Chapter 15: The Goblet of Fire
In the split second it took Draco to work out what Theo had said, the crowd around them began its march back up to the castle. He cast about for a moment, then seized Theo's elbow and yanked him into the crowd of Ravenclaw seventh years. For one, if they didn't move soon they'd be left behind and draw attention to themselves; for another, no one would ignore them quite as effectively as Ravenclaw seventh years.
"Are you sure?" he hissed. Theo nodded, eyes uncharacteristically wide.
"I'd know him anywhere." Draco paused. If Theo was right...well, he already knew from Sirius that Karkaroff was a Death Eater once upon a time. But if Theo was right, then that meant…
"What d'you think it means?" Theo prompted, and Draco realized with a jolt that they'd nearly reached the steps to the Entrance Hall. "I mean, do you think he...he doesn't work for-"
"Shh!" snapped Draco; a few teachers were flanking the oak front doors and ushering students inside, and he didn't care for the malevolent sneer on Snape's face. Theo followed his gaze, winced slightly, and lowered his voice.
"Do you think Dumbledore knows?"
I'll bet everything I own that's why Dumbledore's got Mad-Eye Moody out of retirement, Sirius had said.
"Yeah," whispered Draco. "I think he knows." As they crossed into the Great Hall, he could feel Theo's eyes boring holes into the side of his head even as he determinedly avoided them.
"Well, then why would he-"
"Finally," Blaise interrupted, yanking them forcefully down the second they reached the Slytherin table. "What the hell happened? We thought you'd been killed." Theo said something that made Blaise laugh and Pansy gasp indignantly, but Draco wasn't listening. If Theo was right, and Karkaroff really was the man from the party...well, it didn't surprise him a bit that Dumbledore would welcome him into the castle. But, it did mean one of two things. Either he really had reformed and that's why they'd let him out of Azkaban, or he was reading those signs Sirius had alluded to and using the tournament-and, apparently, the World Cup-to be close at hand when it happened.
At the staff table, Dumbledore had got to his feet and was waving for quiet.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, and-most particularly-guests," he said warmly, beaming around at the tables in front of him. Draco instinctively followed his gaze and noticed, for the first time, that the Durmstrang students had gathered at one end of the Gryffindor table. Some glanced uncertainly around at the other tables; others picked up the golden plates or glanced upward at the enchanted ceiling and whispered to one another, apparently impressed. The Beauxbatons crowd, meanwhile, had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table and were staring around with vague, glum looks on their faces, some shivering, some clutching scarves around their heads. From their fine silk robes and apparent lack of anything resembling cloaks, Draco guessed they were from somewhere in the south of France; Hogwarts must feel quite cold.
"I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "and I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," said Dumbledore. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"
The feast appeared on the plates before them as usual, and over the next hour, Draco couldn't have said whether he managed a bite. He could hear the chatter filling the hall, but couldn't make out a bit of it.
If Karkaroff really was here, as Sirius clearly suspected, to prepare for his old master to come back, then what had he been doing at the Manor this summer? Draco knew he and his father were old friends, and was hard-pressed to believe they'd kept in touch all these years for their shared love of knitting. Had his parents been out of the country during the World Cup? Or had they simply told Draco that, sent him alone with his friends, and had a lovely evening marching around setting campsites on fire? Had Theo inadvertently interrupted their friends planning for the big event? He shuddered. It was possible, wasn't it, that Karkaroff had nothing to do with the scene at the World Cup, that this was all a coincidence? And if that was possible, then why was he taking Theo's word that he'd seen Karkaroff at the party, anyway? He certainly wouldn't put much stock in any of his own observations that evening.
At some point, the plates had cleared and Dumbledore had got to his feet again. Talk ebbed away around them, first to a low murmur of anticipation and then to nothing at all. Quite a few people leaned forward in their seats, staring up at Dumbledore like small children captivated by a bedtime story.
"The moment has come," Dumbledore began. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket-"
"The what?" hissed Blaise, poking Draco sharply in the ribs. Draco shrugged.
