"Swallow a toad in the morning if you want to encounter nothing more disgusting the rest of the day."

-Chamfort

11

The Fourth of Three

The Dining Hall was decorated sparingly for Halloween with a pumpkin at the center of each table and with orange and black streamers dangling lightly from the rafters. Harry missed all the commotion about Halloween at Hogwarts, where the Great Hall would have been adorned to the brim with Hagrid's massive pumpkins, the jack-o-lanterns floating in the air, the school ghosts that would tell stories of the past, and the large amount of orange, holiday-themed food.

But it didn't bother him as much as it might have because the room was filled with the students and professors, as they waited for the Goblet of Fire to tell them which three students would be given the honor of being a champion. Harry waited anxiously at one of the round tables between Draco and Adrian Pucey.

The room was silent with anticipation. Karkaroff was standing in front of the Goblet, its blue-white flames still crackling. Abruptly, the flames changed to the color of a wine, a deep dark violet. And a slip of parchment flew up out of the flames, and Karkaroff caught it before it fell to the floor. "Fleur Delacour!"

The table on the other side of the room immediately began to cheer, as students dressed in blue satin stood to congratulate their fellow student. But Harry noticed that most of them looked highly disappointed and barely clapped. Madame Maxime, as well as the other professors, rose from her seat and applauded her champion. A slender girl with long, silvery blonde hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes moved away from the table to stand by the staff table, her smile wide and infectious. Soon all the boys around her were smiling as well.

Another piece of parchment was spewed from the flames, and Karkaroff bellowed the name, "Cedric Diggory!" Harry stood with the other Hogwarts students to congratulate the tall, cheerful-looking young man with a chiseled face and a wide smile. He looked to the staff table to see Dumbledore stand as Diggory walked to join Delacour, getting pats on the back on his way. From the Hogwarts champion table, he heard Montague grunt in anger and slam the table, though the sound was mostly lost to the applauding in the room.

The room saw wine-colored flames once more and Karkaroff grabbed another slip of parchment. The Durmstrang headmaster seemed to be holding his breath. "And the last is…Viktor Krum!" Harry was taken aback when the entire room burst into applause – the sound was deafening, and yet he couldn't help but join in as Viktor stood from his table and joined the other two champions near the side of the room. Karkaroff clearly looked pleased.

When the flames changed color again almost no one noticed the room was in such a cheerful uproar. Harry was one of the first to stop clapping, but it was when the Durmstrang headmaster turned toward the Goblet that the others realized something was amiss. A piece of paper flew out from the flames and began its gentle ascend toward the floor. As if too stunned, Karkaroff didn't reach for it in the air, waiting until it had touched the marble flooring to finally pick it up.

The room watched Karkaroff silently, as if everyone was holding their breath. Even Harry was unconsciously preventing himself from breathing. The man glanced down at the paper and whispered something, a name. But no one heard him. His face started to get redder and redder as he looked up and began frantically searching for a face in the room. Then his dark eyes landed on Harry, and that was when he knew.

Karkaroff said louder, "Harry Potter."

All the students and teachers turned toward him, at first silently and then gradually the murmuring got louder, an infectious buzzing. Harry wanted to sink into the floor and then into the earth below, never to be heard of again. He wanted to disappear. His legs felt wobbly and unstable, and he wanted to grasp the table behind him, but was too stunned to do anything at all. If he was going to fall, he didn't think he would be able to consciously stop himself, nor did he want to at that point.

As Karkaroff began to grimace in anger, Harry just wanted to know why. Why does this always happen to him?

"What is the meaning of this?" Karkaroff exclaimed turning to Dumbledore. "How could you allow him to put his name in? How could you have two champions?"

Dumbledore stood calmly and walked around the table to meet him. "I have not allowed Harry to put his name into the Goblet." His blue eyes looked at Harry, who knew to go over for a punishment to an offense he hadn't committed. When he had gone over, his headmaster asked calmly, "Harry, did you bypass the Age Line and put your name in?"

