A/N: Your reviews sincerely make my day. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and all the ones to come.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Champions
By the time the sun rose, Alex was no more rested than she had been when she first slipped into bed. She was fairly used to restless nights now, though, so she had little difficulty ignoring the stiffness of her limbs as she climbed out of bed and went through her morning routine.
Since she had nothing better to do, Alex figured a trip to the prefects' bathroom was in order. Surely no one would want to use it any time soon; since it was a Saturday, they all day to decide when they wanted a soak. Alex had used the bath there numerous times by now, but its vast array of shampoos, soaps, and conditioners never failed to impress her.
Alex was permitted twenty whole minutes to herself before Myrtle drifted in. In addition to the lavatory on the second floor, the undead fourteen-year-old enjoyed haunting the prefects' bathroom from time to time. It pissed the other prefects off a good deal, but she considered Myrtle her friend; besides, the bespectacled ghost wasn't interested in female anatomy.
"It's Halloween," Myrtle noted as she sunk into the tub across from Alex. "Your birthday."
"Yep," replied Alex. Just one more year until she could lose the trace. The technicalities behind that piece of magic were mystifying, to say the least. There was no official outline of how the Trace worked—and Alex had done thorough research on that—in order to prevent people from circumventing that law. All her knowledge on the trace was achieved through trial and error and past experience – not necessarily first-hand experience, but it still counted.
What she knew was:
1) The trace applied to both wand and wandless magic. That much was clear due to Harry's unfortunate situations with Dobby and his Aunt Marge.
2) It was location-based. Harry was the only magical person in the Dursleys' homes, so whatever magical activity occurred there would automatically be blamed on him unless the other wand-waver received clearance from the ministry.
Personally, Alex felt the second point was extremely flawed. If you didn't like a student and wanted to jeopardise their future in the magical world, all you had to do was cast a bunch of spells in their vicinity.
Alex had discovered one loophole, at least; when you were surrounded with other underage wand-wavers who had the trace on them, you could blend in and cast as much magic as you wanted since the system would be unable to determine who, exactly, was at fault. It was risky, however. All it took was a single blabbermouth to ruin things.
Alex was distracted from her thoughts as Myrtle slipped beneath the bubbly water only to reappear right next to her in hopes of catching her off guard.
"I wonder who will be guarding you tonight," she murmured eerily.
Sighing, Alex closed her eyes and leaned against the tub. Every year, ever since her disastrous first Halloween at Hogwarts, one of the more respected ghosts tended to stick close by to her to ward off any desperate spirits. Last year had been the Friar; the year before was the Baron, while the one prior to that had been Sir Nicholas.
"Probably the Grey Lady," reasoned Alex as she made herself a beard out of bubbles.
Once Alex left the bathroom, she discovered her assumption had proved correct. A silvery figure was turning the corner, out of her direct sight, but she could tell from the hair and dress that it was the Ravenclaw ghost. She was the most anti-social of the four House ghosts, which was saying a lot considering who the Slytherin representative was. The Baron at least made appearance every now and then, unlike the Grey Lady, who tended to lurk in shadowy corners away from everyone else.
Her recalcitrance suited Alex just fine; Sir Nicholas was too nosy, the Friar too chatty, and the Baron far too unnerving for her liking. Alex appreciated being able to move about without checking over her shoulder for any spirits haunting her.
In an effort to distance herself from the Great Hall as much as possible before the drawing of the names, Alex ate her breakfast in the kitchens before heading down to Hagrid's.
She was of the same mind as the trio, it seemed.
"Happy birthday!"
Blushing lightly, Alex thanked Hagrid and the trio as she stepped into the cosy hut. "How long have you lot been here?" she asked the fourth-years.
"'Bout an hour," replied Harry, closing the door behind her. "Hagrid was just telling us about the tournament tasks."
Alex swallowed thickly, her throat suddenly parched. She gratefully accepted the cup of tea Hagrid handed her. "So, they've all been decided, then?"
Hagrid nodded enthusiastically, and it was only then that she noticed his state of dress. He was all dolled up in his best suit, a hairy brown thing that reminded her of the coat of a bear, or a mammoth. It was accented by a fluorescent orange tie. His thick brown locks were pulled back from his face into a messy ponytail which looked ready to burst free from its hair-tie at any given moment.
"The tasks were decided months ago," revealed Hagrid, stroking his beard. "Same time as when the rules fer the tournament were settled. At firs', Professor Dumbledore wanted ter restrict the participants to those who were o' age. If yeh ask me, he had the righ' idea."