"-to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, allow me to introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." Dumbledore indicated two men seated to his right who looked so different it was almost jarring to see them side by side. Crouch was thin and balding, with dark circles under his eyes that Draco could see even from halfway across the hall, and looked as if he wouldn't think twice about the solemn and methodical murder of anyone who failed to starch his socks. Draco vaguely remembered Ludo Bagman's name-he'd played Quidditch for some team or other when Draco was small-and although he was grinning as much as Dumbledore, he gave the strongest impression of profound empty-headedness Draco had seen in his life.
"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore went on, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts. The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."
Filch tottered out of the shadows behind the staff table with a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels and placed it gingerly on the table in front of Dumbledore.
"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," said Dumbledore, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways; their magical powers, their daring, their powers of deduction, and, of course, their ability to cope with danger. As you know, three champions compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."
Here, Dumbledore drew his wand and tapped three times on the top of the casket. The lid creaked open, and Dumbledore reached inside and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup which would have been wholly unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top, clearly visible to everyone in the hall.
"Anyone wishing to submit themselves as a champion must write their name and school upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," Dumbledore explained. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to any wishing to compete. To ensure no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line. Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been chosen, he or she is obligated to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."
"An Age Line?" said Blaise incredulously, over the din of the sudden stampede toward the exit. "He was supposed to turn people into bats!"
"Don't think he was ever actually going to do that, Blaise," said Theo listlessly.
"Well, he should."
"What the hell's going on?" groaned Daphne as they came to a stop at the end of a very large and annoyed group of students, apparently blocked from passing through the door. Draco looked up, and the answer to her question sent a chill down his spine; gathered squarely in the center of the doorway were Moody, Karkaroff, and naturally, Harry Potter. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but there was no mistaking the pure, unadulterated loathing on the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's face. Karkaroff, meanwhile, no longer looked oily and solicitous. The color had drained from his face, and he was looking at Moody as if he'd seen a ghost.
It looked as if Theo's memory could be trusted, after all.
The following morning, Draco and his friends found the Entrance Hall nearly impassable, and it took Blaise several minutes of pushing and shoving to get close enough to the center of the crowd to tell the others why. The Goblet of Fire had been placed there overnight, surrounded by a thin golden line Draco supposed was the Age Line Dumbledore had promised. Ironically, not a single person swarming the Goblet appeared to be old enough to cross it.
"What's everyone doing here?" said Daphne irritably, as a Hufflepuff fifth year trod heavily on her foot on his way past. "It's Saturday morning, for god's sake."
"Perfect time to stand around and watch nothing happen," yawned Pansy, wrinkling her nose.
"You're here," Theo pointed out. Daphne sighed.
"And I'm beginning to regret getting out of bed."
A few minutes and many failed attempts to pass through the crowd later, Draco shared this sentiment.
"This is stupid," he snapped, only just jerking himself out of the way of an extremely raucous group of older Gryffindors as they careened past, laughing and chanting incoherently. "Let's just go."
"Oh, but I'm hungry," whined Pansy, gazing longingly at the doors to the Great Hall as if they were miles away instead of twenty feet.
"We'll starve to death before we get through this mess," grumbled Blaise, draping an arm over Theo's shoulders and prodding Daphne back the way they'd come.
"Let's go into Hogsmeade," Theo suggested, slipping lazily out of Blaise's grasp as they entered the mercifully quiet dungeon corridor leading back to the common room. "We can eat there."
"Brilliant!" cried Blaise, then frowned. "Is that allowed?" Theo shrugged.
"We haven't been told it isn't." Pansy bit her lip anxiously and glanced at Draco, who shrugged and nodded slightly. Getting away from the castle sounded wonderful, and Theo was right-just because the rest of the school wanted to sit around and watch a stationary goblet didn't mean they had to.
"Yeah, all right," said Daphne. "I'll need to change, though," she added, tugging at her dressing gown.
"I told you to get dressed," said Pansy loftily as they passed through the empty common room. Daphne waved this away impatiently and led the way upstairs. The boys followed without a second thought.
