Over the next few days, whenever Nott turned up, Daphne Greengrass arrived seconds later. Unlike Nott, she didn't seem interested in actually talking to anyone or otherwise justifying her presence; she just lolled about, eating Sugar Quills.

"Well," Ron said reflectively, as the five of them headed up to Defence Against the Dark Arts, "at least she shares, right, Greengrass?"

Daphne snorted. "Is that all you care about?"

Moody seemed very subdued this week, subdued enough to make the Patronus Charm seem run-of-the-mill.

"So next lesson, maybe I'll let you have a go," Moody concluded, when the bell went. "Probably not, though. You're well behind on your jinxes. Off you go – no, Potter, you stay."

Harry obligingly waited.

"Go," Moody said to Ron and Hermione, who were lingering in the doorway. "It's a two-letter word, what's so difficult about it?"

Ron and Hermione left.

"What's this about?" Harry asked uneasily.

"It's about the Triwizard Tournament," Moody said. "You may have heard, but it's not exactly a tradition. The death toll rose too high."

"Yeah, I know, Dumbledore said," Harry said, strangely disappointed. Perhaps he had been spoilt with Professor Lupin. "I wasn't planning to enter anyway. I only turned fourteen in July."

"Being of age never helped anyone," said Moody. "Nobody's safe in the Triwizard Tournament. Especially not this time."

Harry stared. "What do you mean?"

Moody scowled down at him. "This is top secret, do you hear me? That means you can't tell Weasley or Granger."

"I know what top secret means," Harry said, stung.

"And from what I hear, you don't care," Moody said, with a laugh. "Listen, Potter, they brought the tournament back for a reason. They've murder on their minds. Three of our best young minds gone."

Harry swallowed. "There's nothing I can do, sorry. I'm not of age."

"Wrong," said Moody. "I've heard tales, boy. You're brave enough."

"For what?" Harry asked.

"To be a junior Auror," Moody said, grinning. "All you have to do is get your name in. Not for Hogwarts, you'll be crucified. For Ilvermorny or something."

"Yeah," Harry said, heart swelling and deflating in the space of a second. "But won't the impartial judge –"

"The Goblet of Fire is a cup," Moody said impatiently. "A powerful Confunding Charm ought to do it. Just get your name in, and then – this is the important part – say you didn't enter yourself and you don't know how your name got in."

Harry swallowed. "Then what?"

"Stay alive," Moody advised.

Harry hadn't wanted to admit it to Moody, but he didn't know what a Confunding Charm was, other than it would probably look very bad if he went asking about it. He spent an unproductive ten minutes in an empty classroom discovering it was not in any of his textbooks. The Charms section of the library was the obvious place to look, but it was full of older Hufflepuffs frantically doing homework.

"Do you want something?" asked Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker.

"It isn't urgent," Harry lied. He fled to the History of Magic section, instead, and had a look for books about the tournament.

"I didn't know you read books."

Harry jumped. "Hi, Ginny. I'm just reading up about the tournament. It seems so interesting. Because it's, um, interesting."

"There are other adjectives," Ginny Weasley pointed out, frowning up at him. "Are you interested in anything in particular?"

"The Goblet of Fire?" Harry ventured.

Ginny sighed. "Have you considered asking Madam Pince? Or don't you want Hermione to know you can read?"

"Hermione knows I can read," Harry said indignantly. "It's just … she doesn't need to know, alright?"

"Fine," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. "You sit down, and I'll ask Madam Pince."

Harry took a seat at one of the tables and started the weekly chore of turning Hermione's copious History of Magic notes into something he could actually revise from. This was quite difficult, since Hermione knew a worrisome amount of history and seemed to think everyone else did too.

"Potter?"

Harry looked up. It was now dark outside, and Theo Nott was standing over him. Daphne Greengrass was lurking nearby, arms folded.

"Hello," Harry said, trying not to sound exasperated. "Can it wait?"

"Miss Granger's in the hospital wing," Nott said. "Weasley asked me to tell you."

"Their names are Ron and Hermione," Harry pointed out, shoving his things into his bag. "You spend enough time with us to call us by our names, don't you? What happened? Is Hermione alright?"

