A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! I'd like to thank technoninja1, Lord Romulus Malfoy V, Krimsons, Cat Beats, timefreak, SlythKris, Slytherin66, JPElles, NauticalLion, mfmxxx, mousehowl,tricorvus, HeyStardust, BigBird97, jdg0l1n and two guests.
I hope this chapter was worth the wait!
EDIT: I totally forgot Harry already knew about Sirius from last chapter, so I edited out the part where he's told about Sirius being innocent in this chapter. Sorry for any confusion.
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Chapter Thirty-six
Before breakfast, all of the Beauxbâtons students assembled in the Great Hall and formed a single line in front of the Goblet of Fire. It was quite early in the morning so there were very few other people around as the French students began submitting their names.
Madame Maxime had brought along a stack of parchment. She gave papers and pencils to all of the students. Names were written down, along with the words 'Académie Beauxbâtons'. One by one, the students placed their folded paper in the goblet's blue-white flames.
Harry was the fifth student to submit his name. While he knew he didn't have many chances to be selected as a champion, considering many of the other Beauxbâtons students were older and had more experience, he couldn't help imagining what it would be like to be chosen as his school's champion. Alexandre would be impressed, though his reaction was unlikely to be very exuberant. He wasn't that kind of person. As for Fleur… perhaps she'd smile. Maybe she'd see him differently. Would being a champion impress her?
Breakfast was a quiet affair. It was half past eight and on a Saturday, that meant that most people were still sleeping. The Beauxbâtons delegation were sitting at the same table as they had the day before. It only had two Hogwarts students sitting there, looking bleary-eyed but excited.
Harry didn't pay them much attention as he sat down near them, but the one closest to him asked:
"You all put your names in, then?"
Harry turned and paid proper attention to his neighbour. The boy was older, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. He had very white skin, the kind that burnt under the sun instead of tanning, an oval face with bountiful freckles and red hair.
Unlike Ron Weasley, whom Harry had met yesterday and whom had more of an orange hair colour, this young man had darker hair, a shade closer to crimson.
"We all did it together," said Harry.
The second Hogwarts student made himself known by saying, "Well, you can be sure none of you forgot to do it, then." His face was an identical copy of the other boy's. The two students were twins.
"I don't think anyone would forget something so important," Harry remarked drily, a bit amused at the thought.
"Right you are," said the first redhead, grinning playfully. He pointed his thumb towards himself. "I'm George." He pointed at his twin. "This is Fred."
Fred leant forward. "Don't you mean that I am George and you are Fred?"
George (or was it Fred?) smiled enigmatically. "Maybe I'll be Fred tomorrow, instead."
Harry didn't let the confusing exchange bother him. They were clearly acting that way on purpose to make fun of him. The problem was, if they were swapping names like that, could he be sure their names were really George and Fred, and not names they'd come up right then?
Instead of racking his brain trying to guess, he decided he would call them by the names they'd used in their first introduction.
"I'm Harry Potter."
"The Harry Potter?" asked George in a falsetto voice. "Oh, I think I'm swooning."
"Don't count on me to conjure up a fainting couch," said Fred jokingly.
"George Weasley!" said George (or Fred?) in a mock-stern voice. "You poor excuse for a brother!"
Fred laughed.
The mention of that surname rang a bell in Harry's memory, and he remembered Ron Weasley, whom he had met the day before.
"Weasley?" he repeated. "Are you related to Ron Weasley?" Logically, the twins were either the brothers or the cousins of Ron Weasley.
"Cousin," answered George immediately.
"Twice-removed," added Fred.
"We barely know him," they said together.
They were both smiling. Harry couldn't tell if it was a polite smile or a mocking one. He suspected they were lying to him, but he wasn't sure and didn't want to alienate them by accusing them of lying if they really had been telling the truth.
"So, are you excited for the tournament?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Of course," said Fred.
"If one of us gets chosen and wins, we'll share the prize," said his brother.
"What would you two use the money for?"
The two brothers were distracted by the apparition of an old witch who'd just entered the Great Hall. She was thin, with her hair pulled up in a tight bun, and the lines on her face revealed her as someone who frowned much more than she smiled.