"Whose is this?" Theo asked Pansy, scooping up a dog-eared copy of Witch Weekly from someone's bed.
"Millie's," said Pansy without looking. Draco picked up a small glass jewelry box from the bedside table and held it up to the light, admiring the intricate patterns carved into the lid. Blaise scooped up Bramble the hedgehog from Daphne's bed.
"They're much softer than they look," he said wonderingly, stroking the hedgehog's spines and grinning as it unfurled itself in his palm. Theo looked up from the magazine with a smirk.
"Draco, are you sure about that jacket?" Draco, who hadn't thought twice about his jacket and certainly wasn't prepared to defend it, opened the lid of the jewelry box and glanced inside.
"I assume you're about to tell me what's wrong with it," he said lightly. The jewelry box contained a scrap of paper bearing what looked like an address, and an unopened stick of gum. Thoroughly disappointed, he shut the lid with a snap.
"Well," said Theo importantly, holding the magazine dramatically aloft and draping himself lazily over the bed, "evidently girls know everything about you within the first five-"
"Blaise, get out," Pansy interrupted. Blaise looked sharply around, startled.
"Why?" Pansy rolled her eyes and gestured impatiently at Daphne. For a few seconds Blaise looked utterly confused, and then his frown deepened.
"What about them?" he asked, jabbing his thumb toward Draco and Theo. Bored with the magazines, Theo had made an expedition across the room and returned with a tiny, lurid pink book that looked very much like a diary. Mildly horrified by the mischievous grin on his face, Draco shook his head sharply and snatched the book away. Theo grabbed it back, and the girls shared a significant look.
"Well," said Pansy, with a nasty sort of glint in her eye, "it's nothing Draco hasn't seen before."
Crash!
The jewelry box shattered on the floor before Draco was aware he'd let go of it. His heartbeat thudded deafeningly in his ears, and he felt both unbearably hot and as if someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over his head. Theo had his nose buried firmly in the diary and seemed to be feigning deafness; Blaise, meanwhile, had gone pale. For three seconds, or perhaps three years, no one spoke. Most unfortunately, Blaise recovered first.
"Right," he said matter-of-factly. "What about him then?" Theo turned the page so forcefully he tore it in half, and Draco fervently wished for the power to vanish into thin air. Hands shaking slightly, he cast about for something, anything to divert his attention, but came up empty. Why did Millie have to keep her bedside table so tidy? If Daphne and Pansy said anything, he'd missed it, and now they were laughing hysterically.
"What?" Blaise demanded. This only made them laugh harder, and Draco was seized by the urge to stuff Blaise's head down a toilet. "What?" he repeated, now looking from the girls to Draco and Theo, clearly lost.
Theo turned to the girls and shut the diary with a sharp snap.
"How long have you known?" He sounded passively curious, as though he were asking what they were having for dinner.
Blaise rounded on Draco.
"What're they on about? Do you know what they're on about?" Surely, if there were any justice in the world, a lightning bolt would burst through the ceiling and strike him dead.
"Blaise, shut up," sighed Daphne. To Theo, she added "I guessed the day I met you. Wasn't quite sure until sometime in second year." Pansy shrugged and nodded.
"Why d'you think we don't let the girls in our year chat you up when they'd like to?" she asked, with a hint of a grin. Theo frowned.
"How was I supposed to know you-" he paused. "You stop girls chatting me up?" he asked incredulously. Daphne waved this away.
"Forget we told you," she said lightly. "You weren't supposed to find out." Blaise made an indignant sound in his throat.
"Will someone please just tell me what's going on?" Pansy looked furious.
"Blaise, shut-" Theo held up a hand to forestall her.
"It's okay." He gave her a hint of a smile, then turned to Blaise. "The girls don't mind if I watch them change because I don't exactly...look at girls...the way you do. Never have." He turned back to Pansy and Daphne, and smirked. "For the record, I'd rather listen to Professor Binns for an hour than stand around watching you undress." Daphne laughed.