Nott shrugged. "Draco hexed her."

Harry got up and crossed to Madam Pince's desk, where Ginny was industriously copying down a list of book titles.

"Ginny," Harry said, "Hermione's in the hospital wing, so I'm going, alright?"

Ginny went impressively pale. "I'm coming too."

"Any luck?" Harry asked, as they left the library.

"I've got a whole list," Ginny said happily. "We can look them over this weekend. So how did you know about Hermione, anyway?"

"Theo Nott told me," Harry said, his heart sinking; history was not his idea of fun. "Ron sent him."

The smile slid off Ginny's face. "You know Nott's dad is a Death Eater?"

"I don't care what Nott's dad did," Harry said. "Nott isn't his father, alright? Hermione says he's alright."

"Hermione needs to take her head out of her books and take a good long look at her taste in friends," Ginny complained. "You know Nott's cousin blew herself up?"

"Yes, I do know," said Harry. "Look, he's Hermione's mate, so we put up with him."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fine."

They turned into the hospital wing. Hermione was sitting up in bed, talking to Ron.

"Are you alright?" Harry demanded, hurrying over. "Sorry, we were in the library."

"Why did you send Nott?" Ginny added, sitting down on the bed.

"Sorry," said Ron, not sounding sorry, "but I had to get Hermione to Madam Pomfrey and Nott wasn't going anywhere important, so –"

"What were you arguing about, anyway?" Ginny asked.

Hermione snorted. "You know. I'm Muggle-born, you're poor, Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived … Theo found you alright, then?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"What were you two doing in the library?" Ron said, with something akin to awe. "Was that what Moody wanted? Setting you extra work? That's grim, mate."

"Yeah," Harry lied. "Yeah, something like that."

Nott and Daphne joined them for breakfast on Saturday. Nott then whisked Hermione off, presumably so they could actually talk to each other instead of whispering and passing notes like first-years.

"I can't be bothered to do homework," Ron grumbled, as they headed upstairs. Daphne trailed along after them, whistling a Hobgoblins song. "I really can't – bog off, Ginny."

Ginny ignored him. "You coming, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said, trying to sound like he'd forgotten his agreement with her by accident. "You two go on without me." He followed Ginny towards the library.

"Who's she?" Ginny asked. "Hermione Mark Two?"

"Daphne Greengrass," Harry explained, staring; the only real similarity between Daphne and Hermione was that they were both girls. Quite apart from the vast disparity in looks, he'd not yet seen Daphne do a lick of work, and she was so ignorant of history that even Ron could (and did) correct her. "She's friends with Nott, I think. She's alright, for a Slytherin."

"Who're you talking about?"

"Hi, professor," squeaked Ginny.

Moody looked both of them up and down. "How's the project going, Potter?"

"Well, thanks," Harry said, shifting from foot to foot.

"What project?" Ginny asked.

Moody raised his eyebrows. "Weasley, wasn't it? Hmph. Lots of you, aren't there?"

"Seven," said Ginny, flushing. "I'm the seventh."

"Hmm," Moody said, looking interested. "Your father was a youngest child too, wasn't he?"

"He only had four brothers," Ginny said apologetically. "But –"

"Seventh child's a good start," said Moody. "Listen, Potter, you can tell her, alright?" He handed Harry a scrap of parchment. "This is for Madam Pince." He stumped off along the corridor.

"Tell me what?" Ginny demanded.

Harry consulted the scrap of parchment Moody had given him. It was a note allowing him to borrow a book called Confunding for the Confounded from the Restricted Section. "Hang on, I just need to borrow this book."

Ginny sulked all the way to the library.

"Excuse me," said Harry, to Madam Pince, "can I have this book, please?"

"You mean may you have it," Madam Pince grumbled, inspecting the note beadily. "Very well. Stay there." She disappeared into the Restricted Section and came back with a big, dull-looking book. "Do not damage it."

"Thanks," Harry managed, and took Ginny over to an isolated table near the back. "Look, we'll be here a while."

Ginny scowled. "I don't care."

Harry explained. It took a long time; Ginny asked a lot of questions.

"Interesting," said Ginny, at last. "Is that what the book's for?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "It all goes a bit over my head, but I think we'll be able to do it."

