical Creatures professor and Harry's friend, Hagrid.

Dumbledore lead the students in a round of welcoming applause; the lady stepped forwards, gracefully extending a ring-adorned hand.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he said, kissing her hand. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

They continued to speak, now too quietly for anyone to hear, as from the carriage a dozen boys and girls who all looked to be around seventeen emerged. Like the boy who opened the door, they wore pale blue robes, which seemed to be of thin fabric or some other light material, because they were shivering more violently than the Hogwarts students.

As the Beauxbatons students proceeded indoors, most everyone in Bellacine's own year began to excitedly ask how Durmstrang would be arriving. Seamus Finnegan inquired as to how big their horses would be. "Oh, much larger that these," she said, laughing. A moment later she heard it- the rumbling, sucking noise she had heard so many times before.

"Look at the lake!" Lee Jordan shouted. "Look at it!"

A wide, vicious whirlpool was growing, expanding in the centre of the lake; waves were crashing out from the epicentre, and many of the younger students were gasping out in fright or astonishment. The mast of one of the school ships- a smaller one, it appeared, because she only saw three masts with the rigging done up around them as it rose from the churning water.

"It's a mast!" Harry yelled.

The ship, which was actually the second-smallest of a fleet or about fifteen, slowly floated to the shore with a small red candle flame glowing on the port side. Someone threw out the anchor; the rudder was set and the person standing beside him- she could see only silhouettes in the moonlight- holding navigational charts rolled them up. Karkaroff emerged from his cabin topside and gave them the order to disembark, and somebody let down the gangplank.

The Durmstrangs filed down the gangplank, occasionally outlined by faint lights glowing from the portholes. They were already wearing their winter uniforms- the cold must have come early this year.

"Dumbledore!" called Karkaroff, leading his dozen students up the slope. "Howa re you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," he answered politely. The two headmasters shook hands.

"Dear old Hogwarts," Karkaroff said, looking up at the brightly lit castle with a thin-lipped smile. "How good it is to be here, how good....Viktor, come along, into the warmth...you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold...." As he beckoned forwards the boy who had been standing closest to his headmaster, Bellacine sighed and scowled: so the tsarevitch had come- not that she was surprised- this was, after all, Viktor, Krum, Karkaroff's favourite student.

Then Ron leaned across Harry and Hermione to address her. "Bella," he said, his eyes wide," you didn't tell us Krum went to Durmstrang!"

"Yeah, well, he does," she said miserably.

"For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player!" Hermione said quellingly.

"Only a Quidditch player?" he exclaimed. "Hermione- he's one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!"

Shaking her head over the gaggle of sixth-year girls they passed who were busy debating whether or not Krum would sign their hats in lipstick, she repeated, "Yeah, well, he is."

"I'm getting his autograph if I can," Ron continued. He moved to pull one out of his bag, then remembered it was up in his dormitory. "Any of you have a quill on you?"

"You are not going to embarrass me like this," Bellacine muttered. "None of you are asking for his autograph while I'm with you. None of you are- are- are stalking him through the hallways, all right?"

Ron grumbled at her stupidity as they fought their way into the Great Hall. Bellacine hadn't caught a close look at the Durmstrang contingent yet- they were seated at the Slytherin table, which she and her friends always made an effort to pass quickly- so she had no idea who had come, aside from the tsarevitch; the students from Beauxbatons had taken seats at the Ravenclaw table. They still appeared quite cold, most of them wearing shawls wrapped around their uniforms. She, Ron, Harry, and Hermione took seats at the end of the Gryffindor table.

"That's right, smarm up to him, Malfoy." Ron scowled; Bellacine assumed Draco was trying to talk to Krum. "I bet Krum can see right through him, though...bet he gets people fawning over him all the time...."

"Damn straight," she muttered.

Behind her someone laughed and said, "Watch your language, Bella Regulovna...you don't want to give the foreigners a bad impression."

Bellacine jumped in shock and spun around; standing behind her seat was Vasily Gnedich. "I had no idea- you came- I didn't know you were seventeen already!" she "You are, aren't you?"