"Fair enough." Blaise, meanwhile, was frowning at Theo as if he'd never properly seen him before.
"So you...I mean, you're saying you're…."
"Yeah." Blaise considered this for a moment, staring pensively up at the ceiling. Then, to the surprise of everyone in the room, he broke into a grin.
"This is brilliant!" he cried. "You're not going to lure away every girl I like by telling them about the rats thing after all!" Theo laughed.
"No, I'm still going to do that," he said matter-of-factly. Blaise shook his head.
"You wouldn't."
"You're saying you don't believe I can?"
"No," said Blaise at once. "I'm saying I don't think you really would. Because you're my best friend." Pansy let out an involuntary sort of squeal and buried her face in her hands. Daphne caught Draco's eye and grinned, and all at once everything in the world felt right again.
"Oy!" cried Theo, as Blaise threw his arms around him.
"Oh, shut up," snapped Blaise. "Let's go." He kept one arm around Theo's shoulders and draped the other around Draco's, leading them toward the door. "Daphne, you've got two minutes or we're leaving without you!"
Unsurprisingly, Blaise's threat was an empty one. Nearly ten minutes later they braved the journey out the oak front doors, and as they'd expected, Hogsmeade was devoid of students aside from themselves. They spent a very enjoyable day wandering in and out of shops, throwing stones into the fountain in the village square, and making up elaborate stories about the more interesting characters in the Three Broomsticks. By the time Blaise glanced at his watch and gasped that they were going to be late for the feast, Draco had all but forgotten there was a feast at all.
The Great Hall was nearly full and lit by thousands of candles hovering in midair. The Goblet of Fire sat once again in front of Dumbledore's chair at the staff table, and the air was filled with a tense sort of anticipation and a collective craning of necks as if seeing the goblet better would enable the onlooker to predict the champions. He glanced back toward the doors, and immediately stifled a laugh. Hermione had entered the hall with Potter and Weasley; evidently they'd been down at Hagrid's, for the gamekeeper plodded along behind them wearing the oddest assortment of clothes Draco had seen in his life. His suit was covered in thick, brown fur, which he'd paired with a lurid orange necktie that scarcely reached six inches below his chin. His hair, normally wild and untamed, was pulled into two uneven bunches at the back of his neck, and most peculiarly, he'd clearly had a bucket of water dumped over his head moments ago. Evidently his baffled amusement showed, for Hermione caught his eye and, with a slight, guilty shrug, gestured toward Madame Maxime at the head table. Draco nearly choked; he could tell Hermione was trying to suppress a grin of her own, but she was doing a very poor job as she mouthed something that looked very much like behave yourself. He winked, and relished the knowing smile on her face as she shook her head and went to sit down at the Gryffindor table.
Between the day in Hogsmeade and the past few minutes' amusement, Draco didn't realize until the food appeared on the plates in front of them that he hadn't eaten a thing all day. Evidently Blaise and Theo shared this realization, for no one spoke much for the next few minutes as they did their best to make up for this oversight. By the time the feast evaporated and Dumbledore got to his feet at the high table, Draco had all but forgotten the real reason they were all there.
"The Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore announced. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber-" he indicated a door behind the staff table- "where they will be receiving their first instructions." He drew his wand and gave it a great sweeping wave; at once all the candles in the Hall were extinguished, plunging them into darkness. The air in the Hall seemed to thin, as if everyone was holding their breath. Across the table, Daphne and Pansy looked like ghosts in the otherworldly glow from the Goblet. Scarcely daring to move his head, Draco risked half a glance toward the staff table. Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as any of the students; Karkaroff was staring, a mean, greedy sort of look in his eyes, at the flames dancing inside the Goblet of Fire.
I think he's planning to make the best of his time at Hogwarts…
With a shiver, Draco turned away. Unfortunately, in the process his eye drifted down the table toward Moody and stuck there, for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher wasn't watching the Goblet, like most of the students, or Dumbledore, like most of the other teachers. Rather, he was staring directly at Karkaroff. Yesterday's loathing had grown, if possible, stronger, and if he was making any effort to disguise it, it wasn't working a bit.
