DISCLAIMERS: I own Mera. I own Zach. I made up his name, and it's just a coincidence that it happens to be the same as the name of a famous American general. I also own Rachel and Jim. I do not own Harry Potter, it's owned by J. K. Rowling.
That night, I snuck into the Slytherin common room, as Zach had requested. I was wearing Zach's invisibility cloak, which he had loaned me for this purpose. Malfoy was all smug, talking about how he was going to be the school champion, and how he was going to win the Triwizard Tournament. "It shouldn't be too hard," he said. "People have died before, and dead people can't compete." I had to keep from laughing. Air doesn't laugh. It was just that Malfoy thought he'd be the school champion. As if! If any Slytherin became Hogwarts champion, it would be Zach. Malfoy was stupid, only passing each year because Snape always gave him a perfect score on his Potions exam. Zach, on the other hand, was a genius, knew a whole bunch of curses (and the counter-curses, which were, to him, more important than the former), and was overall a much better candidate than Malfoy.
Actually, there were a few other Slytherins who would qualify. Darcy Leroy might, simply from sheer knowledge of magic. That guy could take on Voldemort himself and at least give a fair showing if he fell short of winning; I had a nagging suspicion that he planned to do just that, someday. Some others as well, whom I didn't know as well, including one seventh-year girl. But I was willing to bet that a Ravenclaw would become school champion. After all, we were the brightest students at Hogwarts, were we not? If not a Ravenclaw, then, well, surely a Slytherin. Although most Slytherins were like Malfoy, the few who weren't were much better than anyone in Gryffindor, much less Hufflepuff. So my earlier thought had been uncalled-for—partially, but not entirely, since the average Slytherin was less qualified than the average Hufflepuff, even. But I say average. Slytherin House just seemed to attract the extremes of stupidity and intelligence—or should I say cleverness, because that was really the Slytherins' strength.
On October 30, the delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived. There was great excitement among everyone at Hogwarts, and I even managed to get Viktor Krum's autograph—Viktor Krum, the best Seeker in the world! I'd always known that carrying a pen and parchment with me at all times would be useful someday. Oh, alright, I carry them so that I can write down any ideas that pop into my head at odd moments, but still, I got his autograph!
Dumbledore brought out the Goblet of Fire and drew an Age Line around it. He intended to keep out all students less than seventeen years of age. Little did he know that this year Hogwarts was home to four extremely bright, extremely mischievous first-years, who, despite our difference in Houses, were very good friends—now that Jim and Zach had declared a truce (of sorts). If anyone else bothered one of them, the other would stand up for the first—but otherwise, they still had trouble keeping from yelling at each other. It was all Rachel could do to keep the peace. I didn't even bother to try, unless they got too out-of-hand, in which case I would yell at them and express my severe disappointment. That seemed to work in Zach's case, if not in Jim's.
"An Age Line! It is so absurdly easy to get past one of those," I informed Zach. And it was. One could get an older student to put one's name in the Goblet for oneself (one of the Stormwinds would certainly oblige), although that might not work too well since the Goblet might think the name belonged to the older student. Although, the Stormwinds were certainly good enough at magic to be declared school champion. However, one could also wad up the piece of parchment and throw it into the Goblet from behind the Age Line. By using wingardium leviosa, one could ensure that one's name landed in the Goblet.
"Momentum…." Zach suggested.
"I hadn't thought of that one," I admitted. "But yeah, I suppose that would work. Good aim would be better, though. Or a good charm."
"See you tonight, then?" He grinned that adorable mischievous grin of his, and my heart did a little flip-flop. I didn't recognize the cause.
"Naw, I've got a perfect record so far, and that would go out the window if I became the Hogwarts champion."
"Come on," he cajoled, "I'm sure they'll forgive you. Anyway, you probably won't become champion. We can just be proud of our accomplishment, outsmarting Dumbledore."
"Oh, fine," I gave in. I never could resist the lure of outsmarting someone, and to outsmart the Headmaster himself…!
That night, when everyone else was asleep, we snuck down to the Great Hall to put our names in the Goblet. It went precisely as planned, and I was almost disappointed. It had been too easy. Where was the fun in that?