"No, Professor." He tried to convey his seriousness in those few words as best he could.

Madame Maxime stood from her seat. " 'Ee iz lying, Dumbledore!"

Karkaroff added angrily, "He obviously managed to get past it, and you said that there is no vay a student could. Perhaps you told him how!"

Dumbledore seemed to understand that students of all three schools were silently watching the disagreement with slight awe, and he tried to tell Karkaroff that perhaps this should be dealt with privately, but the man repeated his sentence, even louder than before. And so Dumbledore said, "I did no such thing, Karkaroff. I would not tell a student of mine to cheat in this tournament."

He turned to Harry and inquired, "Harry, you're telling the truth? You didn't put your name in?"

The fact that Dumbledore was doubtful of his innocence greatly upset him – though he was clearly aware of the invisible wall that had become wedged between them – but he pushed that aside and replied, "I wouldn't even know how to get past it, Professor. And I don't want to be in the tournament."

Before Dumbledore or Karkaroff could answer, Bartemius Crouch stood from his seat. "Mr. Potter must compete – his name was drawn by the Goblet of Fire. He is bound by a magical contract to see the tournament through to the end. He cannot back out now." He looked at Karkaroff and Dumbledore, and then sat back down.

Karkaroff glared at Dumbledore and reproachfully drawled, "You did this on purpose, Dumbledore."

"I swear to you, my friend, I did not. I would not willingly put a student of mine in danger like this."

The Durmstrang headmaster, obviously seeing this couldn't be resolved, shot Harry an accusing stare, and then grunted in anger as he walked back towards the staff table to address the room, as he had been about to before the interruption. With their headmaster now out of the argument, the students began talking quickly to each other, their thoughts on the situation spreading rapidly from mouth to ear. Harry heard snippets like, "the nerve of him," or "how d'you think he got past the line?" or "he'll probably die in the first task anyway, he's so small."

Dumbledore glanced down at Harry through his spectacles. Harry tried to convey through his eyes that he didn't want to be a champion, that he would be perfectly fine watching from the sidelines, and that he wanted his headmaster to resolve this, but Dumbledore merely gave him a sad look. His eyes seemed less reflective at the moment, and he seemed to age a few years in only a few moments.

"You will have to compete, Harry, along with others. It will be dangerous, but I have confidence that you will be able to manage. Do you think you can do this?"

Harry waited a moment, feeling his headmaster's eyes on his face, and then nodded, though he wasn't completely certain he could. Dumbledore nodded as well. Harry took his place beside the other champions, feeling their hesitation to stand next to him, as if he was contagious. He wiped his sweaty hands on his robe, as he glanced at his table where Draco was sitting. But he friend turned away from him. He thought it was odd, but was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to worry about Draco's at the moment.

Face still red, Karkaroff explained that the first task would take place in exactly one month and a day on the 25th of November. "The first task vill test your daring and courage, and you therefore vill be going into the vithout a hint as to what it entails. Good luck."

One by one the students left the large room. Harry watched them all go, but remained in his place as he did. He didn't think he could move his feet even if he tried. He would have to compete in the incredibly dangerous Triwizard Tournament – he might have a leg bitten off or be seriously scarred, as if he wasn't used to already, or even be killed. What if he never saw Sirius again in person? He wasn't much worried about himself as he was about Sirius. He knew Sirius would be horribly devastated he never got to see him again, and he didn't want that to happen. But seeing as he couldn't back out of this, that there was no other alternative, he would just have to be as cautious as possible. He would have to be vigilant, as Moody would say.

"Mr. Potter, are you feeling all right?" a familiar woman's voice asked, and he looked up to see McGonagall staring at him curiously. Behind her were Snape, Moody, and Dumbledore. And further off, near the Goblet, were Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Crouch, and Bagman. The entire room was now empty save for them.