The Goblet gave a great crackling, spitting noise, startling Draco out of ten years of his life. The flames had turned red, and as they watched, a bit of parchment fluttered out and landed neatly in Dumbledore's hand. The split second Dumbledore took to read it felt to Draco like an age, and at last, he held it aloft.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he said loudly, "will be Viktor Krum." A storm of applause roared through the Hall, and Viktor Krum rose from the Gryffindor table and slouched awkwardly up toward the staff table. Draco felt a sudden surge of annoyance toward everyone in the Hall; couldn't they see the way Krum's gaze fixed determinedly at the floor, shoulders hunched slightly as if, by making himself smaller, he might become invisible? Couldn't they tell he didn't need them all staring at him, screaming his name as if he were some sort of inanimate spectacle and not a real, flesh-and-blood person? The word flesh made his ears grow unbearably hot and he wrenched his eyes away, only daring to look up when the Goblet began hissing again. Dumbledore caught the second bit of parchment, and read it much more quickly this time.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," he announced, "is Fleur Delacour!" There was a great shuffling at the Ravenclaw table, and then a tall, willowy girl with silvery blond hair got to her feet. There were no cheers as she crossed the Hall; rather, a tide of low murmuring broke out behind her as half the boys nudged one another urgently or simply stared, openmouthed and seemingly hypnotized.
"She's a veela," whispered Blaise, staring, incredulous, at the way she seemed to glide through the door behind the staff table. Draco frowned.
"Doubt it." Blaise gave an indignant gasp.
"I'm sorry, did you see her?" Admittedly, yes, he had.
"Doesn't make her a veela, though," he said impatiently. "Just a pretty girl." Draco was aware, even as the words left his mouth, that this was a drastic understatement. However, it seemed just as nasty and voyeuristic to gawp at this girl as to scream after Krum.
"She was more than just pretty," muttered Theo. Blaise turned sharply to face him at once, and he rolled his eyes and sighed. "I didn't say I wanted to snog her!" he snapped.
"Shh!" hissed Pansy. At the front of the Hall, the Goblet had released its final bit of parchment. The silence that descended over the tables was thick, almost noxious. Dumbledore raised the parchment to read, and Draco looked away. This was the moment. If Sirius was right...this was the moment.
"The Hogwarts champion," called Dumbledore, "is Cedric Diggory."
For the first time, Draco felt like joining the uproar as every single Hufflepuff and a good many Ravenclaws leapt to their feet, stamping, cheering, punching the air. Cedric Diggory made his way up the Hall and disappeared behind the staff table, and Draco wondered whether it was possible to faint from sheer relief. His vague, half-asleep moment of panic after the welcoming feast had been just that; a moment. Nothing to worry about. Sirius would be thrilled, and maybe then they could discuss something other than…
"Excellent!" boomed Dumbledore, raising his voice to be heard over the continuing cheers for Cedric. "Now that we have our three champions, I am sure that I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-"
But Dumbledore broke off suddenly, for the Goblet was hissing again. A great tongue of red flame shot out into the air, and seconds later, a fourth bit of parchment landed in Dumbledore's outstretched hand. This time, he wasn't quick to read the name upon it. Silence filled the Hall once more, thick with the collective agony of students who wanted desperately to whisper to their friends, but didn't dare lest they rupture the fabric of the universe. At long last, Dumbledore cleared his throat and held the parchment aloft.
"Harry Potter."
The Owlery was quite creepy enough in broad daylight, but at night it was freezing cold and filled with the unnerving whoosh of wings unseen but far too close for comfort and the occasional sharp, wet crunching sound whose source Draco preferred not to imagine. With shaking hands, he reached into his pocket and drew out his hastily scribbled note.
Do you remember telling me what you thought would happen, back in the summer? I think it's happening.
I've got to talk to you straight away.
A school owl alighted on his outstretched hand and he shoved the parchment into its beak. Talons dug into his skin and he turned and fled, not bothering to watch the owl ascend and vanish into the pitch-black sky.
