Author Note: Normally I do not open with these as I find them disruptive. However, I felt I needed to explain the delay. This chapter was written over 3 months ago now, but due to my laptop at the time dying, I lost it. This is a chapter made on my new computer, with a backup already made. For those wondering, this story isn't abandoned, nor will it be if all goes to plan. Please enjoy this short chapter, as I work on the next installment. I expect it to be up either Saturday or Sunday.
Let us continue our tale.
Dumbledore shut his eyes as the evil wave of magic washed over him. He knew, much as every person who was knowledgeable in magical sensing that the person whose name was just entered garnered the Goblet's undivided attention. He opened his eyes and sighed as he signed another document, this one a release of Wizengamot records from the summer. His reading of the next in the stack was interrupted by a knock.
"Enter." The old man said as he set his quill down. It was no surprise to see a tall dark cloaked man walk in. A glance at a clock on the left side of the room, surrounded by portraits of his predecessors easily confirmed the man's identity. His potion master always was 8 minutes early to meetings. As Severus settled in for his monthly meeting, Dumbledore prepared himself. He pulled out Snape's file from his locked drawer, and read through the latest entry. Dumbledore, while hands off with the students was a firm believer in a team of educators. It was that reason he insisted on weekly staff meetings, and for monthly meetings between himself and each of the staff. It ensured that he was aware of the happenings inside his own school.
"So Severus, this month we have the usual. You have given your own house a grand total of 300 points this month. A new record I might add. You have also taken 210, 234, and 144 points from Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw respectively." Dumbledore began the meeting with his usual summary of the actions of his teacher based upon what Hogwarts added to the record. After the school issues were dealt with, including the potions supply budget for the next month, Severus stood to leave.
"A moment please Severus. What news do you bring of the Goblet today?" Albus asked as he steepled his hands together.
"Draco Malfoy asked my advice on if he should answer. I told him that he shouldn't be foolish." Snape shortly answered.
"Minerva mentioned that you spoke to Harry as well…" Dumbledore led, expecting an explosion. He was disappointed, pleasantly of course.
"I told that boy that his father, in all his arrogance, would have never entered. If he is chosen Albus, I cannot protect him. I will not." Severus spoke to the door, and Albus thought he saw his shoulders shake slightly.
"He entered didn't he Severus?" Albus asked quietly. He truly did not need to hear the answer, as he already knew as soon as he asked. Of course, Harry did. He was a Potter, the Last of his Line. He would do anything to improve his family's Honor.
"Yes he did headmaster." The muttered answer was lost to the room, each of the residents deep in their thoughts.
"Headmaster, what makes the Cup so evil?" Severus asked Albus after a moment of silence.
"Severus… That story is one that would take me all night to tell. Shortly, the Goblet of Fire has suffered under the weight of evil intent, blood sport tainted elation and twisted joy. This tournament is advertised as a substitute for war, and it is. But it is at its core a blood sport to sooth the savagery that Wizarding race does not wish to acknowledge. While these young Chosen will fight to survive, against a Judge that would prefer if they died, the crowd will cheer, and those listening to the event over the wireless will route for their chosen Champion… all because of that Cup. That Cup is more wicked than Lord Voldemort could ever be Severus… for it is a monster held by three single laws." Dumbledore stood, and for the first time, in front of a subordinate, grabbed a bottle of Firewhiskey from the cupboard that housed the Pensieve and other trinkets. Conjuring a glass, Dumbledore poured a shot and swiftly downed it. "I know what you are thinking young man… Voldemort has no laws. And you are wrong. Voldemort had lines he wouldn't cross simply because they were counter his final plans. If you remember, there was never a Death Eater who lived to perform a sexual assault… nor was there ever an unmitigated slaughter of wizards. Only those that resisted him were at risk of harm… and muggles of course. The Goblet is different. The Goblet only cares for the three laws that bind it completely. It must never endanger lives outside the tournament, it must choose only three champions, and after three tasks, the tournament is over. All other things that do not affect those rules is on the table so to speak."
"You have a lot of history with this Goblet don't you Albus?" Severus softly asked.
"Let us just say Severus… the Goblet was not always held in that casket. Now, I believe our time is up for the night. I will see you at the staff meeting on Saturday. Goodnight Severus." Albus Dumbledore all but kicked his potion master out of his office. As soon as the door clicked shut, Albus settled into his chair and poured himself another glass of firewhiskey. He swirled the amber liquid and stared at the flames in his fireplace. This year would be hell.
Harry, Ron and Hermione sat with the rest of the Gryffindors in the Great Hall. They sat silently, watching as the Goblet was brought in by Filch and an assistant from Durmstrang. As the Cup rested on a raised dais, its oppressive hunger filled the room. Slowly people stopped eating and chatting as the feeling of the Goblet overcame any joy that was present in the room. Headmaster Dumbledore stood wearily. "Tonight, my friends, students, and potential Chosen is the night. Tonight is Samhain!" As soon as the last word left his lips, the Goblet shuttered and let out a high-pitched squeal that many would say sounded joyous later. Its black flames darted out of their confines of the cup itself and hit every candle in the room, bringing the Great Hall into a sinister light cast from the flames of the Judge.
