October 31, 1994
Halloween morning found Hogwarts abuzz with excitement over the impending tournament. The Goblet of Fire had been placed in the entrance hall, just as Dumbledore had said, and a gaggle of students were standing around, eying it with interest. Geoff had just pushed his way through the throng with a piece of toast smeared with marmalade when a loud whooping coming down the staircase drew the attention of the entrance hall crowd. The Weasley twins appeared with Lee Jordan at their side, waving empty potion vials above their heads.
One of the twins - he thought it was Fred, although he was never quite sure - drew a slip of paper from his pocket and held it aloft for everyone to see. A hush fell over the crowd of students, and Geoff watched with mild amusement as Fred (or was it George?) walked up to the very edge of the golden age line, and then stepped over, the other twin leaping over after him with a flourish and a cry of triumph that whatever scheme they'd concocted had worked.
With a loud sizzle and a pop, both twins were suddenly thrown back over the line, skidded three meters across the floor, and groggily regained their feet, each of them sporting a magnificent silver beard that very nearly put Dumbledore's to shame. The onlookers howled with laughter, no one laughing louder than Lee Jordan, and even the twins joined in once they'd inspected each other's beards.
"I did warn you," said a deep, amused voice, and everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours."
As the Weasley twins headed up the stairs to the hospital wing, Jordan still howling with laughter behind them, Dumbledore left the entrance hall, humming to himself. Geoff took a bite of toast and surveyed the rest of the crowd gathered around the Goblet. He saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione ducking out of the entrance hall to find breakfast, but it was the group of Slytherins standing off to one side of the hall that caught his attention.
His son Joel was seated on the grand staircase beside Draco Malfoy, their usual gang surrounding them, cheering on a hefty seventh year Slytherin boy as he strode purposefully across the room, stepped over the age line, and submitted his name into the Goblet.
"...age line is ridiculous," he heard the Malfoy boy say, his drawling voice carrying easily across the hall as the applause for the Slytherin Quidditch player died down. "If I want to win eternal glory, who's going to stop me?"
Joel muttered something Geoff couldn't hear and gestured at the age line. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed loudly. Pansy Parkinson affected a dramatic swoon and made doe-eyes at Malfoy. Joel pulled a slip of parchment from one robe pocket and his wand from the other. With a swish and flick, the slip of parchment began to levitate, drifting slowly toward the Goblet. Malfoy raised his eyebrows appreciatively at his friend's ingenuity, but Geoff was already making his way across the hallway, snatching the parchment out of the air as he walked past it.
"Joel Michel Mansfield!"
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle snickered. Joel groaned and rolled his eyes, replacing his wand back into the pocket of his robes.
"Did you honestly think levitating this-" Geoff brandished the slip of parchment. "-across the age line would work? These precautions are here for a reason. You haven't had enough training to begin to be able to compete as a champion in this tournament, even if you could enter. If your mother were here-"
"Yeah, well, she's not, Dad, so piss off. Come on," he added to the other Slytherins as he stood. "Let's get out of here."
Geoff caught his son's arm as the Slytherin boy moved to brush past him. "If you ever use that tone with me again-"
"You'll what? Give me detention?"
"Refer you to your Head of House. I'm sure Professor Snape has some ideas of how to punish disrespectful students."
Joel scoffed and shook his arm free from his father's grasp, leading the rest of the group out of the entrance hall just as the doors opened and the twelve Beauxbatons students entered, led by their headmistress. One by one, the Beauxbatons students stepped across the line to submit their names, and each time, the blue flames in the Goblet of Fire burned briefly red.
"Sorry, couldn't help but overhear," a soft voice said beside Geoff. "But it sounds like you take these safety precautions very seriously." He turned to see a pretty, dark-haired witch standing beside him, a quill held at the ready above a roll of parchment as she looked at him expectantly. A thought seemed to strike her, and she tutted to herself, swapping the quill to her left hand and holding her right out for him to shake. "But where are my manners?" she asked. "Evaleen Lovell, columnist for Witch Weekly."
Geoff hesitated for a moment, then shook the offered hand. "Lovell, you said?"
"Yes, no doubt you remember me from my work with the Daily Prophet. Or perhaps you've met my husband Kurt, head of the security detail for the Tournament."
"We've met, yes," he answered shortly. "Is there something I can help you with?"
She smiled again and readied her quill. "Just trying to get an inside scoop," she said. "Did I hear you call that boy your son? Tell me, as both a parent and professor - you are a teacher here as well, yes? - how do you feel about Dumbledore's decision to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, what with the astronomically high death t-"
"Oncle Geoff!"
Geoff was not sorry to be pulled away from the reporter, although being seized by the shoulders and subjected to bises from a pretty young Beauxbatons student was not the escape he had planned. He forced a smile as the girl released him, beaming. She was the spitting image of Emilie, with the haughty Delacroix features and slender frame. Geoff had neither seen nor heard from Emilie's family since she had been sent to Azkaban all those years ago, just after their daughter had been born, except for the occasional holiday card around Christmas, usually featuring a photograph of Emilie's brother and his family on some exotic vacation. "Véronique," he said, relieved he could remember the girl's name. "So good to see you. It's been, what, eleven years?"
"Ah, close relations with a rival school!" Evaleen said, scribbling notes madly with her quill. "A conflict of interest? Family on one side, employer on the other?"
"Twelve," the French girl said, ignoring the reporter, much to Geoff's relief, tossing her long dark hair back over her shoulder. "Oncle, 'ave you seen Joel? I 'ave not seen 'im in ages and 'ave been wanting to say 'ello since we arrived. Où est-il?"