"My birthday's in October," he reminded her, and then he added, a little proudly, "only three of the seventh-years could come." And he would be in seventh year already, since Durmstrang started a year before Hogwarts, a system she was just getting off now. Like Hogwarts, Durmstrang mandatory education ended in seventh year, but unlike the British school, one could take up to two more years, something like a less necessary edition of university that most people opted into anyway.

"So, who else came?" Bellacine moved down closer to Hermione so there would be room for him to sit.

"Sadly, the tsarevitch and my cousin Anton...Isay Poliakoff, Aldona Buinauskas, Tadeusz Domagala- that's Leszek's older brother- Anna Schroeder, Ekaterina Andropov, Sasha Vassikin, Ernst Rommel, Hans Fyr, and one other girl, some ninth-year...Vera, Vera Kamar. That's twelve of us, right?" Vasily said, counting them off again.

She suddenly became conscious of the fact that her friends were staring quite obviously at her. "Ah...right," she mumbled. "Harry, Ron, Hermione- Vasily Pyotorovich Gnedich. Vasily- Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley."

Vasily stuck out his hand; the first to react, reach forwards, and shake was Hermione, but she turned to Bellacine and said, "Vasily Peter what now?"

"Pyotorovich Gnedich," he repeated. "Don't worry, you needn't remember all of that. We Russians, we like to do things differently. We find it interesting."

Ron suddenly asked, "You know Krum?"

"Of course I know who he is," Vasily said derisively. "If you had him at your school since forever you'd know him too. Believe me, it is far from something to enjoy. He's as awful as he looks. He's the only person Karkaroff acknowledges the existence of; he leaves Novy to deal with the rest of us. And he can do anything he pleases, anything the rest of the school would get five hundred detentions for, because he is Krum and Krum is wonderful."

"Still," he shrugged, "he is famous."

"Famous isn't everything, kid."

They had talked right through Dumbledore's opening speech. As he sat at the head table, immediately engaged in conversation by Karkaroff, the golden dishes lining the tables filled with a wide variety of foods, some common, some foreign, glowing under the lights of thousands of candles that hovered above them in midair.

The only thing of any interest that really happened during the meal was the arrival of one of the Beauxbatons girls, who had finally taken a scarf off her head, requesting the bowl of bouillabaisse. Her long, straight hair was a silvery-blonde colour that glinted in the firelight, her eyes were deep sapphire blue, and her teeth were perfect. She took the bowl from a dumbstruck Ron and returned to the Ravenclaw table.

"She's a veela!" he exclaimed breathlessly. Vasily glanced at the girl and looked away; she knew what he was thinking: If she really was a veela, which was the same as being part-human, dangerous just like a werewolf. Except the danger of the veela was seduction, naturally. She knew Beauxbatons had a reputation for being a rather liberal school, the polar opposite of Durmstrang, but it was surprising- that they had sent this girl to compete for the Triwizard Tournament.

"Of course she isn't," Hermione said fiercely. "I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!"

"I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl!" he retorted, staring after her. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"

Harry muttered something to the extent of that they 'made them okay' at Hogwarts. Vasily, too, had said something, that sounded a lot like "Oh really?" to Ron's statement, but when she looked at him he was intently contemplating his plate.

"When the two of you have put your eyes back in," Hermione snapped, glaring at Ron, "you'll be able to see who's just arrived."

They looked up to the high table; two more men had just filed in and taken seats- Ludo bagman on Karkaroff's right and Mr. Crouch on Madame Maxime's left. Dumbledore spoke a few brief words to each of them and stood once more, and the whole Hall grew silent at once.

"The moment has come," he announced brightly, and there was a quiet murmuring throughout the Hall like a hidden current. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

For Bagman there was a long and loud round of applause, perhaps because of his fame as a professional Quidditch player- Quidditch players clearly always got all the attention- or perhaps because he looked much friendlier than stern Mr. Crouch, who received only a brief smattering of applause.

Dumbledore went on to name and introduce the five judges, the heads of the three schools and the two Ministry officials who had arrived. Then he asked Filch to bring in 'the casket,' at which there was another undercurrent of murmuring. The caretaker carried in from the far side of the Hall a medium-sized old wooden box, blackened with age, which he placed gingerly before the dais.

"The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector," Dumbledore announced. "The Goblet of Fire."

