A/N1: Standard disclaimer. See chapter 1 for details.
A/N2: This is a warning that all sorts of magical customs and legends have been tossed into a blender for this story. No insult is intended against any of them.
Harry's and Hermione's eyes tracked the path of the slightly singed parchment scrap. "I hate being right," he muttered to her.
"Harry Potter."
Clasping his hand, Hermione pulled him to his feet. "Let's go up there and follow the plan."
"There is a…situation," was Hermione's brief response to Fleur Delacour's–the Beauxbatons champion–demand to know why two more students had joined them in the chamber.
Confused faces soon took on angry expressions when Ludo Bagman bounced into the room and announced Harry as the fourth champion, insisting even as the previously selected individuals protested. It became even more rowdy when Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and Karkaroff, Madame Maxine, and Bartimius Crouch entered. Accusations and complaints of cheating flew about the room from the visitors and, of course, Snape.
Dumbledore approached Harry and asked mildly, "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry?"
"No, sir," he replied, his calm demeanour only maintained by Hermione's tight grip on his hand.
"Professor," she spoke clearly, "you of all people know Harry hates being put in the spotlight." She ignored Snape's scoffing snort. "What other measures of security did you employ besides the age line, which, thanks to the Weasley twins, we know worked perfectly well?"
"Why, I saw no need for any others," he answered. "Harry, did you ask an older student to enter your name?"
"No," he stated a little more firmly. "Therefore, I decline to compete. I did not enter, either personally or through an intermo…introme…Hermione?" He turned to her.
"Intermediary," she interposed. "So, may we go and let you continue your orientation for the champions?"
"Of course he can't go!" Bagman cried. "A fourth champion…why this will provide fantastic publicity. We'll sell out each event, no problem."
"I am afraid, Miss Granger, that Mr. Potter must stay. You, however, are free to join your friends in Gryffindor." He raised an eyebrow. "I am not certain that I understand why you are here to begin with."
"I am here," she said through gritted teeth, "because I am with my best friend in Gryffindor." McGonagall's throat made an approving sound as she nodded. "Harry has stated that he did not enter, so can you provide any reason why, besides increased attendance," she scowled at Bagman, "he should be entangled in this deadly contest?"
"So loyal, Miss Granger," Snape said silkily, "that one might almost believe you to belong to Hufflepuff." Cedric Diggory tensed at the derogatory tone when the Potions professor spoke the name of his House. "Mister Potter is obviously out for the fame and fortune this will provide him."
"I believe I have quite enough fame, Snape–"
"Professor Snape," Hermione hissed.
"–and no amount of money could tempt me to so endanger my life willingly."
"Your past actions say otherwise."
"Every time–except for Quidditch injuries–that I have been in the infirmary was because I was trying to save others who were in danger," he declared hotly. "I was actually looking forward to a quiet year where the attention would be on someone besides me."
"Twenty points for sass," Snape spat.
"Twenty points for honesty," McGonagall countered before turning to Dumbledore. "Albus, aren't you going to put an end to this nonsense?"
"I am afraid, Minerva, that I cannot."
"Then just set up the goblet again and let the other schools have an equal number of competitors," Karkaroff ordered.
"Oui," Madame Maxine concurred, "it is only fair to the others."
"You misunderstand, my dear colleagues," Dumbledore continued calmly. He raised a hand when Karkaroff and Madame Maxine resumed their loud protests. "While Mr. Bagman is in charge of magical games and sports in our ministry, Mr. Crouch has primacy over disputes. As you know, he heads the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Barty, what say you on this matter?"
Mr. Crouch spoke in a low voice. "The Goblet cannot be relit until this contract is complete. Therefore we must follow the rules. 'All those whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete.' The matter should be clear enough."
"Not nearly," Hermione's voice pre-empted a certain altercation. "What does the word 'bound' mean in that context?"
"It means a binding magical contract, Miss Granger!" The growled response came from the door as Professor Moody limped his way into the room. "He can't get out of it, even if he wanted to." He paused and took a sip from a tarnished hip flask. "If he don't compete, he'll lose his magic and possibly die. If he does compete, he could still possibly die."
"Therefore," Hermione stared into his one good eye, "as Harry didn't enter himself, it appears that a person who wishes him harm did."
