Chapter 4

Harry, much like the rest of school, was deep in thought. Each person who was excited to enter the Tournament was disturbed by the vigor and sadness of the Headmaster. Dumbledore was never a hands-on headmaster of the school, and while every student had encountered him at one point and spoke with him, he was never one to ward off those who were attempting something. A Gryffindor sixth year even claimed he corrected a wand movement to break into the Hufflepuff Common Room. Dumbledore was the man who would encourage his students to stride deeper into the magic of the world, if they did so safely.

That contrasted the Dumbledore they saw last night. The man seemed incensed, angered and even troubled by the eager faces he saw. For the first time, they saw the man who wasn't the educator. Here was the man who saw hundreds of children eager to leap into their death for mere galleons.

Such a radical change in demeanor struck the students hard. Few of the students would not put their names in eventually, but the whole population was stunned for a moment. Harry was included in this, even though he was unsure if he was going to enter.

If he did enter, would he survive? Was it worth the risk? He was the Last of the Potters. If he died, so did he Family. His Legacy and Identity screamed for him to enter, knowing that it was what the Potter family needed to become relevant once more, and if Harry was being honest with himself, he wanted to try it. He was always one who did not hesitate to enter danger, but he had never before sought it out. What did that mean for him? Was the Grimoire changing him more swiftly than he thought it would?

Harry shook his head as he stepped into the Common Room and was blasted with the noise of the Gryffindor's. Fred and George, or George and Fred, were in a corner, conversing in whispers most likely about their next prank. A gaggle of firsties were by the west Board of Notices studying charms. Their giggles were loud and brought a smile to the faces of the Third Years playing with a model Quidditch Pitch. Harry thought they were recreating the World Cup. However, Harry strode past the third years, and the sixth years who were taking swigs of butterbeer over their essays. These days without class were opportunities for them to catch up. Harry sat with a sigh beside his friends in the corner. Hermione was moving a piece on a chess board as Ron greeted him. "Hey mate. You alright?"

"I'm okay. Just thinking, like a lot of others I assume." Harry said as he pulled out his Grimoire.

"Are you going to enter Harry?" Hermione asked as she finally decided to move her rook to the right.

"I don't know Hermione. I am definitely interested." Harry sighed. He cracked open his book and looked over the Letter of Succession from Charles Potter to James Potter. He knew it by heart at this point, but the feeling of advice to his father from the last Head was immeasurable. "Charles Potter wrote to my dad in a Letter of Succession that Potters do not allow fear to rule them, and that if it is for the Family, Potters never lose. Charles was killed three days later by Voldemort himself." Harry spoke aloud, knowing that Hermione and Ron were curious about what he was looking at so intently.

"You don't know if that is true do you Harry?" Hermione softly asked.

"Potters don't lose when it comes to Family. But what about my mum and dad? They lost didn't they?" Harry asked his friends.

"Mate, I know you don't want to think about this but… for them your parents I mean, they didn't lose. They won. You lived. That was all that mattered to them mate. Just like its all that matters to my mum and dad. Hermione's too I reckon. I know what my mum and dad would say if I entered the tournament. They would say it was stupid, and dangerous and reckless but they would be so proud when I got Chosen." Ron said as he gazed at the chess board.

"Mine would ask me why I made the decision… and then they would say 'if that is what you want… win it Hermione.' I can even see my dad smile at me if I was to be Chosen. He would mumble something like that's my girl." Hermione continued with a small smile.

"You all can say that. You knew your parents. I never met mine. You are all are all I got other than Sirius, and I can't exactly ask him about it right now." Harry pulled his legs into the chair so he could curl up in it. "All I know is that you all said that I could win it. And a part of me believes I could… but I don't know if you are being confident because you were with me, or what. I don't know who to ask for an unbiased opinion on if I should enter."

"Harry, I couldn't help but overhear you. I would go to the professors. Ask Flitwick and McGonagall. And explain to them your thought process." Ginny walked over and put her two cents into the conversation.

"Maybe. Have you all finished that Charms essay on the similarities between the Levitation charm and the Summoning charm by chance?" Harry said in an obvious change of subject. Harry knew he had great friends when they didn't even question the change.

Draco Malfoy knocked on a nondescript door in the bowels of the Hogwarts dungeons. It was fairly late, but Draco knew he would be in his chambers.

"Enter," a silky voice called from beyond the door. Draco opened the door, and walked into the room. On shelves higher than his head were jars of ingredients to potions, potions themselves, and books with their titles blurred if you looked too closely. In the far left corner a fire place roared merrily, with an empty picture frame above the mantle. Sitting, facing the door, was a large oak desk with essays, and quills piled to one side. Behind it sat Severus Snape, his lanky hair framing his face as he stared down his nose at Draco.