"That's Professor McGonagall, isn't it?"
The twins seemed surprised that Harry knew her name.
"How do you know who she is?" asked George.
"Have you already met her?" continued Fred.
"I've known Mister Dumbledore for several years. We usually talk about my school, what I've been missing while I'm in France…" Harry trailed off when he realized that Fred and George were staring at him incredulously. "What?"
"You're friends with the headmaster?"
"We talk. He gives me advice and asks about how I've been. We're friends." He paused. "I think."
Fred grimaced. "Would've thought the age-gap would have made such a friendship difficult, mate."
"So you know Professor McGonagall through him, then?" asked George.
"Ever since I started in France, I've been coming to Dumbledore's office every summer. He checks up on me. He introduced me to Mrs. McGonagall once, but I don't really know her. Dumbledore and her are the only members of the Hogwarts staff that I know."
"We have some interesting teachers," the twins said in synchronisation.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are they interesting in a good way or a bad way? Because 'interesting' is a bit vague."
"Usually one or the other. It depends on the cases." Fred shrugged, leaning in and tilting his head so that he could see Harry better. "Professor McGonagall teaches well and she's fair—"
"—though sometimes she overworks us," grumbled George.
"And then there are teachers who are the strange kind of interesting. Our History teacher, Professor Sanguini, is always sucking on Blood Pops, since he's a vampire. A teacher with a lollipop is hard to take seriously."
Harry snickered. "Does he have to use that special sun cream for vampires?"
"Total-Block? Yes, he does. There are also heavy black curtains everywhere during class. We have to work by candlelight and Lumos. Luckily there's enough light to stop us from squinting."
"How is it, being taught by a vampire?"
George was the one to answer. "This is his second year teaching at Hogwarts, so we don't know him that well yet. He's a good teacher, but sometimes he forgets he's talking to teenagers and not other century-old vampires."
"He overestimates our level," said Fred. "He teaches History that he has lived and doesn't realize we're not as old as he is. He's still loads better than Binns, but sometimes he forgets to mention some things because it's obvious for him, but not for us."
"At least he's better than Snape," said George.
When Fred heard the name, he grew annoyed. "Blood git is sabotaging our Potions grade."
"Mister Weasley!" came a voice from behind them. The twins froze. "Five points from Gryffindor for insulting a member of the school staff!"
It was Professor McGonagall. She'd been walking over to the Head Table and had not liked what she'd overheard.
"Sorry, Professor," said Fred, not sounding sorry at all.
It was clear that the woman had noticed that fact, but she let the matter drop.
She turned to Harry, and her expression softened. "Mister Potter, I hope that so far your stay here has been adequate."
Feeling uncomfortable about being singled out, Harry thanked her.
"You've grown up well. Your parents would have been proud of you."
"You knew them?" asked Harry. The twins were listening to the conversation too. George was looking from Harry to McGonagall and back again with an expression of interest.
"They were students here, back in the day. After they'd finished their studies, I was a witness for their marriage. And of course…" Her gaze became unfocused. "James Potter and some other Aurors saved my life during the war.
George's eyes widened in understanding. "Are you talking about the Ollivander's Incident?"
Professor McGonagall nodded, looking weary and sad. "Yes, Mister Weasley, I am." She turned to Harry. "You wouldn't know of it, Mister Potter, as your History classes wouldn't mention such a small event in the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
Harry tried to remember if he'd ever heard of this Ollivander's Incident before. "We did study that war a little, but not in detail," he told the woman.
Harry could see that the woman was about to explain the specifics of the event and he felt a surge of guilt when he realized that the old woman was standing while the twins and himself were sitting comfortably. Normally you had to stand up if a nearby woman wasn't sitting, and he'd been tired and half-awake, thus completely forgetting basic rules of politeness taught in France.
So, in the second before McGonagall began talking again, Harry moved closer to Fleur, who was eating a meal consisting of orange quarters and a yoghurt. He gestured at the now-empty space between himself and George.
"You don't have to stay standing, Professor. You can sit down if you want to."
