A/N: Well this is a bit different. A Harry Potter fan-fic. This idea has been mulling around in my mind for a while, in various forms. The Goblet of Fire was my favourite Harry Potter book, and is the turning point of the series in many ways. Anywho, from a number of trial ideas, this first chapter came through. Harry may seem a bit out of character; to that, I shrug. For things to happen differently, something has to be different, and I choose Harry to be the main thing. Having said that, if I get ridiculous, please pull me up.

So far, my 'plan', is for this to be a H/Hr fic, but that's fairly fluid and won't be quick to come about. Neither will I be bashing Weasleys or Dumbledores.

I won't be quick to update, but we'll see how we go. Reviews are appreciated, as always.

And most of all, enjoy.

"Harry Potter."

Two words. Two words that had inspired cheers, jeers, fear and now a surprised glance as to who could be uttering the unique combination of words which made them his. Sometimes, Harry Potter just wished his name was not his own.

Every head in the Great Hall had turned to a scrawny boy with messy black hair. It must be a mistake.A figment of his over excited imagination. The Triwizard tournament, that's what it was called. Even Malfoy doesn't have the gall to suggest his father could get him a place as a FOURTH champion in a three champion contest.

Regaining his sense, Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, acutely aware of the gaping mouths of the Gryffindors behind them. "I didn't put my name in," he stated with a confused shrug. "You've been with me. You know I didn't." It was true, Ron and Hermione had been with him from dawn to dusk.

His two best friends just looked at him, a rare occasion of words escaping Hermione's normally brilliant mind.

"I didn't do it! There must be a mistake!" Harry stated more loudly to them, as he saw Dumbledore conferred with Professor McGonagall. With a frown, Harry noted whispers breaking out across the Hall, students and staff alike.

"Harry Potter!" The headmaster called again. "Up here Harry, if you could."

"Professor, I didn't do it!" Harry called back, a tinge of anger gripping his voice. After three years of school, surely they could trust him by now. One does not simply receive a Services to the School award for being a prat. Dumbledore had seen the diary and orchestrated the rescue of his Godfather. When had he lost the trust of the headmaster? And why couldn't he have a year without drama, or at least be remembered for doing that which no one else could, or would.

"Go on Harry. Everybody is waiting," Hermione whispered behind him, pushing him to his feet.

Shooting a quick glare to the bushy-haired female, Harry stumbled slightly, the hem of his robes entangling his feet. Whereas such a move would garner laughter and perhaps even comedic applause during a dinner feast; not even a whisper of a smile caught on the lips of the hall.

"Tough crowd" Harry muttered to himself as he began the walk to the head table, head up. He had done nothing wrong, of that he was sure. Despite his efforts, each step seemed to stretch the distance to his destination, not shorten it.

As he stepped up to the dais, the stares followed him, tracking him as a hawk tracks its prey. The echoing of his footsteps on the stone were the only applause for greeting the headmaster. A little defensively, Harry once more stared up at the revered headmaster, a slight plea entering his voice.

"Professor, when have I lied to you before? I did not put my name in that cup. I swear to you. Of all the people in this room, do any need more publicity than I, and still want it less?"

Dumbledore didn't respond, his eyes cold, face expressionless, as if he had just endured one of Aunt Petunia's rare attempts at cooking. The most powerful wizard of the era gave such a bland, uncommitted look that something broke inside Harry. He did not trust Harry. Despite everything that had occurred in three of the most tumultuous years of schooling, Harry Potter was an attention seeking brat who cheated his way past an uncheatable age-line drawn by the professor himself. The renowned twinkling in Dumbledore's eyes could not have been more absent.

So, that's it? One slip of paper, and my friends don't believe me? The man who drew the age line stopping this very event doesn't believe me? Harry nodded to himself in resignation. A cold determination to push through formed in his gut, regardless of where that may lead. "Sir?" Harry spoke firmly, waiting for instruction.

As if reluctantly, Professor Dumbledore indicated to the nondescript door at the side, his hand resolutely stiff. There would be no handshakes or congratulations for Harry Potter, the fourth triwizard champion.

"Well... Through the door Harry," said Dumbledore, still without a smile or hint of glitter in his eyes.

Harry turned on his heel, eyes seeking those who had followed him to hell and back. One glimpse of Ron's simmering expression was all he needed to know where their friendship stood. Harry had cheated his way in, and not offered Ron the same opportunity. Therefore Harry was not his friend, and should be treated as such. There was no middle ground with Ron Weasley. Hermione's expression of confusion was a much harder read. Puzzles were to be solved quickly, and if they couldn't, they would frustrate the book lover. A fourth, underage champion, in a three wizard competition was quite the riddle. Only problem was, Harry had no answer, and no clue where to start. Hermione would toil away at why or how he was entered, but in the end, it was illogical, and therefore disposable for Gryffindor's star pupil.

Saddened, Harry continued his pivot towards the awaiting door, almost laughing at the hate Cho Chang displayed so openly. In the end, Harry did laugh at Malfoy's face. The pale heir to the Malfoy kingdom had turned whiter than usual, statuesque in his stiff demeanour. "It's ok Malfoy, I didn't even do anything this time and I'm still better than you" Harry couldn't resist the jibe, despite the buzz he was causing. He was being childish and immature, but then again, surely he could afford to be. There were few other laughs to be had in his life right now.

"Mr. Potter." Professor McGonnagall coughed slightly, an eyebrow raised menacingly.

"Sorry professor." Harry replied with a hint of guilt, as he stepped through the door, leaving uproar in his wake.