"What do I have the pleasure Mr. Malfoy?" Severus said as he folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

"I am going to enter the tournament. I intent to pick you to be my advisor when I am Chosen. I am hoping to ask if you will accept sir." Draco met the stare of the Potions Master head on.

The silence stretched between the two, unbroken. Finally a sigh escaped the Potions Master, " You are a fool Draco."

"What are you talking about sir? I am capable! I am the Malfoy Heir!" Draco said confidently.

"If this was a standard tournament you would be less of a fool, but a fool nonetheless. No you are fool because this is a Grand Tournament!" Severus bit out his gaze turning into a glare.

"All that means is more Glory for the Malfoy name!" Draco yelled back.

"No you stupid brat! It means that this tournament just became a war! The Grand Triwizard Tournament was created to showcase how bad wizarding war was! In the years that it existed, there was little to no war in Magical Europe or Britian! In the 300 years that it did not exist there was more war in that time than the 1000 years it did! Some of things that champions will be asked to do are ten times worse than anything that happened that the Dark Lord or Dumbledore did in the last war! In 1342, champions were tasked to battle and kill a chimera, while trying to knock each other off a platform. At least that was before the Grand Tournament. It was now a fight to the death between them, and the chimera, originally locked behind a barrier and on a separate platform, so that the only thing they had to worry about was the fire breathe and the spine shooting, was now on the same platform. The bloodbath caused the audience to be covered in blood! Only it took all three champions to kill that beast! And even then, one was maimed. The tournament would force him to compete even further. You are not entering a friendly competition Draco! You are entering a war zone that will task you to do things your father would never consider!" Snape ranted.

"Sir I-" Draco took a step back. Never before had he heard his godfather lose his temper so much.

"Shut up Draco! I would not tell James Potter to enter the damn thing!" Draco's eyes widened. Severus made it abundantly clear how he felt about James Potter…"If you enter this tournament Draco, I will be your advisor, but I will break my godfather oath. I will push you, beyond your limits, beyond what is healthy, and beyond what should be possible. If you are Chosen Draco, I will make your year hell."

"You… you honestly don't think I could win…" Draco whispered.

"Win?" Severus actually laughed aloud. "Fool, I don't think you would survive the first task! And that is only if your mother allowed you to live in the first place when she found out you entered!"

Draco collapsed into a chair. "What do I do Godfather? I need to elevate the Malfoy name… and the only way I can think of is this tournament."

"Draco… your family name, while important is not worth the horror that you would see in this tournament. You have your whole life to improve the family Name. Do not enter this tournament and preform what amounts to suicide." Severus Snape in a rare gesture of kindness stood and started to brew tea from the tea set behind the desk.

"How am I supposed to be the Malfoy Head if my father is such a great man?" Draco asked after his first sip of tea.

"Your father is a friend Draco. But to call him a great man is a folly every son goes through at one point. Your father is a man Draco. Just like Dumbledore is just a man. Their legacies are strong, but enough effort, everything is possible." Severus sipped his tea.

"If anything is possible, then why shouldn't I enter the tournament?" Draco asked.

"Some things Draco, are not worth attempting. Its why assassins do not try to kill Dumbledore. Is it possible that a lucky shot would end up killing the man? Yes. Is it likely? Merlin no! The effort required to do so would be better placed at other things Draco. Why waste 10 years to kill Dumbledore when you can spend 2 years gathering allies, and crippling him in the Wizengamot? That is the route your father took Draco. Do not allow small issues to cloud the bigger picture. " Snape said as he finished his tea.

"I get it Sir. I will not enter the tournament. Thank you for the tea." Draco stood stiffly from the chair and walked out of the room.

"Little fool… you will never survive what is coming if all you want is to crush Potter." Severus sighed as the flashes of Draco's thoughts showed him the real reason he wanted to enter the Tournament. "Even grudges have their place…" He turned to the mantle and looked at the seemingly empty portrait.

The second day of no classes began with the Castle watching as a Beauxbatons students put their names into the Goblet. The black flames danced merrily with the offerings, and Harry flinched as each name went in. The feeling of satisfaction was oppressive and swiftly dispersed after each name was placed, but that did not lift the weight of the feelings from his shoulders.

"You feel the magic don't you Mr. Potter?" A kind voice asked behind him. Harry turned and stared at the bright teal robes that the Headmaster was wearing today.

"I don't know sir. I just feel… the hunger and the satisfaction." Harry turned back to the Goblet as he tried to describe what he felt.

"I lobbied for the Goblet to not be used actually. It is an object of great twisted power. Its enchantments have been warped and sullied by over some 1000 years of blood, tears, and misery. Not even the magic of the Goblet of Fire can resist such influence. Fortunately, this sadistic bloodlust is only on display when a Grand Tournament occurs… "The aged headmaster said as he stared into the black flames.

"Sir, the goblet isn't normally like this?" Harry asked as they slowly started to walk to the Great Hall.