"The Judging has begun. None may leave this room until three champions have been chosen. Chosen, you will stand and go to the raised platform on my right." A swift flicker from Dumbledore's wand produced said platform. "Upon your choosing, you must speak your advisors name… and the Goblet with touch them each binding them to the contract. For those chosen… I wish you luck for you will need it."
Magic, thick as syrup, blasted out of the Goblet settling down over the Great Hall as if it were a blanket. Every eye became glazed over, and everybody became slightly rigid. Dumbledore spoke again, his voice suddenly raspy and dry." Welcome… to the Grand Triwizard Tournament. The Rite of Choosing has began… and soon we shall all see Spectacle!" The black flames danced higher and higher, their vigor shaking the dais that it was on. Specters of past contestants made from the flames filled the air, frozen in their final moments. Faces of fear, determination, acceptance, and denial darted around the room as over a hundred past contestants took their places along the walls and above the heads of current students, immortalized in the Goblet's flames.
The Rite-voice of Albus Dumbledore struck out through the silence. "Past Chosen, they who died in their quest for Eternal Glory stand sentinel for the 154th Judging of Champions! Now for the first! Durmstrang's Chosen Champion!" The Headmaster raised his left arm, as if beaconing farewell to an old friend. A blast of black fire shot a piece of parchment into the air. Hundreds of eyes followed that piece of parchment as it slowly fell. With softness contrast its weight on the life inscribed on it, it touched down on the Headmaster's hand. Dumbledore read it out, still in his raspy voice. "Viktor Krum. Your reason for entering: I wish to fly in glory off a broom. You have your chance Chosen. Take your place!" The famous seeker, unable to process the fact that he was chosen stood only due to the Rite forcing him up. The room erupted into cheers, many not even realizing that they were doing so. Viktor walked to the newest platform in the room, and stood facing the hall.
"Now Chosen of Durmstrang… who are your advisors?"
"I chose, Dimitri Dartkroft as my advisor from the students. And Professor Anton Andre from the staff." The voice of Viktor spoke oddly, with no accent to speak of. Those who had heard him speak, knew that the Goblet was forcing the answer from him, as he was still in shock. The rest of the world believed it was merely a fantastic rehearsed moment. The advisors stood, Anton with no help from the Rite, and Dimitri with it. They walked to stand behind their Chosen, a word never spoken.
The flames of the Goblet reached out, nearly lazily to touch each person mentioned. Wherever they were touched, should they be examined, a tattoo would be found. Shaped as a goblet filled with fire, the fire formed a stylized D. For the rest of their lives, they would know of this moment and all the moments that would come because of this. Viktor Krum's tattoo, as only few would find out later, was on his spine. Unlike all others, the flames made a C above the D, signifying his status.
"Now… for Beauxbatons. Their Chosen shall be…" Dumbledore repeated his actions from before. Once again the flames darted out, and a parchment landed on the outstretched hand of the Hogwarts Headmaster. His raspy voice called out,"Fleur Delacour! Your reason for entering: I will prove that I am more than beautiful. We shall see if that is the truth. Stand and take your place!"
With a smooth elegance that can only be granted by magic or decades of training, Fleur Delacour stood and walked to her place on the raised platform beside Krum amid a sea of cheers. When she passed, a flicker of flame brushed her right shoulder. Upon being asked by the headmaster, she named her advisors. "Aimee Bouregarde for 'he students. For my professor advisor Professor Perenelle Flamel!" The room was silent, the residents in shock. The tapping of a wooden cane on the stone floor of the Great Hall echoed through the hall. A withered, ancient woman hunched over her cane slowly stood behind the beautiful part-Veela. For the first time in history, the flame of the Goblet touched a person twice marking them.
"Now, for the Hogwarts Chosen. They shall be…" Dumbledore, for the final time, raised his arm. The black flames darted out, and a piece of parchment fell upon the wrinkled hand. "Harry James Potter. Your reason for being chosen: Potters do not bow. We shall see if your claim has any value. Stand and take your place!"
Harry stood, the Rite not necessary in the slightest. To those who watched him, they would say he was calm, determined and that they were going to see what the Boy-Who-Lived was truly made of. He did not disappoint the crowd. As the flame touched his chest, above his heart, Hermione and Ron both looked on with smiles on their faces, clapping like mad. The whole hall erupted with their claps, the Rite not needing to exert any pressure.
"Heir Potter, who shall your advisors be?"
"I choose Professor Minerva McGonagall for the professors. I choose Cedric Diggory for my student advisor." The two stood, and a dart of flame marked them as worthy. After they took their places behind Harry, Dumbledore finishes the Rite.
"The Choosing is Complete. The first task will be on November 25th, exactly one moon cycle from now. The champions will be told three days before what the task shall involve. May your flames never flicker!" With the final syllable the magic that held the Hall lifted, the black flames of the Goblet died to a small flame, and the headmaster slumped slightly.
Later, after all other occupants of the castle were either celebrating their Chosen Champions, or asleep, Albus Dumbledore sat in his office. He thought of the cheers and standing ovation that each of the champions and the advisors received. He thought of the looks of pride and happiness on each face. He thought of the evil that the Goblet was, and that the tasks that the Chosen would likely face. For the first time since the summer after the Second year, the portraits of past Hogwarts Heads saw the headmaster weep. Not even Fawkes' song could ease his spirit.