"But then almost no one could enter!" protested Ron, aghast.
His strong reaction planted the seeds of suspicion in Alex's head. "You didn't enter, did you?" she asked warily.
"Of course not," answered Hermione. "I talked them out of it."
Exhaling slowly, Alex leaned back in her seat. "You truly are the brightest witch of our age."
Hermione smiled, pleased.
"What changed Dumbledore's mind?" Harry asked, absently petting Fang as the dog drooled into his lap.
"The Ministry," said Hagrid, frowning. "Barty Crouch an' Ludo Bagman ter be specific. Claimed it'd be unfair to the younger students ter miss out on a rare opportunity like this. Never thought I'd see another Triwizard Tournament meself," he added with a chuckle.
Alex peered up at him. "Have you spoken to the heads of the other schools?"
To their surprise, Hagrid's face—the visible parts, anyway—turned as pink as a peony. "Jus' the, uh, Beauxbaton's headmistress," he replied, busying himself with his tie.
"The tall lady?" said Harry.
"More than just tall," scoffed Ron. "She's basically Hagrid's height."
Hermione's dark eyes lit up as she put two and two together. "Hagrid," she said slowly, "is this why you're so dressed up? Do you fancy Madam Maxime?"
Hagrid cleared his throat loudly, sounding like a car struggling to start. "Who's hungry?" he basically yelled. "Lunch should be 'bout done by now."
Alex's eyes widened as she recalled what happened last time she had eaten Hagrid's cooking. Not wishing to spend all night on the loo, she made up an excuse and beat a hasty retreat, much to the trio's envy.
On her trip back to the castle, she contemplated the various ways she could kill time before the drawing of the names at the feast tonight. She could go to the library and complete her homework or hide away in an abandoned classroom to practise her wand-waving; both required effort, though, something she was devoid of following her sleepless night. A less taxing alternative would be to find one of her mates to chew the fat with. It would be fun, easy, and a good use of her time.
She napped in the Room of Requirement instead. Exhausted, she slept throughout the entire afternoon and most of the feast. Alex despised alarms, and only used them when absolutely necessary, so she was forced to power-walk towards the Great Hall before all the food disappeared. She could've ran for it, sure, but she couldn't bear the thought of anyone catching her in such an embarrassing predicament.
Of course, her self-consciousness was for naught, because dinner was already over by the time she reached the Great Hall. Wincing, she poked her head in just enough to spot Dumbledore dim the candles so that only the pumpkins remained aglow – that, and the Goblet of Fire. The flames burned redder and taller than any ordinary fire; sparks danced along the edge of the cup as Dumbledore reached in and pulled out a piece of parchment.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he read in a strong, clear voice audible even to her, "will be Viktor Krum."
Alex rolled her eyes as thunderous applause followed the obvious proclamation. Judging by the booming congratulations from his headmaster, perhaps there was no room for any unpleasant surprises in the first place; despite the eligibility of students from a variety of years, Karkaroff hadn't brought many of his disciples with him.
Neither had Madam Maxime, now that she thought about it. Whomever she was backing must be really amazing, then, if she was willing to sacrifice the opportunities of her other students.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," announced Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour."
The roar of approval that followed was distinctly deep and masculine-sounding. A girl with shimmery hair traipsed over to Dumbledore, barely sparing a glance at her many admirers as she headed towards the chamber adjacent to the Great Hall. Some of her Beauxbatons peers were openly sobbing in distress at having not been picked.
Yikes. Shaking her head lightly, Alex began to creep into the hall while everyone was distracted.
She had just managed to grab a seat on the edge of the Slytherin table when the goblet spat out more red sparks.
The Hogwarts champion.
The hall itself seemed to hold its breath as Dumbledore reached into the flames and plucked out the name of his school's representative. His expression didn't change in the slightly as he peered up from the entry and swept his gaze over the four tables before landing on the left-most one.
"The Hogwarts champion," he called, meeting her wide eyes, "is Alexandra Fortescue."
Alex had to clench her jaw to keep her laughter from bubbling out in the stilted applause that followed. It was polite, if confused; she was from the most reviled House of the four, but she was arguably one of the better Slytherins here. Naturally, the ones most enthused by her new role as Hogwarts champion were her Housemates. They clapped loudly and proudly, even those whom she hadn't even spoken to once, because their House had just one-upped all the others. Well, at least her first-years seemed genuinely happy for her.