Not trusting his voice any more he just nodded.

"Constant vigilance, Potter, constant vigilance," Moody emphasized, as he trudged over, his wooden leg hitting the floor loudly. Snape said nothing, but he didn't seem to be angry or exasperated at all, which was a curious and highly rare occurrence. Harry couldn't place his professor's emotion, but he didn't care to at the moment.

"Harry, why don't you get some rest," McGonagall said.

Harry made his way to the train without meeting another person. He thought he would get into his compartment and just be able to sleep this weirdness off and be refreshed in the morning, but that was not how things went. He should have known his evening wasn't over because nothing ever went as planned.

Draco was standing in their compartment when he entered. He didn't say anything for a moment, so Harry said unemotionally, "Hi." But that seemed to reawaken his friend, who burst out with, "How could you put your name into the Goblet without telling me?! You didn't think I wanted to try it?"

Harry staggered back slightly, stunned that Draco thought he had gone behind his back. "But I didn't put my name in!"

"Don't give me that! I know you only told Dumbledore that so you wouldn't get in trouble. You're good at lying and you know it, and so you used that for your own gain."

"I did not put my name in! Why would I want to place myself in even more danger?"

"Because you like it. You like the fame. You like people staring at you and you like signing autographs and what not," Draco replied. "Just admit it!"

"What? Are you mad? Have you not been paying attention this whole time we've been mates? I hate the attention!"

"You could've fooled me!"

"Draco, you're a real git, you know that?"

"Why don't you piss off, Scarhead!" Draco yelled.

Harry felt his face getting warm. He grabbed his blanket and pillow, pushed past Draco, slamming him in the shoulder as he went, and left. He slammed the compartment door closed and went to the Interchangeable Room, knowing there would be couches to sleep on. He threw off his robes and laid down, pillow under his head and blanket above him. He tried to sleep but was much too peeved, and so he just stared at the ceiling for most of the night, until he drifted off without knowing.

* * *

It was official. Harry would be competing. There was no way around it. He found out after he was awoken the next day by Adrian Pucey flicking a feather under his nose. He had shoved Pucey away from him, but the boy had merely laughed as he walked away. The newspapers were printed with "A FIRST, FOUR TRIWIZARD CHAMPIONS" in Bulgarian. Now the whole world would be buzzing with the news. And it was more than obvious that other Hogwarts students thought he had cheated to get his name in. They kept glancing at him, maybe hoping he would suddenly blurt out that he had indeed placed his name in the Goblet. But of course he didn't, and he never would.

He didn't have much to eat during breakfast. He wasn't very hungry and he hadn't planned on going, but he had felt obliged to as a champion. With no class until the following day, Harry went back to an empty room to grab his Two-Way Mirror and his box of parchment, his ink, and quill. The Interchangeable Room was filled with mostly unoccupied tables.

He took out a piece of parchment and began to write.

Blaise,

This tournament is certainly going to be exciting, a real first if you haven't already heard. My name came out of the Goblet of Fire – a large goblet with amazing blue flames – and I didn't even put my name in, and now I have to compete. You probably won't believe me that I didn't do it since Draco doesn't, but it doesn't matter anyway. There's no way around it. The rules say that when a name is drawn the person must go through with the tournament to the end. I know you'll be excited that I'm competing, and probably jealous, but I would trade places with you if I could. It's going to be dangerous, so wish me luck!

Harry.

He folded the letter in half and then again, and as he did he heard awkward footsteps, a light thump and a hard one, and he looked up to see Moody coming toward him. His magical blue eyes was whizzing around the now empty room. The few other students must have left while he was writing.

Moody came over, but didn't sit. "I told Karkaroff that you couldn't possibly have put your own name in the Goblet, that it was certainly the work of someone way beyond the talents of a fourth year. That shut him up, though Dumbledore didn't mention that you have the talents beyond a fourth year yourself. I don't think he'll be bothering you or Dumbledore about it again. At least not for some time."