He drew out his wand and tapped three times on the rough wooden chest. At once there rose up from it a coarsely carved wooden cup, or rather a goblet. Dancing around the surface were pearly blue flames- a sort of Wizarding Olympic Torch. Harry glanced at it once and, as if on cue, began humming the song quietly; at which Hermione shot him a look.

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," he said after explaining the candidacy process, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross it.

"Finally, I wish to impress on any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion is selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obligated to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name into the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think, it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

Vasily was the first person to stand at their end of the table. "We're sleeping and having classes on the ship," he said to Bellacine, "but we're eating meals in the castle, so I'll see you tomorrow morning." He hurried off to find his classmates, who had been milling around the Slytherin table, Krum hounded by Hogwarts students.

As the four of them passed this table to return to Gryffindor, Karkaroff came up to his students, stroking his goatee nervously. "Back to the ship, then," he ordered. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"

"Professor, I would like some wine," muttered one of the other boys- Isay, Vasily's friend- sarcastically. Unfortunately Karkaroff was not well-receptive to sarcasm and glowered at the boy, snapping, "I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff."

Both parties reached the door at the same instant. While Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped aside, instinct rose up unbidden in Bellacine and she stepped forwards to open the door for her former headmaster.

"Thank you," said Karkaroff automatically, without sparing her a glance. Instead his gaze travelled, and fixed on, to Harry. He froze and behind him the line of Durmstrang student stopped in their tracks. Karkaroff stared at Harry- more particularly at his lightning-bolt scar, which he tried to smooth down unsuccessfully. Isay nudged one of the other three seventh-years, Anna Schroeder, and pointed openly. Vasily knocked his arm down.

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," growled Professor Moody behind them. Karkaroff whirled to stare at the ex-Auror with a mixture of fear and intense hatred. Moody returned the expression of hatred with interest.

"You!" he hissed.

"Me," Moody replied grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway."

Bellacine couldn't help it; she began to smile and then to chuckle and finally to laugh outright. She couldn't stop herself...the look on Karkaroff's face was so very infuriated and so very immensely unsettled that it was hysterical. His face by now wiped clean of everything but fury, Karkaroff turned slowly to glare at his collected class. "Which of you laughed?" he barked.

Most of them shuffled their feet nervously; the smarter ones drifted to the back of the group. Vasily mouthed good one at her.

Finally a ninth-year boy with sandy brown hair spoke up. "Nobody, sir."

Their headmaster scowled. "You are lying. Who was it?"

"Nobody, sir," he repeated, looking anxious.

"Detention!" he barked. "Six of you, detention tonight unless someone owns up. Fyr, Domagala, Gnedich, Andropov, Rommel, Buinauskas, starboard bow tonight at ten."

Bellacine had stuffed her knuckles of her left hand into her mouth to hold down more laughter, but another wave of it rose up in her, despite knowing she ought to shut up; she couldn't restrain it at all, not this time- A much louder wave of laughter broke forth, and Karkaroff slowly looked over his shoulder, and his eyes narrowed.

"Miss Black," he snapped. "Miss Black. You overstep. Detention. Tonight and Saturday and Sunday. The rest of you, back to the ship."

Isay gave him a mock salute behind his back; the sandy-haired boy who had spoken before, Vassikin, led the group back.

"You might want to remember," Moody growled quietly, "Karkaroff, that she's not your student any longer. You haven't got any power to put her in detention on that resurrected wreck of yours. Go on. Run along back to your little boat."

Malevolently, he swept from the entrance hall. Professor Moody's scowl was just as harsh; his disfigured face only made it appear more so. And she wondered again- what does he want with me?

The entirety of Gryffindor was up early the next morning, and raced down to the entrance hall as soon as they were dressed, watching the mesmerising blue flames flickering around the rim of the Goblet of Fire. Bellacine knew some of the older students from Hogwarts who had put forward their names- Angelina Johnson, a Chaser for Gryffindor and a sixth year who had just celebrated her birthday; Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker, and a few Ravenclaws. Everyone from the visiting schools had added their names as well, earlier that morning. There were a few who attempted to sneak past the Age Line- a Ravenclaw girl, a Hufflepuff boy, and most spectacularly, Fred and George. The twins had just stepped across the line etched into the floor when they were thrown back with a bang across Dumbledore's magical barrier, sprouting long white beards and leaving their friend Lee Jordan and Lizzie roaring with laughter.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron headed down to Hagrid's small (though it had a raised roof to accommodate his height) house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest early on Saturday afternoon. Bellacine had left the school with them, but in the end switched course and headed for the span of grassy shore were the ship was moored, bobbing gently in the waves.