Mildly amused but mostly horrified, Alex sculpted her expression into one of smug apathy as she got up and strode to the front of hall. She didn't meet anyone's stare the entire time, terrified of what she would find reflected in their faces. Envy? Rage? Disappointment? It was best not to know.
The chamber door opened and closed of its own accord, like an automatic door except it was wooden. Viktor was leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, staring at it moodily while Fleur turned to appraise her.
"You're underage, aren't you?" she asked in a manner that was almost accusatory.
Viktor finally pried his eyes from the fireplace at that. Alex knew what they were thinking – she was younger than them, and supposedly less experienced, less likely to come out as the winner. In other words, they were writing her off due to her age. She didn't try to dissuade them of their presumptions; if they wanted to underestimate her, they could go right ahead.
"Alex Fortescue," she said by way of greeting. "Fifth-year. Slytherin. Prefect."
Neither of the seventh-years seemed inclined to introduce themselves, perhaps figuring it was pointless since she already knew who they were.
Before the silence could drag out any longer, the door creaked open once more. Harry stumbled in, looking absolutely shell-shocked. A sinking feeling clinched her stomach as he gawked at them.
"Harry?" Alex took half a step towards him. "You all right?"
Her friend had no time to answer, for Ludo Bagman swept into the room and grabbed Harry by the arm. "Extraordinary!" he announced, beaming at all of them. "Harry Potter here has just become the fourth champion of the Triwizard Tournament!"
Fleur smiled. "Very funny joke, Mr Bagman."
But Bagman wasn't kidding; the darkening expression on Viktor's surly face made it clear that he thought so too.
"Joke?" echoed Bagman. "No, no, I'm being completely serious. Harry's name came out of the goblet, so he must compete – it's in the rules."
"But Harry didn't put his name in the goblet," declared Alex as she recalled their conversation earlier that day. "Someone else did."
That seemed to knock Harry from his stupor. The hopeless look marring his features faded as he latched onto Alex's words like a lifeline. "That's right," he said with a jerky nod.
More people were whirling into the room now, which was rapidly becoming cramped. Dumbledore led the mob of professors towards them, his face a mask of calm despite the bridled anger roiling off Karkaroff and the poised indignation of Madam Maxime.
"Two Hogwarts champions?" Karkaroff asked mildly. His steely smile and icy eyes betrayed his real feelings on the matter, however. "I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions — or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"
"Zis is most injust," Madam Maxime added imperiously, the top of her head brushing dangerously against the candlelit chandelier.
"I agree," interjected Alex. She jutted her chin out defiantly as all eyes in the room—including those of the nosy portraits lining the walls—flashed over to her. "It'd be most unfair for Harry to compete when someone else submitted his name for him."
Dumbledore, the eye of the storm of aggravation on all sides, looked to his favourite student for an answer. "Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?"
"No," Harry replied firmly despite the faint tremor in his hands.
From the shadows, Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief. Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared at the sound of it.
"Did you ask someone to manipulate the cup for you?" asked Dumbledore, ignoring the duel that was about to break out behind him.
This time, Harry's answer was much more vehement. "No! I wouldn't even know how to, or who to ask."
"Lies upon lies," scoffed Madam Maxime.
Harry glared at the intimidatingly tall woman. "Why would I lie?" he snapped.
Alex winced at his emotional response. His fervour wasn't doing him any favours in winning the sympathy or trust of the outside parties.
"Why wouldn't you?" burst out Fleur. The angrier she got, the stronger her accent became. "We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honour for our schools! A thousand galleons in prize money — zis is a chance many would die for!"
"Exactly," growled Moody, thankfully capturing everyone's attention while Alex struggled to regulate her breathing after the indirect impact of Fleur's sharp words. "We all know Potter has his fair share of enemies. Maybe whoever entered him into this blasted competition is hoping he'll die in the process."
Harry had gone unnaturally still as the implications of his circumstance finally sunk in.
"Think about it," continued Moody. His voice was more subdued in the wake of the uneasy tension in the air. "Whoever put Potter's name in the goblet must be extremely skilled to have hoodwinked such a powerful magical object like that. Must've written him into a fourth school, too, to ensure he would be picked."
"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," commented Karkaroff, the implication clear in his light tone. The fact that he—a suspected Death Eater—was accusing an auror of plotting the Boy-Who-Lived's murder was almost enough to convince Alex the world was truly going mad.
Rather than taking offence at the suggestion, Moody seemed amused. The corner of his deep-set mouth turned upwards into a smirk. It was a terrifying sight to behold. Alex wasn't sure how many people lived to see another day after having the privilege of witnessing that particular expression.
