Harry Potter and the Unforeseen Champion – Chapter 1
Harry James Potter was in a great mood. After three years in Hogwarts, school for wizardry and witchcraft, he was looking forward to an entire year without death-defying adventures. The previous years had included everything from Dark Wizards to enormous monsters and Harry had had more than enough excitement.
Growing up in a difficult home, mistreated and ignored in equal measure, he always had an appreciation for staying unnoticed. But while the wizarding world was like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, it was also a world that had made him a celebrity long before he knew of its existence. Everything he did was scrutinized.
For Harry wasn't a normal boy. He was the 'boy-who-lived', the only known survivor of the very appropriately named 'Killing Curse'. The universally feared and powerful dark wizard Voldemort attacked Harry's family, killing his parents with just that curse. But when he tried that same unblockable and inevitable curse on a toddler, he not only failed to kill Harry, but managed to destroy his own body. Since then Harry had faced Voldemort twice, triumphing both times through bravery and more than his fair share of luck.
But this year things would be different, hence his good mood. This year Hogwarts was hosting the Tri-Wizard Tournament, a competition between three schools: Harry's own school Hogwarts, the secretive and somber Durmstrang Institute for sorcery and Beauxbatons Academy of magic, France's premier institute for witches and wizards. Every school would have its own champion chosen by a magical artifact called 'The Goblet of Fire'. All participants had to be of age, meaning seventeen or older, to make sure that they had the necessary knowledge to make it through the notoriously lethat tournament alive. To get their chance, every volunteer had to throw a piece of paper with their name into the goblet. A magical 'age line' had been drawn around the pedestal with the goblet designed to rebuff everyone not of legal adulthood.
Already the champions of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had been determined. Durmstrang would be represented by Viktor Krum, a young man nearly as famous as Harry himself. Only weeks ago Krum had been the seeker of the Bulgarian Quidditch – a complicated sport played on flying brooms – team taking part in the final of the World Cup in said sport. Despite his tremendous talents their opponents, the Irish, had proven better. Nonetheless, he was famed for his flying skill and it was rumored that he was an able wizard, too.
Harry, himself a gifted Quidditch player and playing on the same position as Krum, could at least attest the former, if not the latter. As luck would have it, the family of his close friend Ron Weasley had had cards for the game and two extra. This meant the Weasleys had invited Ron's best friends Harry and Hermione Granger to come with them. They were currently sitting next to him, bickering over who would be chosen, but Harry wasn't listening. For once he could just soak in the atmosphere without worry. At fourteen years he couldn't participate even if, for some insane reason, he would want to.
The French witch Fleur Delacour had been chosen to be Beauxbatons champion. Harry knew next to nothing about her. His best friend Ron believed that she was part Veela, a magical race of extraordinary beautiful women able to entice men (and sometimes women) with their mere presence. They were also able to transform into bird-like creatures and had some control over fire. Harry had seen Veela during the final match. The Bulgarian team had had Veelas as mascots and cheerleader with them.
There had yet to be a sign whether or not Fleur could transform into a bird-thing or that she could control fire. However, the young woman was certainly beautiful enough to qualify for a Veela, and the amount of starry eyed boys left in her wake seemed to confirm it, too. Considering that she had been chosen to represent her school, there was also no doubt that she was more than just a pretty face.
Again the Goblet's eponymous fire rose, like it did when it had spat out the names of Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour. Harry was excited to find out who would be Hogwart's champion. Hopefully it would be his Quidditch teammate Angelina Johnson, but Harry didn't really know how good a witch she was compared to others of her age. In fact, Harry didn't know most of the older students of his own school-house, Gryffindor, let alone those from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin.
The piece of parchment flew out of the fire and softly tumbled through the air. The seemingly ancient headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, – he had several middle names, but Harry didn't remember them accurately – caught the slip easily, his dexterity belying his obvious age. Dumbledore had always been a grandfatherly sort of teacher, trying to be kind yet firm and usually succeeding. Harry liked him a lot, but even those who didn't respected, and sometimes even feared, the old man's knowledge and power.
"The champion of Hogwarts," the magically amplified voice of the headmaster boomed through the main hall. "Is Cedric Diggory!"
Cedric jumped up and managed to look both beside himself with triumph and modest at the same time. Harry knew him surprisingly well, despite Diggory being older and in another house, Hufflepuff namely. Diggory also played seeker in Hufflepuff's Quidditch team, much like Harry did for Gryffindor, meaning that Harry had had ample opportunity to get to know him.
Cedric had been always been a friendly if spirited rival and the only one to ever beat Harry. The game had been a controversial one, because Dementors interfered in it. Dementors were monsters living of the emotional misery of humans around them, quite literally sucking the joy out of anyone close to them, and were nearly exclusively used to guard the most heinous criminals of magical Britain. Their most horrible ability was to suck out the soul of a person with a disgusting mockery of a kiss. They could also suppress positive memories and feelings, drawn to and affecting those with more tragedy in their life the most.
Harry, sadly, was such a person and was attacked by them during the game, causing him to lose consciousness. Without competition Cedric easily won the game for his team. However, being the incredibly fair and nice guy that he was, he tried to get a rematch. Harry wasn't so sure that it was all the Dementors, though. The weather was stormy and Harry's light frame didn't do him any favors. Combine that with Diggory's greater experience and Harry wasn't convinced that Cedric wouldn't have won regardless. Oliver Wood, the captain of Harry's team, saw it similarly and refused a rematch.
That gesture alone would have won him Harry's support, but Cedric was also a talented and helpful wizard. It was well known that he gave free tutoring lessons when his time permitted it. Nobody had been surprised when Cedric had been named Prefect last year, a student with authority to enforce rules and help others. And everyone, including Harry, was sure that he would be Head Boy next year, representing the entire student body alongside a Head Girl.
While Harry was thinking about that, and ignoring the discussions around him, Cedric had already left the hall and headed to another room. He would probably be told there what to expect in the first of the three tasks of the tournament. Headmaster Dumbledore was busy calming down the students and would probably say some final words before sending them all to bed.
Just at that moment, the Goblet's fire started to swell again. Harry was confused. There shouldn't be a forth fire, because that would mean a forth champion. It was called 'The Tri-Wizard Tournament' for a reason. The hall went deathly silent and even the usually unflappable Dumbledore appeared shocked. The two headmasters of the other schools, brusque and dour Igor Karkarov of Durmstrang and unbelievably tall Olympe Maxim of Beauxbatons, stood equally speechless next to him.
And just like the three times before, a small slip of paper was spat out by the flames, lazily floating through the air. The elderly headmaster's hand hesitantly caught it.
Harry's heartbeat quickened, all his senses focused on Professor Dumbledore's face. The Professor's eyes were glancing from the paper into the mass of Hogwart's students and back again. Suddenly the Headmaster looked directly at Harry. Without noticing Harry gripped the chair in front of him tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. It couldn't be, not again! In his mind, he could already hear his name being announced.
Finally Dumbledore's spoke in a voice so light it seemed barely more than a whisper and yet it filled the room like the dread judgement it was.
"Tracey Davis."
Author's note: If you have questions, please leave me a way to contact you. I want to keep whatever notes short. Future chapters will be longer.