When the day came to announce the champions, I waited with bated breath, torn between hoping I was one and hoping I wasn't. I guess it's lucky that I wasn't. Actually, considering my luck, I know it's lucky I wasn't. I'm always lucky—or have I told you that already? It comes from being born on Friday the 13th. Most people consider it bad luck, but considering my success in life, I tell you it's good luck. Or maybe it's just crazy luck. I would certainly consider crazy luck to be good luck, because, as I've said, I'm crazy myself. Come to think of it, that's very likely, since normal people would consider crazy luck to be bad luck.
The fact that Diggory was Hogwarts champion surprised me. I mean, really, a Hufflepuff? Well, then again, Murphy's Law still works on me, though my luck tends to turn the bad things into good things. What really surprised me was the fourth champion: Harry Potter. He wasn't smart enough to get past the Age Line. I mean, sure he's pretty bright, and sure he's a great wizard—he has to be; otherwise how did he manage to defeat ol' Voldemort so many times? But he's still not all that clever. Not clever enough to want to be in Slytherin. So who had put his name in the Goblet?
"He didn't ask anyone, that's for sure," Jim informed us. "Did you see his face? He was shocked!"
"Maybe Snape," Zach suggested.
Jim looked at him like he was crazy—which he was, of course. "You're accusing your own Head of House? I thought you were Snape's pet!"
"He hates Potter," Zach stated. Well, of course he hated Potter. Potter had foiled Slytherin's chances at getting the House Cup for the past three years.
"But… he just doesn't seem like the type to try to kill someone just because he doesn't like them," Rachel argued. And she was right: whoever had put Potter's name in the Goblet was trying to get him killed. The Triwizard Tournament was dangerous, and although Zach or I might have survived—I because of my luck, and Zach because of his great store of knowledge—there was a good chance that Potter would die.
Zach lowered his voice. "Snape was a spy for Dumbledore. He was right in Voldemort's inner circle. He knew that Pettigrew was the one spying on the Potters. Maybe he was planning to tell Dumbledore. Maybe not. In any case, when the Potters were killed, Sirius Black was the natural suspect. The Potters had used the Fidelius Charm, and everyone assumed that Black had been their Secret-Keeper. Then Black killed Pettigrew—or so Snape thought—so Snape had no reason to tell Dumbledore that Black was innocent. Snape hated Black, and he hates Potter just as much." How would Zach know this? But I forgot, he was a pureblood. His parents knew a lot of things they shouldn't, and he probably had hiding places, as did I in my house, where he could listen to them talking about confidential information. Still, it was disturbing that anyone, other than Dumbledore and—what was it called?—oh, yes, the Order of the Pheonix (Mom had been in it; that's how I knew about it), would know that Snape had been a spy for them.
Jim broke the silence. "Maybe it was Karkaroff who put Potter's name in the Goblet." Smart boy—wait, that was an oxymoron. I stifled a giggle. Still, he had the right idea. Best that we kept in mind that we might just be wrong—although that, of course, would be blasphemy, because the first rule in the one true religion is that I am always right.
I'm just kidding, alright? I know I'm not perfect. I'm only human, after all.
"Maybe it was Moody," Rachel said.
"It wouldn't have been Moody," Jim snorted. "Moody's an Auror."
"I don't know," I put in. "Moody gives me the creeps. I wouldn't trust him." I'd come to trust my instincts over the years, because my instincts were usually right. Then again, they usually advised caution, but that's usually the best course of action, which means that my instincts were correct. Still, as I said before, I've often suspected that I have certain psychic powers, including ESP and a weak form of clairvoyance. And whenever I looked at Moody, I had the oddest sensation that he wasn't at all what he seemed....
Yes, they're still too smart; no, I'm not going to change that. They're supposed to be extremely smart, because otherwise the story wouldn't work out. But people that smart really do exist. The thing is, these kids don't see things the same way normal people do. And, well, a lot of it can be credited to Mera's luck (which does exist), and Mera's psychic powers (which might or might not exist).