Paling, Karkaroff hastily sought assistance from the official judges. Bagman swiped at his glistening forehead before deferring to Crouch, who had been surveying the situation in grave silence up until now.
"We must follow the rules," he said curtly, "and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."
Bagman brightened at the escape route provided by his colleague. "Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," he declared, apparently deciding the matter was over and done with.
The nonsensical nature of their arguments almost made Alex's brain short-circuit. Before she could open her mouth to protest their claims, Dumbledore caught her eye. He subtly moved his head to the side, signalling for her to change tracks. Flummoxed, Alex pressed her lips together.
Karkaroff was free to run his gob, though. He had dropped his false smile and was now glowering fiercely as he demanded a redraw so that each school had two champions thrown in the mix.
By all means, seethed Alex, double the body count.
Bagman's brow was beginning to bead with sweat again. "The Goblet of Fire's gone out – it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament."
Karkaroff fumed while Madam Maxime appeared affronted. Their students mirrored their attitudes, although Viktor was much more reserved compared to the daggers Fleur was tossing with her gaze alone.
"Look on the bright side," Alex couldn't help but add. "You both have the advantage of age and experience over us."
She smiled as some variation of thoughtfulness flitted over their countenances; it grew when she noticed Snape roll his eyes skyward while Professor McGonagall simply sighed.
Bagman clapped his hands together, pleased by Alex's observation. "Now that's the sort of champion we like to see!" he claimed, and Alex wondered who this we was. "Let's get cracking, shall we? Barty, want to do the honours?"
Crouch blinked as he resurfaced from some sort of reverie. "Yes, the first task," he murmured, stepping forward out of the darkness and into the firelight. Up close, Alex finally noticed the unhealthy pallor of his skin.
"The first task is designed to test your daring," he declared, "so we won't tell you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard." He continued, unmoved by their visible vexation: "The first task will take place on November twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."
Alex gasped. "Even my O.W.L.s?"
Crouch nodded. "If the champions wish, they may complete their exams anyway. If not, their classwork performance and their teachers' reviews will determine the course of their studies thereafter."
The information lifted her spirits slightly. Then she remembered why she was here in the first place, and she came crashing back down to earth with a jolt.
It was with a subdued air in which everyone filed out of the chamber. The professors, who were at the back of the room, went off first, perhaps to discuss what the hell had just happened. Really, they should've invited the centrepiece of the issue to keep him informed, but when had they ever cared what they thought?
Some nasty glares were being thrown Harry's way as they split ways once they emerged from the Great Hall. To keep him from focusing on their hostility, Alex grabbed Harry's forearm and gave it a small squeeze as she pulled him to the side.
"You never answered me before," she reminded him, retracting her hand. "Are you all right?"
"Of course not," he sighed. His shoulders sagged as the fight left him. "Didn't you hear what Professor Moody said? Someone's out to get me."
Alex smirked slightly at that. "When isn't someone out to get you?"
But Harry wasn't in the mood for jokes. "D'you think it's him?" he asked, green eyes ablaze like the fire in the Slytherin common room. "Voldemort?"
"Yes," she said honestly, because what was the point in lying? Harry had had a dream of the Dark Lord not long – that, coupled with the World Cup attack? The answer was far too obvious.
"He might be possessing someone again, like Quirrell," speculated Alex, "or one of his followers might be doing this as revenge for what happened fourteen years ago." On this very night, actually. She shivered.
"I knew it." Groaning, Harry brought his hands to his face.
"Hey," she said softly, encouragingly. "You're not alone, remember that. Besides, you already kicked his arse twice – what's once more?"
He heaved a sigh. "Your pep talks seriously need some work," he informed her, no doubt recalling the last time they were in a similar situation.
"Yeah, well, things turned out fine last time, hadn't they?"
Except Sirius hadn't been a nefarious villain out to get them, and the series of events weren't difficult to manipulate like they were now.
Alex shook herself out of that reverie before it could consume her completely. "First thing's first," she announced, meeting Harry's dim gaze. "We need to find out who put your name in the goblet."
"It was Snape," decided Harry. "He's the most obvious suspect."
Alex hummed as she considered Harry's words. It was no secret the Potions professor despised her friend, and his moral compass wasn't exactly exemplary either. The sheer frequency and intensity with which he bullied Hermione, Neville and other students who got on his nerves were proof of that.