Although the gangplank was up, she knew the unlocking spells and had it down in seconds. She was halfway up when somebody came running over from the other side.

"Get off girl, whoever you are!" he commanded. "We don't want English on this ship!"

"Vassikin, I tarred half the deck you're standing on in detention two years ago!" she yelled back. "I'm Bella Regulovna; let me on!"

"You do not attend this school any longer, you have no right to be on this ship."

Bellacine exhaled sharply, annoyed, and pulled out her wand. Continuing up the gangplank, she paused where it joined the deck. She waved her wand in a figure-eight pattern and a glittering wall appeared momentarily, then vanished. "What happens if I walk through that?"

"The usual."

"Let me through, then."

"No."

"Why not?"

"No."

"Mr. Vassikin, tear down that wall-"

There was a terrifyingly loud explosion from somewhere beneath Vassikin's feet; smoke began to pour from the hold a few seconds later. Below, someone was bellowing at the top of their lungs, and momentarily Vasily emerged.

"Potions," he said to Vassikin. "We all knew it wasn't going to work, having Rommel teach Potions, and yet he is. Oddly enough it was his fault, too." He noticed Bellacine then. "What're you doing here?"

"Whiling away the hours, conferring with the flowers, consulting with the rain, at least till someone lets me on board."

"Oh, that sounds interesting. Vassikin giving you trouble?"

The older boy had gone down into the heart of the ship; the copious amounts of smoke billowing up were beginning to lessen.

"No, not really. He wouldn't let me on and the Wall was up. You showed before anything interesting really happened."

There was a second loud crack and yellow-orange steam flooded out of the hold. About three different voices, Vassikin's distinct amongst them, began swearing vigorously, and the flow of smoke increased.

"Well, I was going to open it and let you on," said Vasily with a hint of an ironic smile, "but I doubt that is a good idea any longer. Shall we?" He clicked his fingers and the Wall sparkled in the bright sunlight for an instant, then disappeared long enough for him to pass through.

They walked about ten yards along the shore of the Black Lake; Bellacine suddenly said, "You don't have to keep sitting at the Gryffindor table, you can go sit with everyone else from Durmstrang if you like, there's really no reason for you to-"

"I know of the existence of far too many people at the Slytherin table that I don't like, okay?" he snapped. "I told Isay to come sit with me. It's his own fault he wanted to stay with Anna, isn't it? Bella, anything that gets me away from Anton and the tsarevitch- and a bunch of idiots, too- that's a good thing." He picked up a rock and threw it in the lake. It skipped, twice.

"Okay, just wondering."

"Any real reason you came to the ship?"

"I was going down to Hagrid's place with my friends," Bellacine explained, "but then I decided not to. He's Harry's friend, not mine. I don't know him like they do. So I went to the ship instead. No reason."

"Bored?"

"Essentially."

"You know how to skip rocks?"

"Yes. Sort of. Maybe. Maybe not. Not really. Occasionally if I'm lucky, I can, I suppose."

"I'll show you how," said Vasily; he began to gather some smooth rocks from the shoreline. "And luck has nothing to do with it; it's how you hold and how you throw. You used to play Quidditch, you ought to know that." He showed her how to find the good flat stones, how to toss, Vasily guiding her hand at first. An hour later she could skip a rock twice regularly. Vasily could manage five, and did so three times.

"We ought to go back now," Bellacine announced, glancing at her watch. It was nearly time for supper, and the champions from each school would be chosen immediately following the meal. Nodding, he threw the last stone. It brought up a wall of shining clear-green water as it curved away, rippling, glassy in the sunlight as it arced over the lake.

"Who d'you think the champion will be?" she asked the table before her as she took a seat for dinner. "For all three schools."

"Hope it's Angelina for Hogwarts," said Ron through a mouthful of food. The Halloween feast was just as extravagant as the Welcoming Feast the night before- the house-elves were outdoing themselves in the kitchens- but everybody was too tense and excited to care about the heaping platters of meat and vegetables. "I couldn't stand it if it was Diggory."