Ginny snorted. "If you don't get it, I haven't a snowball's chance in hell."

"Please?" Harry said, pushing the book towards her.

"Quibbler?"

Ginny gave a little shriek. "I – yes, please, Luna, that'd be great."

Harry mustered up a smile for the blonde Ravenclaw girl who had addressed them. "What, sorry?"

"Do you want a Quibbler?" the girl asked, setting down the pile of colourful magazines she was carrying. "We've done an article on the Rotfang Conspiracy, and Daddy put in a feature about his reproduction of Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem and a letter from a lady who thinks she saw Bertha Jorkins in Albania."

"This is Luna Lovegood," said Ginny, looking deeply embarrassed. "She's in my year, but in Ravenclaw. Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure or something."

Luna nodded, beaming.

"Oh," Harry said. "I – I'll have one too, then, I suppose. How much?"

"Free," said Luna, smiling. "For you. For now. It's Daddy's policy. Don't worry, he's going to change it." She handed both of them a magazine, picked up the pile, and floated off towards a table full of bickering second-year Hufflepuffs.

"Sorry," Ginny said. "She's such a weirdo. Mad as a box of frogs. Runs in the family. Oh, well, we might as well go down to lunch."

The two of them made their way down to lunch, arriving almost at the same time as Ron.

"Seen Hermione?" Ron asked. "We haven't."

Harry almost asked who we referred to, but before he could open his mouth, Daphne Greengrass sat down beside Ron.

"No, sorry, we were in the library," said Ginny, wrinkling her nose. "Where were you two? You weren't in a broom cupboard or anything?"

"No," Daphne said, while Ron spluttered. "We played chess. Your common room's very … red."

Harry nearly dropped his fork. "You let her in the common room?"

"No," Ron said, serving himself some steak-and-kidney pie. "I went in, you know, to get my chess set, and Neville invited her in for a gossip about horses or whatever it is posh folk talk about, and since she was there … it's fair, isn't it? We've been in her common room."

"When?" Ginny demanded. "Why?"

"It's a long story," said Harry. "You haven't missed much. It's really creepy down there."

"And cold," Daphne agreed. "I always go somewhere else – oh, hullo, Theo. Do I have homework to procrastinate, d'you think?"

Nott shrugged. "You can copy mine tonight."

"Thanks," Daphne said, stifling an enormous yawn. "Don't make that face, Granger, I do read them, and I add some spelling errors, so it's not really copying, is it?"

"It is so," Hermione said sulkily. "Don't they tell you that in Slytherin? All you'll get from copying is dreadful marks."

"I'm aiming for Trolls," said Daphne.

Hermione stared. "I thought the twins were joking when they said they got Trolls in History of Magic."

"No, we were telling the truth," Fred said, depositing himself next to Hermione.

"Oi," George added, sitting next to Fred, "who let the Slytherins in?"

"These are Theo and Daphne," Harry explained, for what felt like the millionth time. "They're Hermione's friends. They're no trouble."

"Although Ron did let Greengrass in the common room," Ginny said meanly.

Ron glared. "I didn't. Neville did. I just didn't kick her out. I was trying to be nice."

"The point of the Triwizard Tournament's to make friends," Hermione pointed out.

"With hot French girls, not junior Death Eaters," Fred said.

"I resent that remark," said Nott.

George snorted. "Go on resenting. Let me guess, Daddy was under Imperius? Everyone knows your cellar's full of bodies."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Not while we're eating, George. C'mon, Harry, we've got work to do."

They trudged back to the library and once again staked their claim on an isolated table.

"Right," Ginny said wearily, "let's have a look. Blimey, this looks dull."

Harry had to agree; Confunding for the Confounded was written in small, tight-packed font, and did not look like easy reading. "I'll have a look through the index or something. Why don't you check the Charms section?"

Ginny groaned and disappeared into the stacks. Harry flicked experimentally through Confunding for the Confounded, discovered that the style did not noticeably change, and applied himself to page one. It was, indeed, deadly dull, full of jargon and lofty language and 'clear' statements which were nothing of the sort. If it hadn't been for his project, he would have tossed it away or asked Hermione to read it.