He had both the motive and the means, but… "He saved you in your first year, though," she reminded him. "When Quirrell cursed your broom mid-flight? If he really wanted you dead, he would've let you fall off as intended."
Harry scowled as the easy answer was crossed off their list. "You said it could be a Death Eater, right? Like Karkaroff?"
"He certainly looks like he'd fit the bill," murmured Alex, thinking off his ice-chip blue eyes and knife-point smile.
"What about Malfoy?"
"What about him?"
Harry levelled her with a flat look. "You really think he'd be above doing something like this?"
"I think this is above his intelligence level," she said frankly. "But I'll keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious behaviour – you should too."
Harry nodded distractedly as he headed towards the Gryffindor common room upstairs. No doubt his night would be a restless one. It was a good thing Alex had napped the day away, because she wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight either.
Alex stepped forward, away from the wall, and craned her head to one end of the empty entrance hall. "Have you seen anyone behaving suspiciously last night?" she asked of the shadows.
The Grey Lady drifted into view from where she was hiding. Her gaze was cold, but not bitingly so like Karkaroff's had been; she was merely disinterested. "Apart from yourself, you mean?" she inquired loftily.
Alex's lips curled into an amused smirk. Touché, she thought, turning her back to the ghost. Famished, she went down to the kitchens for her belated dinner. It seemed like she wasn't the only one feeling peckish, however.
"Cedric?" she said, climbing in through the portrait hole. "You hungry too?"
The beginnings of a smile worked its way up on her face before she reached the tables and noticed the tautness of Cedric's frame.
"Congrats, champion," he said, smiling tightly. It looked like a grimace, really.
"Thanks…" Hesitantly she sat down across him. "Um, were you here waiting for me?"
Cedric nodded, meeting her uncertain eyes with his own unwavering gaze. "I wanted to find out whether or not you entered the competition."
"I did," she said slowly. "Why would you think otherwise?"
"Because it doesn't make sense," he replied, confusing her further. "Why would you willingly enter after spending the past two months convincing people the risk wasn't worth it? Unless… Unless that was the point."
Alex felt numb all over. "What are you trying to say?" was the question she finally managed to force out.
Cedric bit his lip. "Were you trying to dissuade everyone else from entering so that you'd have less competition?"
It wasn't an outright accusation, at least; for that Alex was grateful. And yeah, she could sort of see the reasoning behind the claim—no doubt others had come to that conclusion already—but the fact that he of all people was the one to ask her this killed her on the inside just a little.
"Do you really think so lowly of me?" she wondered, her voice cracking with emotion.
Cedric's expression crumpled as he cringed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, but the damage had already been done.
Huffing lightly, Alex leaned back and rested her hands on the bench she was seated on. "You really are your father's son," she mused, a slight bite to her words as she remembered the last time she had been suspected of such an underhanded tactic.
A muscle in Cedric's jaw twitched as he clenched it in frustration. "Why do you have to be so pugnacious all the time?" he asked, sounding tired.
"It's how I am," she replied with a shrug.
"Such a cheap excuse," sighed Cedric. Shaking his head, he left his seat. It was only when he was halfway towards the door did he turn back to give her a proper goodbye. "Good luck with the tournament," he told her, and even now he was trying his best to summon a smile for her despite the pain clear in his eyes.
It honestly would've been better if he hadn't said anything at all. Not wanting to acknowledge the trainwreck in front of her, Alex slid her gaze to the dining table and ignored Cedric as he exited the kitchens.
A house-elf dressed in a flowery apron delivered a plateful of food to her. Alex thanked them with a polite smile and dug in. Though typically spectacular, tonight the food tasted like dust in her mouth. She ate every bite, however, and felt better for it once her plate was cleared. Somewhat revitalised, Alex went down to the dungeons in hope of putting this day behind her once and for all.
Her House had other ideas.
A celebratory roar slammed into her before she had even fully step foot into the common room. Wide-eyed, Alex watched as every Slytherin in the room got to their feet, various drinks in their hands.
"To Alexandra Fortescue!" hollered a Selene Yung, a seventh-year prefect. "The true Hogwarts champion!"
Zubair thrust a mug of butterbeer into her hands with a grin. Conscious of all the eyes on her, Alex rose her own glass in the air to the raucous approval of her Housemates. Without waiting for the celebratory cheers to die down, she moved towards the fireplace from which Richard was waving at her.
Alex sighed through her smile as she prepared herself from the inquisitive interrogation. She had a long night ahead of her.