"You know, he's not that horrible," Hermione put in. Now that S.P.E.W. was founded and her extreme hours in the library were over (till December, when she would need to start studying for end-of-year exams), she ate at a more normal pace. "He was in Muggle Studies last year, and he's really not that bad, just...Cedric-ish."

"Cedric-ish," repeated Vasily, looking amused. "I wasn't aware there was such a thing. Personally," he said to the Weasley twins, "I would've wished it was you two." He too had been in the entrance hall for Fred and George's spectacular attempt on the Goblet of Fire.

While George only stroked the spot where his beard used to be wistfully, Fred asked, "Hey- how did you get in, if you're in the same year as us?" When Bellacine had introduced the three boys to one another she had simplified things and said Vasily was in sixth year as well.

"Seventeen already," he said. "Don't worry about it, though. There's no way anyone from my year is getting in- they only brought us because that was the way the competition at our school worked, and we got in, so Karkaroff had to let us. I don't want to admit it, but I think it could be the tsarevitch for Durmstrang in the end."

Hermione, who sat beside Bellacine, hissed in her ear, "The who for Durmstrang?"

"Not the who, the Krum," she hissed back. It wasn't meant to be funny- at least, she didn't think it was- but for some reason Hermione elbowed her ion the side and muttered something about bad puns, laughing. "Why do you say that?"

"Has anyone ever told you what Krum did in Dark Arts?" asked Vasily. She shook her head; she had no idea what this story was about. "Right, well, this a couple years ago. The year right before you came, I think. Krum didn't like having to take Dark Arts-he didn't think it was right to be learning that, probably, even though it's not like we do anything with it. So he walked out one day. He's never been back since, either, so he doesn't know a thing hardly, but for some reason Karkaroff didn't care. Likely because he's Krum and everything he does is wonderful."

She started to laugh, but then Hermione whispered urgently, "Quiet!" and she hushed, noticing that the entire hall had grown silent. Dumbledore stood before the goblet, which Filch had brought in at the beginning of dinner; he waved his and in a wide sweeping motion and all the candles in the Great Hall went out except for those in the jack-o'-lanterns that lined the wide windows.

The flames dancing around the rim of the goblet were now the only thing anyone could look at, transfixing in the dark room, brilliant blue-white one moment, then, suddenly, bright, bright red that burned her eyes as scarlet fire spouted like a geyser into the air- a blackened piece of parchment fluttered on a gentle updraft, Dumbledore caught it, and the whole Hall held its breath.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read; in the dim shadows behind the flaming goblet was Karkaroff's outline, staring expectantly at the Hogwarts headmaster, "will be Viktor Krum!"

"No surprises there!" yelled Ron over the raucous din of applause and shouting that filled the Great Hall. At the Slytherin table, Krum stood and walked past the high table into a separate chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff bellowed. "Knew you had it in you!"

"Oh, this is going to be awful...," muttered Vasily.

The flames turned red again; Dumbledore caught the second piece of charred paper and read aloud, "The champion for Beauxbatons Academy is Fleur Delacour!"

Another storm of applause broke out as Fleur, the girl who looked to be part-veela, walked gracefully into the room Krum had entered. Someone wolf-whistled as she passed their table. The Goblet of Fire turned red once more, and out shot a third bit of half-burnt parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," read Dumbledore, "is Cedric Diggory!"

Practically the entirety of the Hufflepuff table jumped to its feet, screaming and clapping in such a way to make the long, narrow windows vibrate in their frames. Dumbledore smiled genially as Cedric walked past him into the room where the champions waited.

"Excellent!" said Dumbledore as the cheers died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count on all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering on your champion, you will contribute in a very real-"

But Dumbledore stopped; the Goblet of Fire was again throwing out red flames. A fourth scrap of parchment came out- without hearing Bellacine watched him read the name on it, once to himself and then, with a note of incredulity, aloud- and suddenly everyone was staring at the Gryffindor table- and Harry was slowly standing up, and walking nervously to the high table- and beyond it, into the room where the champions waited- and all she could think was that nobody was going to be very happy about this. Including her. Because, of course, as usual, everything good always happened to Harry.

A/N: And so are sown the seeds of discord....