After about three pages, Ginny returned with a pile of books.

"What're they about?" Harry asked.

Ginny shrugged. "History of the tournament. I bet they used that to decide what sort of tasks they're going to set. Wish me luck."

Some hours later, Cedric Diggory came along, sat down on top of their table, and pointedly waved his wristwatch under their noses.

"Sod off," said Ginny. "Go and bother Cho bloody Chang."

"Don't swear, midget," Cedric said, patting Ginny's head like she was a dog. "It's dinner-time. Off you trot, preferably without books – oh, Confunding Charms, is it? Has old Moody been at you? Come on, move, or I'll get Madam Pince."

Harry and Ginny packed up their things and mooched down to dinner. Ron, Hermione, Nott and Daphne were sitting together at the Gryffindor table, looking very merry indeed.

"Hello, Nott," said Ginny guardedly.

"Miss Weasley," Nott said, with a tight nod.

Harry spent dinner listening to Ron and Daphne debating at length who was most likely to win the Quidditch League. This was somewhat surprising, since he'd been under the impression Slytherin girls didn't like Quidditch, but then again, he'd also been under the impression Slytherins didn't make friends with Gryffindors.

"Well?" Ginny asked, as they headed out into the Entrance Hall, full and happy.

Harry took her by the arm. "Let's hang back."

Ginny slowed, and let Harry lead her over into a dark corner near the Grand Staircase.

"I was thinking this one," he said, removing the book from his bag and opening it to the page in question. "I can't do it alone, I don't think, so –"

"I mean, we can always ask Percy," Ginny said unconcernedly. "If we just mention in passing we've heard rumours someone will do it, he'll send back a whole essay. We've got ages yet. Neville says Professor Burbage told them the other schools won't even be arriving until Hallowe'en. You know Durmstrang doesn't even take Muggle-borns?"

Harry let her chatter on about Durmstrang and Beauxbatons and the other wizarding schools. On the fourth floor, they came across Nott, who was talking in a low voice to Luna Lovegood of Ravenclaw.

"Hi," Harry ventured.

"Evening," said Nott.

Luna, still clutching most of the pile of magazines she'd had that morning, glared.

"Hi, Luna," Ginny said awkwardly. "How's your dad?"

"Fine, thank you, Ginny," Luna said.

"I think you should find different friends, Miss Weasley," said Nott.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I think you should mind your own business."

"I'm not impressed either," said Luna coldly.

"Bully for you," Ginny snapped. "Seriously, Luna, rumour-mongering? I thought you were above that sort of thing."

"I'm not rumour-mongering," Luna said, sounding affronted. "I wouldn't."

Nott made a very rude hand gesture.

"Can we not argue?" Harry said desperately. "Ron's going to kill us if he finds out."

Ginny turned on him. "I'm not scared of Ron."

"Potter's right," said Nott. "Farewell." He marched off. Luna sniffed loudly and stalked off in the opposite direction.

"What was that about?" Harry asked. "How do they even know each other?"

"Oh, they're related," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "It's something like her mum was his cousin – she's dead now, of course. Daft woman. It's nothing to worry about. Loony's crazy. I mean, she isn't a blood purist or anything, unless she's a better actress than I thought, but she was always going to be a bit off, with a Lovegood on one side and a half-Nott on the other. She's probably just got it into her head that we're involved in the Rotfang Conspiracy."

"The what?" Harry said.

Ginny heaved an enormous sigh. "Apparently Aurors are planning to take over the Ministry with a combination of Dark magic and gum disease."

Harry stared.

"Like I said," Ginny said wearily, "she's crazy."

A few days later, Ginny came to Harry with a very long letter from Percy which apparently went into the history of the Triwizard Tournament in general and the Goblet of Fire in particular in great and boring detail.

"I won't actually make you read it," said Ginny, from behind Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles. "I think, from what Percy said, it can be fooled if you stick in a name for a fourth school. Ilvermorny was always the first substitute."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose. I mean, how clever can a cup be?"

"Remember the time we were nearly murdered by a diary?" Ginny asked, mouth twisting.