Professor McGonagall smiled. "That is very kind of you, but I'm perfectly fine. Now, as I was saying, the Ollivander's Incident happened in 1970, just before you were born. I was escorting an eleven years old Muggleborn child and her parents through Diagon Alley to help them purchase the girl's school supplies. We stopped at Ollivander's so that she might acquire a wand, when I made the mistake of mentioning You-Know-Who's name."
Fred winced. "And that's what drew them in, isn't it?"
"The Death Eaters?" asked Harry.
"You must understand, Mister Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named placed a spell on his name in the beginning of the war so that whenever someone in the United Kingdom said his name, his Death Eaters would know where is had been said and could use the spell to appear there. Death Eaters systematically killed whoever dared to say the name of their master."
"The Aurors tried to trap the Death Eaters, once," said Fred.
Seeing Harry's confusion, George elaborated: "Over thirty Aurors assembled in an empty field. They were setting up a trap away from any innocent bystanders. So they said You-Know-Who's name and had their wands out to take care of the Death Eaters that would appear. They wanted to use that spell against You-Know-Who."
"But the Death Eaters weren't dumb," continued Fred. "There were a lot of spies in the Ministry and the Death Eaters already knew about the trap."
"So what happened?" asked Harry, leaning forward in interest.
Fred smiled sadly. "What do you think? When the Aurors said the forbidden word, the Death Eaters sent in a suicide bomber. Just one Death Eater appeared with a dangerous Dark artefact that blew up the whole place and killed everyone there. Thirty-four Aurors died, just like that."
There was a moment of silence.
"That's horrible."
"Yes, it is," Fred agreed. "It's not exactly a happy—" He stopped talking when he noticed Professor McGonagall looking vaguely annoyed. "I'll, uh, just let you speak, now."
"Thank you, Mister Weasley. I cannot say I'm overly happy at being interrupted."
Harry smiled, amused at Fred's embarrassed expression.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and straightened her back. "I'd brought a young girl to Ollivander's and was warning her about the war and the political situation. When she asked who this 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' was, I forgot myself and made the mistake of mentioning the Dark Lord's name. Back at Hogwarts, I always heard Albus use that name fearlessly. His habit had to have affected me, which might explain why I did something so…" She stopped, grief overtaking her. "… careless."
"Did everyone survive?" asked Harry, his voice a low murmur.
Lowering her head in a way that spoke of mourning, Professor McGonagall said, "The Death Eaters set fire to the shop. They were hoping to kill us that way, since we weren't letting them in. I tried using water spells, but Fiendfyre cannot be stopped that easily. The smoke grew so thick that the little girl and her parents ran outside so that they could breathe. The Death Eaters…" She sighed. "The girl's parents were muggles, so they couldn't put up much of a struggle. The whole family was killed quickly, and I can only be thankful that the Death Eaters didn't torture them first. Your father, James, and the other Aurors arrived quickly afterwards and managed to stop the flames and drive off the Death Eaters."
Fleur, who was next to Harry, had stopped focusing on her breakfast and was looking at Professor McGonagall with poorly-concealed pity.
"War eez never kind. It takes and takes and leaves ze winning side a loser too. You can only 'ope to not lose too much before ze war ends."
Professor McGonagall inclined her head in agreement. "Those are wise words indeed, Miss…?"
Fleur puffed up at the compliment. "Delacour. I am Fleur Delacour."
"As you said, Miss Delacour, that war took from me. It revealed the true nature of people and that is why," she said, turning her attention to Harry once more, "I imagine Mist Potter is happy that his godfather's name was recently cleared. To find out that Sirius Black is innocent… It's a happy event after the horrors of the war."
Harry didn't say anything. His godfather had been mentionned twice, and he really wanted to meet the man.
-x-x-x-
That evening, supper was spent in tense silence. Everybody was anxiously looking at the Goblet of Fire every five minutes and no one was interested in talking. Considering how many students were in the room, such silence was impressive.
Once everyone had finished eating, the level of noise grew as people began whispering and betting on who would be chosen as a champion. Harry was sitting between Alexandre and a Hogwarts student who had introduced himself as Neville.
Alexandre had just begun speaking to Ron Weasley and Harry was listening with one ear while keeping an eye on the goblet. He was waiting for it to start announcing the names of the Champions.