"Hah!" He stamped his wooden leg on the slates. "Ten points to Gryffindor for logical thinking. Now, boy," his magical eye twirled to focus on Harry, "it sounds like you have a powerful enemy after you. What have I told you to use?"
"Constant vigilance," he responded.
"Right you are!" He turned and stared at the adults in the room. "I've completed my inspection, and it appears that someone confunded that fancy piece of wood in there to spit out Mr. Potter's name. It ain't the boy's fault but he's gotta compete anyway. I'd advise all of you in this contest to be careful as well. Potter may be the target, but in a battle there're always collateral damages. Don't be one!"
"Thank you, Alastor, for your cautionary remarks. So, are we agreed?" Dumbledore looked at the other two school heads. "Mr. Potter, through no fault of his own, must compete."
After a few moments of grumbling, both Madame Maxine and Karkaroff reluctantly concurred, while still sending angry glares in Harry's direction.
"Headmaster?" Dumbledore sighed but put a smile on his face and turned to Hermione. "As my professors will attest, I always strive to be thorough."
"To the nth degree," muttered Snape, before wincing as McGonagall's sharp elbow impacted his ribs.
"Harry–Mr. Potter to everyone here–has not entered this resumed gladiatorial contest for of-age students, yet still must compete. Is that correct?"
"Indubitably, Miss Granger, despite your overly colourful designation."
Hermione grimaced at the slight condescension and turned her attention to Mr. Crouch. He merely glared and nodded. "Thank you, then, Mesdames," she smiled at Madame Maxine and Fleur, "and Gentlemen."
"Now that's settled," Dumbledore clapped his hands, "Barty, the details."
"The first task will test your daring in the face of an unknown danger. This will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of an audience of students and properly vetted visitors. The judging panel will consist of myself, Mr. Bagman, and the head of each educational institution involved.
"Champions may not receive help from any of their teachers for this or any of the other events. Dates and descriptions for those events will be announced after the completion of the one preceding. Due to the necessity for rigorous training, champions are exempt from end-of-year tests.
"That is all I can reveal at this moment."
"Thank you, Barty. Now, it is getting late and I am sure the students would like to attend any celebrations which are being held by their classmates. Therefore, I bid you all good night."
As they traversed the halls on their way to the common room, Harry and Hermione kept their heads together. "Did we get everything?" he whispered.
"Yes," she replied, almost bouncing in excitement. "Both ministry representatives as well as all of the school heads. École de Magie, here we come!"
"Ah, Hermione." He halted in front of the portrait. Loud noises could be heard even through the heavy door. "It sounds like a big party in there. You know I don't like being the centre of attention."
"Chin up, Harry," she replied bracingly. "It's only for a few months more, then we likely won't see much of them afterwards. We might as well enjoy the company of our friends while it lasts."
"I don't believe it," Harry complained as he added several rashers of bacon to his plate. "We convinced three-quarters of Gryffindor that I didn't put my name in, but my oldest friend is still mad at me because I 'didn't share the secret'."
"Ron's an idiot," Hermione stated as she calculated the grams of sodium he was planning to ingest. "There's no way your invisibility cloak could have tricked the age line, despite the fact that you were most likely already entered by the time Filch wheeled it out."
"At least Cedric said he believed me," he added gloomily. "You'd think they'd have kept the rest of the students and made a schoolwide announcement. Goodness knows what new insults Malfoy will come up with."
"Pfft!" she scoffed. "As if that peroxided inbred ever had an original thought."
"Yeah," Harry snickered, "he probably owled 'My Father' last night for quips."
"That I do not doubt, but it will likely take him a day or two to memorise them if the words have more than two syllables. Oh, look," she pointed, "it appears Mlle Claire has been in contact with her grandmother."
Harry's eyes tracked the large avian swooping towards the head table. "What kind of bird is that?"
"Pelican, state bird of Louisiana. They are not used for mail purposes, so I think the school is making a statement. Eyes down," she hissed. "Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall are looking at you."
"Let 'em." Harry returned his attention to his plate; more bacon was definitely needed.
Try as she might, McGonagall was unable to dissuade Hermione from accompanying Harry to the headmaster's office. The pinched expression on her face informed Dumbledore that it would be a futile attempt to do the same. Instead, he greeted them with false joviality and pretended not to be offended when they refused his lemon drops.