"Mr. Potter, not even the Goblet can hide its blood lust. It just does so better than most." The duo entered the Great Hall and continued to their separate tables, with the conversation going over in their minds. It would continue to distract them both throughout their meal.

Minerva McGonagall sat in the teacher's lounge on the last day of no classes. She sipped her tea and chatted with Filius Flitwick who was reading a journal on spells published the day before. Her eyebrow rose when there was a knock on the door. "Yes?"

Harry Potter entered with a determined look in his eyes. 'My he looks just like James did when he asked for help fixing Sirius in 4th year…' So lost in her thoughts, Filius beat her to asking," What can we do for you ?"

"Professors, you both taught my parents. And you don't hold any negative or positive bias towards them other than their affiliation towards your subjects. Please, what do you think they would say if I told them I wanted to enter the tournament?" Harry spoke in a rush. He had gathered his courage for this over the last day. Ever since his conversation with Professor Dumbledore, he knew this would make or break his decision. These two people held the fate of the Potter family in their hands, even if they didn't know it.

"Mr. Potter. You are asking us a question that is extremely personal… are you sure you want our answer?" Flitwick asked, his high squeaky voice unusually soft.

"Professor please. I asked Hagrid yesterday, and he said that they would be proud of me no matter what because they were good people. Ron and Hermione said that they would say I was being stupid but to go get it done. Professor Snape said that I shouldn't be arrogant like my father. And Professor Dumbledore said that the Goblet was hungry, and that its magic was twisted. I don't know what to do. So please… give me some advice." Harry asked the professors. He remembered each of those conversations vividly. Hagrid had spoken to him of how much he respected his parents over tea and his rock cakes. Snape, who Harry asked while on the way here, said that his father was arrogant, but even he wasn't that arrogant to enter a Tournament meant to kill people.

"Mr. Potter, we-" Flitwick began before he was cut off by Minerva softly saying," Harry. Your mother and father would be so proud of you. You stand before us asking for advice, and you are scared. You are scared of the tournament, scared of not entering and scared of allowing the Potter name to fade into obscurity. You want to know what James and Lily would do? James would kneel down on your level." Minerva got up from her chair, and stooped slightly so she was level with Harry's eyes. "And he would ask you. Man to man. 'Is this what you want?' and if you said yes. He would say that 'Gryffindors are a lot like Potters. We go for what we want.' Lily would hold you close, and tell you that no matter what happened, no matter what you chose, she would always love you Harry." Minerva McGonagall wiped the single tear the fell from Harry's eye. Everyone had told him how much he looked like his father with his mother's eyes, and told him stories about good people he was. But no one had ever told him how they would treat him before.

"If you enter and are Chosen, I will gladly be your advisor Harry. I will make sure you survive, and I will do my best to make sure that you win. " Minerva smiled slightly at the boy, no the Heir as he took out a piece of parchment and a quill.

Filius and Minerva watched as he wrote his name, Harry James Potter, across the top and the reason on the bottom. Thinking he was done, they were surprised when he wrote the reason he should be chosen as well.

"In my Grimoire, there are only 10 entries from my dad. 9 of them are spells and such, and the last is only 3 sentences . He said to the future Potters that,' In this world there are easy ways, and right ways. The right is always harder than the easy, and it never comes without some effort. But if you are willing to do something, to have something, to protect something; you must do it right.' So I shall tell the Goblet. I am Harry James Potter, Heir of the Potter family. I am the Stone Protector, the Basilisk Slayer. I am the 14 year old Patronus master, and I will not bow to a cup." Harry said this all as he walked towards the entrance hall, his professors trailing behind him.

The Goblet came into sight, its black flames flickering eerily in the light. As soon as Harry entered the room, the cup seemed to sense his intent, and the flames grew higher, and danced more. An oppressive feeling fell upon the entire entrance hall, and those sitting found themselves holding their breath as the Boy Who Lived, flanked by two professors, stared at the Goblet of Fire.

With echoing steps, Harry strode to the Goblet and stood in front of it's casket of riches. He gazed defiantly into the black flames as pulses of magic rose from the lip. All those present could feel the hunger and the impatience of the Goblet as Harry held his slip. "Potters do not bow to cups." Harry muttered, though it was heard throughout the hall. The goblet's flames dwindled down, as if chastised, and the oppressive hunger lightened on the hall. Harry raised the slip and let it fall into the black flames.

Dark joy, and sadistic pleasure blasted out of the cup as it's black flames roared back to full force devouring the slip. Those watching would recall that moment for the rest of their lives. They would tell their children of the moment when they were unsure if the Boy Who Lived would continue to do so, or if he had angered the Judge of the Triwizard Tournament. It was in that moment, when Harry cemented his legacy on the Potter name, with a single sentence, that would be on the front page of every newspaper in the Magical World.

"Potters do not bow."