"He headed out onto the grounds with his friends just before you came in. Heading down to the Quidditch pitch, most likely. If you go-"
"Ah, merde," the girl said, glancing over her shoulder as her friends shouted at her from the doorway. She turned back to her uncle and giving him a fresh set of bises. "I 'ave to return to ze carriage, but I will see you around, non? À plus!"
And with that, the girl turned and left as suddenly as she had appeared, jogging across the entrance hall to catch up with her friends and stepping out into the Saturday morning sunlight. Geoff took the girl's exit as an opportunity to excuse himself and quickly dodged around the reporter before she could protest, hurrying up the staircase and out of sight.
The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual that night. Judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the occasional student standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, the students were indifferent to the lavishly prepared meal and were itching to hear who had been selected as champions. Geoff would have been lying to himself if he said he weren't just as interested.
At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored.
"Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" - he indicated the door behind the staff table - "where they will be receiving their first instructions."
He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting...
The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it, and the whole room gasped.
Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment as it fluttered downward and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."
A storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Viktor Krum rose from where he'd been sitting at the Slytherin table and slouched up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.
"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"
The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"
The girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Geoff saw Véronique sporting the signature Delacroix scowl at her seat at the table, visibly disappointed. Two of the other girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.
When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.
"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"
Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-"
But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.
The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.
Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out-
"Harry Potter."
There had been no applause when Harry's name had emerged from the Goblet of Fire - just an angry buzzing, like a swarm of bees, as ripples of indignation passed through the students. The buzzing had grown louder as Harry had made his way to the front of the Hall, and louder still once he was in the chamber with the other champions, followed first by Ludo Bagman, then by Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Crouch, Kurt Lovell, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape.
Alastor Moody stood from his seat at the staff table and limped his way down the length of it to Geoff. "Mansfield, try to quiet this lot down and herd them back to their dormitories," he muttered, and followed the others into the champions' room.
Geoff sighed and stepped up to the podium where Dumbledore typically delivered his speeches, but his presence did not have the same effect as the headmaster's, and the students continued their angry buzzing. He drew out his wand and touched it to his throat, and shouted for quiet with a magically amplified voice.
The buzzing died down, albeit more slowly than Geoff would have liked, and once silence had fallen, he dispersed the students back to their common rooms, their ship, and their carriage. The angry buzzing gradually resumed as the students filed out of the Great Hall. A few stragglers were drifting toward the door the champions had disappeared through, but Geoff quickly shooed them away and sent them heading to their dormitories.
When the last student had cleared the Hall, Geoff stepped through the great oak doors to ensure there were no stragglers in the entrance hall. Although he found no students, Evaleen Lovell was standing there, evidently waiting for her next big scoop, quill once again poised at the ready above her roll of parchment.
"A fourth champion. How about that?" she said. "And an underage champion at that. So much for Dumbledore's safety precautions - seems he overlooked a few details."
"Is there a question in there, Mrs. Lovell?"
"Please, call me Evaleen. I was just wondering if you thought perhaps Dumbledore's age was contributing to his lapse in judgment? Perhaps a fresh administration would have refrained from reinstating a tournament with such a historically high death t-"
"Dumbledore is a great man," Geoff said, cutting her off. "And if anyone can sort out this mess with four champions, it's him."
"Can I quote you on that? Geoff, wasn't it?"
"Professor Mansfield," he corrected. "And I'd rather you didn't. Look, if there's nothing else-"
He broke off as the voices of the occupants of the champions' room echoed through the empty Hall, Maxime, Karkaroff, and their two champions leading the group. The rest of the group followed, Kurt Lovell bringing up the rear.
"That'll be all, Professor Mansfield. For tonight," she added, giving him a small smirk and a wink. "I'm sure you have plenty of valuable insight that I'd love to tap into." She tucked her parchment and quill into her bag and hurried across the Hall to her husband, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.
Cedric Diggory headed for a door to the right of the marble staircase toward the Hufflepuff common room. Harry hesitated for a moment, watching his fellow Hogwarts champion go, then started to climb the marble ones.
"Harry," Geoff called after him, mounting the steps two at a time to catch up. "Can I walk with you?"
"I didn't put my name in," Harry said quickly.
"I believe you," Geoff assured him. "I just thought you'd like some company. Not everyone will believe you didn't put your name in - your friends especially."
Harry didn't say anything; he'd been worrying about that very thought since his name had emerged from the Goblet. How could Ron and Hermione ever believe him when he told them he hadn't put his name in? But there was still something else. "Moody thinks someone put my name in to try to kill me."
Geoff laughed humorlessly. "Moody always thinks someone's trying to kill him - that flask he has? It's so no one can poison his drink when he's not looking. I'm sure he's just being paranoid. Besides," he added, glancing sideways at Harry with a sly smile, "I doubt notorious mass-murderer Sirius Black will be coming back to finish you off any time soon."
Harry returned the grin, and Geoff could have sworn that the boy's pace perked up slightly as they continued their trek through the castle. Once they reached the corridor that housed Geoff's office, the professor stopped. "Listen, Harry," he said, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder, "if you need anything at all, you can come to me. I was a friend of your parents', too. We'll all be pulling for you - me, Remus, Mariah, and Sirius, too. Anything you need."
"Thanks, Professor," Harry said, and turned to continue making his way up the staircase toward Gryffindor tower.
Geoff watched him go. Harry may have been James's son, but even he couldn't be reckless enough to put his own name into the Goblet of Fire. But if he hadn't, who had? Maybe Moody was onto something - maybe someone was trying to kill Harry. But who?