"Now, Mr. Potter, you may be wondering why I have requested a meeting," he began.
"Did it have something to do with that funny bird in the Great Hall?" Harry asked in an innocent tone.
"The Pelecanus occidentalis. Its common name is the brown pelican," Hermione informed them, having taken a quick trip to the library in her trunk, which included a number of nonmagical books.
"Thank you, Miss Granger," he beamed at her. "Yes, indeed, and it carried a most confusing message in its, um, bill."
"I hope it was wrapped well," she commented. "These birds generally dive for their prey and spill the water from their throat pouch before swallowing the fish."
"Er, just so," stammered Dumbledore as he attempted to sniff his fingers discreetly. "At any rate," he gingerly unfolded said message, "a Mme Marie Laveaux from the École de Magie du Grand Bayou in the United States is complaining that we have forced one of their students into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Would you like to know which student they have chosen to name?"
"Hermione," Harry turned to her, "what's that school's name in English?"
"Bayou School of Magic," she promptly replied.
"Then that would be me." He leaned back into the chair. "It's my fallback school choice, you know."
"But Mr. Potter," McGonagall burst out, "you are enrolled at Hogwarts. So what is this foolishness?"
"Perhaps it is magic's way of enforcing the Tri-Wizard rules," Hermione mused.
"How so?"
"Why, each school is allowed but one champion," she informed them guilelessly, "and as Cedric's name was selected before Harry's, then he must be Hogwarts's representative."
"So it's now a Four-Wizard Tournament?" asked Harry.
"Tetra-Wizard," the young witch corrected. "It's from Greek, and speaking of which, shouldn't we have language classes for Greek and Latin so that we can both understand and create spells more easily? If that were the case, then Ron Weasley would not still have trouble with Wingardium Leviosa."
Harry nodded. "Make the 'gar' nice and strong. I remember that day. Troll bogies." He shuddered.
She ignored him and ploughed ahead. "I assume that the school is requesting representation on the judging panel?"
"More like demanding–but we digress. Harry, you are a Hogwarts student still. You cannot change schools without your guardian's permission."
He shrugged. "It won't make any difference to Aunt Petunia."
"Besides," Hermione continued, "by his name coming out and then being affirmed by the Ministry and all the schools–the schools which were represented at the time–he must have been emancipated, as the rules clearly state that all who participate must be of legal age. There," she beamed, "you see, Harry can attend any educational institution he chooses."
"But Mr. Potter–" McGonagall cried, "you wouldn't do that. Why, all of your friends are in Gryffindor. And what about Quidditch?"
"I suppose I could play Quidditch anywhere–not to mention that it has been cancelled this year–and with everyone thinking that I cheated to get into the contest until we convinced them otherwise," he picked a piece of lint off his robes, "I'm not sure they know me and vice versa."
"And let's not forget second year, when nearly everyone thought he was ordering the basilisk to attack students." Hermione glared at the two professors. "And no one in authority set the record straight. Why, if that happened at my old school, the teachers would have been censured or fired for allowing and even promoting bullying behaviour."
"Surely you do not think that is something we encourage," McGonagall protested.
"From what I could tell, no one tried to stop them. And I'll give you two more words," Harry leaned forward, "Professor Snape."
"Professor Snape has my complete–"
"Yeah, yeah," he waved a hand, "your complete trust. He doesn't mine."
"Or mine," Hermione added softly. "And you two aren't shining too brightly at the moment either."
"Five points from the both of you for cheek," McGonagall snapped.
"See, that's the thing," Harry said as he and Hermione rose, "as I'm no longer a student here, you can't take points. So," he took his friend's hand and walked her to the door, "wanna transfer with me?"
"Albus," McGonagall's voice cracked, "what have we done to make yon lad and lassie think to leave?"
"It appears, Minerva," he said, stroking his beard, "that it's more what we have not done. I must warn the–"
"Dumbledore!" The green face of Cornelius Fudge appeared in the fireplace. "Some damn bird just upchucked a fish and a parchment on my desk. You won't believe what the blasted letter says!"
"Ah," the old wizard sighed, "a day late and a galleon short. I fear this will not be pleasant."