Harry stared. "You were nearly murdered by a diary, you mean. It was the basilisk that nearly killed me."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Semantics. I mean, if it's anything like … Percy also said there was this girl who forgot to write down her school, and there were four champions that year."

"Then we'll do that," said Harry relievedly.

By the end of October, Harry was thoroughly sick of Confunding Charms, but he reckoned he and Ginny would easily be able to fool the Goblet of Fire. He told Moody so after Defence Against the Dark Arts the day before the other two schools were due to arrive. Moody grinned and gave Ginny, who had come to collect Harry for some last-minute practice, twenty points to Gryffindor for having brushed her hair.

"I'm nervous," Ginny told Harry, the next day. They were all lined up outside the castle, waiting for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to arrive, and Ginny, who should have been standing with the third-years, was standing right next to Harry, so close she was practically standing on his toes.

"It'll be fine," said Harry, although his stomach was doing backflips.

The delegation from Beauxbatons arrived in a gigantic powder-blue carriage pulled by winged horses, and the one from Durmstrang aboard a ship which arose from the lake like some dread creature of the deep.

"That's Krum!" Ginny hissed, as the Durmstrang delegation marched up the hill. "Krum, Harry, Viktor Krum!"

Harry couldn't bring himself to be pleased; good Quidditch players didn't always make good wizards, as the average member of the Slytherin team proved. "Great."

They all filed back into the castle and took their seats in the Great Hall. The Durmstrang students distributed themselves along the Slytherin table, and the Beauxbatons party deposited themselves in a shivering, miserable clump at the far end of the Ravenclaw table.

"What's up with him?" Ron whispered, jerking his head at a Beauxbatons boy who was wrapped in a thick scarf and a deeply melancholy air.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's cold, Ron."

The staff now filed in. When Madame Maxime appeared, all the Beauxbatons students leapt up; they did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down. Dumbledore gave his usual short welcoming speech, and the feast began. There were several unfamiliar dishes in amongst the usual Hogwarts fare.

"I'm bloody glad I'm not at Beauxbatons," Ron said, serving himself some roast potatoes. "Imagine getting up every time Dumbledore walked in. And that poor Durmstrang lot, sitting with the Slytherins – Theo and Daphne are talking to them, but still, wouldn't want to be in their get-up."

Harry supposed he might as well join in the gossiping. "Isn't that Loony Lovegood the Beauxbatons lot are talking to?"

"Sadly," Ginny said, taking vast quantities of peas. "Place your bets now, ladies and gents – Rotfang conspiracy, the Minister's dastardly plan to take over the world with bright green bowler hats, or imaginary magical creature of the week?"

"You forgot Scrimgeour's a vampire," said one of Ginny's friends, reaching casually over Harry for the pepper pot. Harry had been spending so much time with Ginny lately that her friends seemed to have become quite used to him, and he was certainly becoming used to them; he'd even managed to learn a few of their names. This one, for instance, was called Demelza Robins, which was up there with Draco Malfoy on the list of unfortunate wizarding names. "Oh, and Daddy's lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw."

Hermione snorted. "What in Merlin's name is the Rotfang conspiracy?"

"Some crazy thing her dad made up during the last war," said Ginny. "Ask her about the Minister sometime, I dare you."

After the meal, Dumbledore rose from his seat, and silence fell. A thousand Kilkenny cats scrambled around Harry's stomach.

"The moment has come," Dumbledore said, smiling benevolently round at them. "The Triwizard Tournament is at Hogwarts. I would like to say a few words before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure. But first, let me introduce Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of our Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of our Department of Magical Games and Sports. They have been working tirelessly on the arrangements for several months, and will be judging the tournament along with myself, Madam Maxime, and Professor Karkaroff."

Filch emerged from a far corner, carrying an elderly chest encrusted with jewels.

"There will be three tasks," Dumbledore said, into the breathless silence, "and three champions, one from each school. Each champion will be marked on their performance for each task, and at the end of the year one of them will go home with the Triwizard Cup and a thousand Galleons. But first, they must be selected by our impartial selector … the Goblet of Fire." He reached into the chest and held up a large wooden cup brim-full of flames. "You will have twenty-four hours to clearly – in block capitals, if necessary – write your name and school on a slip of parchment and place it into the Goblet, which shall be in the Entrance Hall. To ensure nobody underage yields to temptation, I will draw an Age Line. Generally, we do not force students to attend meals at particular times, but the Goblet will make its decision at the Hallowe'en feast tomorrow, which begins at six o'clock sharp; if you have entered your name, kindly do not be late. And now, I think, it is time for bed."