"Err…thanks."

"Just a bit of advice. A reporter will be arriving within the week to interview all the champions, her name is Rita Skeeter and she's willing to do anything to get the story she wants."

"Yeah, I've heard of her."

"Good. You'll be better prepared," Moody stated, before walking away. He closed the door only halfway, and Harry heard his clunky footsteps as he went further down the corridor.

Making sure no one else was in the room, Harry took his Two-Way Mirror from his pocket. "Sirius." His face came into view, eyes weary and mouth yawning. "Oh, did I wake you? What time is it in England?"

"Don't worry about it. It's only morning, but there's not much to do but sleep when you're in a cell all day," Sirius said in reply. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "So any interesting things happen so far? It's been—what, two days? Someone should have died by now, eh?"

Harry chuckled, but it was done only half-heartedly. "No, no one's died yet. But all the students put their names in the night we arrived, and yesterday the Goblet of Fire selected the champions."

"Anyone interesting?"

Harry wanted so badly to tell Sirius that he had been chosen to participate in the tournament as a fourth champion, but he simply couldn't. He didn't want Sirius to worry about him, as he knew he would with nothing to do all day in Azkaban. He also didn't want to see Sirius' face if he didn't believe him – if he thought Harry might have put his name in. That would be so upsetting, and he wasn't sure he could handle both his godfather and his best friend not believing him.

"Cedric Diggory for Hogwarts, Fleur Delacour for Beauxbatons, and Viktor Krum for Durmstrang."

"Isn't Krum a famous Quidditch player?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Heard some of the other inmates talking about it a few times. He must be young then."

"He's seventeen. Pretty nice bloke, too."

"You better not be rooting for another school, Harry," Sirius teased. "I'd have to disown you."

"Never in a million years."

"That's good."

"Did I ever get around to telling you about the new Dark Arts professor?" Harry asked.

"No, who is it?"

"Alastor Mad-Eye Moody."

"Really? Ha-ha! Mad-Eye's certainly an interesting character. I've known him for quite some time, but I wouldn't mention that you talk to me however; I doubt he'd approve of you speaking with a convict," Sirius explained. "But he's a good person to be around when times are troubling. His whole 'constant vigilance' thing can really get to you, too."

"The first time I heard him say it was during my first class with him, and he certainly made a unique first impression," Harry explained. "He showed us the three Unforgivable Curses by using them on spiders. It…wasn't very pleasant, and it upset a bunch of students."

"I bet it did. But I don't think he cares too much about that. He wants everyone to be aware of the dark arts and how unforgiving the people who wield it can be."

"Well, I'm one person he doesn't have to explain that to, I already know."

"You can never know too much about defending yourself against the dark arts, Harry."

"I guess you're right, Sirius," Harry stated. "Anyway, the first task is on November 25th, and it's going to test the champions daring. I wonder what it'll—"

Harry looked up from his mirror when he heard a set of footsteps outside in the corridor. He stood up and slowly went over to the door, the mirror still in his hands, but by the time he peered out into the hall all he heard was compartment door close, and wasn't sure which one it had been.

This wasn't good. Someone knew he was talking to Sirius Black, a prisoner in Azkaban. If the wrong person had heard him, they might tell the Minister and Sirius would have the mirror taken away from him. He would have to go back to letters, which wasn't the end of the world, but then he might never see Sirius' face again. He'd have to be more careful about where he talked to his godfather.

"Harry, what happened?" Sirius inquired.

"Someone was at the door."

"Did they hear you?"

Harry hesitated at first, and then said, "I think so."

"You'll have to be wary of when and where you talk to me from now on."

"I will."

Preview of Chapter 12—To Believe Or Not To Believe:

Harry attends a few classes, goes to the Weighing of the Wands, has an interview with Rita Skeeter, and intentionally reads one of Draco's letters…