"A Weasley?" asked Alexandre after the two had introduced themselves to one another. "I have heard about your family. Isaac Weasley helped hide Russian refugees during the German occupation in St. Petersburg, near the end of Grindelwald's reign."
That comment drew the attention of all nearby students, especially those of Beauxbâtons who had all had a family member or more that had died in the war against Grindelwald. When Ron noticed Fleur was looking at him, he blushed all over and seemed to lose half of his brain capacity.
Stuttering and mumbling, Ron explained: "Isaac's the older brother of, well, uh… my paternal grandmother. He… uh… He h-had a Russian wife and he helped all o-of her friends escape when Grindelwald held the Tsar's son hostage and took over a part of Russia."
"My father told me much about Isaac Weasley. He helped several nobles escape during the massacre of most of the ruling class and gave them shelter in Britain," said Alexandre.
It looked as though it took immense willpower to tear his gaze from Fleur, but Ron managed. He squinted at Alexandre. "You said your name was Solovyov. Does that mean the kidnapped heir was your father?"
Alexandre shook his head. "No, it was my uncle. He's the Tsar of Magical Russia now and his son, my cousin, is the current heir. He's a student in Durmstrang, but he's not part of the delegation that came here for the tournament."
Alexandre was very proud of his family, but he never boasted. Instead his pride showed in the way he unconsciously straightened and smiled whenever he spoke of his family, which was his version of beaming in happiness.
The closest to gleeful that Harry had ever seen Alexandre be was when he'd asked about the boy's origins and had been treated to one of Alexandre's rare rants, this one about the full history of the imperial bloodline of Magical Russia, with complaints about the communist system of Muggle Russia. Alexandre wasn't shy about his old-fashioned views, and seemed to see a monarchy or a dynasty as the best way to rule.
"Wow," said Ron. "That's impressi—"
He was interrupted by Dumbledore, who had risen, compelling the room to silence.
"The Goblet of Fire will soon be ready to choose the three champions. I would ask of each champion to come up to the Head Table when they are selected and walk through the door behind the table, into the chamber beyond." He paused, taking a step forward. His glasses shined eerily in the low light of the Great Hall. Most candles had been snuffed out, and only the flames of the goblet brightened Dumbledore's figure in the semi-darkness.
"The goblet chooses the students with the most appropriate skills and talents for the three tasks. Depending on the tasks, the qualifications for a champion are different. Younger students," he said, looking at some eleven or twelve years old students, "have a chance of being chosen too, so do not think that only older students—"
At that moment, the goblet's blue flames turned red. The fire spat out a piece of parchment which Dumbledore caught as it came fluttering down. Everyone held their breath in anticipation.
The flames had turned back to their blue-white colour. Dumbledore held the paper close to them to use their light so that he could read the name.
"The champion of Durmstrang," he announced, "is Viktor Krum!"
Everyone applauded. Ron was especially loud, shouting encouragements. Headmaster Karkaroff was even louder, roaring his approval.
Viktor stood and walked past Dumbledore and the Head Table, exiting through the door behind, into the next chamber.
Slowly, the noise died down. Barely a second later, the flames of the goblet turned red again, and a second piece of parchment shot out.
"The champion for Beauxbâtons," said Dumbledore, "will be Harry Potter!"
Harry's eyes widened. The room exploded into applause. He could hear Fleur moaning about how unfair it was, while Rosana and Biana, two Beauxbâtons girls, began sobbing.
He walked over to Dumbledore, who clasped his shoulder in congratulations, and made his way over to the door behind the Head Table. As he passed into the next chamber, he heard Dumbledore speak again.
Harry paused, and turned so that he could see who was the last champion.
"The Hogwarts champion," said Dumbledore, "is Luna Lovegood!"
The scattering of applause was much less pronounced than it had been for the first two champions, but the small blonde-haired girl who stood up didn't seem to notice. She walked up to Dumbledore and over to the side chamber, where Harry had been listening.
"Hello," she said as she saw him, her eyes dreamy and far away. She continued walking, seemingly not nervous in the least that she was the youngest champion of the three.
Harry shook his head in bemusement, and followed after her.