"Don't go to bed," Harry hissed into Ginny's ear, under cover of the general clamour. "I'll fetch my cloak. We go once everyone's in bed."

Ginny nodded and followed him up to Gryffindor Tower. Harry snuck up to his dormitory, stuffed his cloak into his pocket, headed back down to the common room, and tried to act normally.

"Chess?" Ron offered.

Harry accepted the offer and was thoroughly trounced. Then it was Hermione's turn. The common room didn't empty until past midnight, by which time Ginny was visibly struggling to keep her eyes open.

"C'mon," Harry said, holding out the cloak. "Quickly."

Ginny joined him under the cloak, and together they left, ignoring the Fat Lady's indignant squeals. The school was dark and silent, but it was nothing Harry wasn't used to. Down in the Entrance Hall, the only light was given by the Goblet's flames and a golden line which had been drawn wide around the Sorting stool, on which the Goblet stood.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

"Ready," Ginny replied.

They cast the charm. There was no appreciable result.

"Do you think it worked?" Harry asked.

"Only one way to tell," Ginny said, handing him a scrap of parchment with Harry Potter written on it in block capitals.

Harry took a deep breath, emerged from beneath the cloak, and stepped over the Age Line. Nothing happened. He took a deep breath, crossed the ten feet between the Age Line and the Goblet, and put his name in. The parchment turned red, emitted sparks, and disappeared.

"Well done," Ginny whispered. "Do you think it worked?"

Harry joined her under the cloak. "We'll know tomorrow." He was rather hoping it hadn't worked, to be honest; he was beginning to have second thoughts.

The next morning, though, he and Ginny went down to breakfast early and watched from the first-floor balcony while the same thing happened to the names of the Durmstrang contingent.

"It worked," Ginny crowed, embracing him. "It worked, Harry!"

"Yeah," Harry said, stomach churning; some older Ravenclaws were staring at them with frank interest. "Yeah, great."

They spent the day in the library doing homework. At dinner, Ginny sat beside Harry and kept sending him secretive smiles. Occasionally, she muttered small gems of acting advice. Moody beamed down at them from the High Table.

"Oh, Harry, you've barely eaten a thing," Hermione clucked, as the meal drew to an end. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah," Harry lied.

Hermione pressed her palm to Harry's forehead. "Well, you haven't got a temperature, I suppose …"

At long last, the plates were cleared and Dumbledore rose. "The Goblet is almost ready. When the champions' names are called, will they please come to the top of the hall, walk along the staff table, and go into the next chamber, where they will receive their first instructions."

He waved his wand, and most of the candles went out, leaving the Goblet of Fire as the brightest thing in the room. Everyone stared. Harry's stomach was doing gymnastics.

The Goblet's flames turned red, sparks flew, and a tongue of flame lanced up, a charred piece of parchment in its grip.

"The champion for Durmstrang," Dumbledore read, "will be Viktor Krum."

There was much applause.

The champion for Beauxbatons was to be a pretty girl named Fleur Delacour, and the Hogwarts champion was, to the mild indignation of everyone except the Hufflepuffs, Cedric Diggory.

"I don't think this was a good idea," Harry whispered, under cover of the Hufflepuffs' loud applause.

Ginny smiled nervously up at him, squeezed his hand, and glanced pointedly down at her tightly crossed fingers. Dumbledore was speaking, but Harry wasn't listening; he was staring at the Goblet, the Goblet was everything, the flames were turning red again …

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore read, frowning. "The fourth champion is Harry Potter."

AN: Yes, I took slight artistic license to say that Harry and Ginny managed to get past the Age Line and Confund the Goblet on their own. If this bothers you, feel free to imagine Crouch Junior coming downstairs after curfew, disabling the spells, waiting until Harry and Ginny are gone, and then putting the spells back again.