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Chapter 4 - The Deep End

The students filed out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom following their jarring practical lesson. Harry was last out the door, and the events of the class had left him with a great deal to think about.

Moody had demonstrated all three Unforgivables in a prior lesson, the familiar rushing sound of the Killing Curse bringing him back to the forest in the early morning hours after the Quidditch World Cup. Neville's reaction had been particularly bad to the Cruciatus, the story behind it unknown to Harry.

He'd been the third called up to be placed under the Imperious curse that lesson, staring down the end of Moody's wand as he whispered the incantation.

Expecting to feel something he braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut. It was when nothing came that he finally cracked an eye open a few seconds later, to find Moody gazing down at him intently, wand remaining in between his eyes.

"Incredible…" he murmured, raising his head and surveying the rest of the class, who were leaning forward in their seats.

Straightening up, Professor Moody withdrew his wand.

"Potter here can throw off the curse on his first attempt. If that doesn't give you all a reason to do so, then I don't know why I'm here."

The rest of the lesson had progressed in a more usual manner, with everyone more or less making a fool of themselves upon giving in to Moody's mental commands. For every impromptu dance recital, there was an equal amount of students being made to declare their undying love for a particular piece of furniture or enthusiast narration of an entire passage of poetry. The professor appeared to be greatly enjoying himself, but his continued glances toward Harry unnerved him.

On his way out of the door, Moody had stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder and a low "Good work, lad" before letting him go. He'd felt oddly proud of the compliment, but doubt sprouted as he walked. Did Moody miss the curse on him? Or had he just not cast it properly?

Harry found either option hard to believe. His thoughts ceased when he was joined by Ron and Hermione, who'd briefly stopped for him to catch up.

"How'd you do it," Hermione asked, tilting her head slightly and fixing him with an intent stare.

"I don't know. It just happened."

"It was so hard to resist the voice in the back of my mind, I just couldn't do it. Surely you can describe it? It just felt so comfortable to let go."

There was meant to be a voice?

"I can't describe it to you any better than that, I just blocked it out and didn't feel anything after," Harry replied. Now that he was sure something unusual had occurred, he wasn't overly comfortable being at the mercy of Hermione's inquisitive nature.

"Hmm, ok. Maybe think about it a little bit more and if you remember, let me know?"

"Sure, I will."

An awkward silence fell, with Harry having to stifle a grimace at the non-stop questioning he'd been receiving on a near-daily basis as a result of his increased academic performance. Hermione had been trying to squeeze every last piece of information that she didn't already have out of him. I suspect she's begun to view me as a competitor. Are her grades that important to her, or is it just the comparison that comes with them?

Ron had also remained oddly silent since assuring him everything was ok at the start-of-term feast. Harry suspected that Ron didn't know how to act with his two best friends leaving him as the outlier in study habits. 'It'll take some adjustment' Harry thought.

Sure, they'd played a few games of chess here and there, but any conversation seemed slightly strained, particularly whenever Harry announced that he had some work to catch up on. It probably hadn't helped that he'd received permission to switch out of his Divination class and into Ancient Runes. He'd opted to keep Care of Magical Creatures on the basis that he enjoyed it a fair amount and was entertained by Hagrid in his capacity as a professor.

"The other schools are supposed to be arriving tomorrow," Ron commented to fill the silence. "Any bets on who's going to be the Hogwarts Champion? I reckon Angelina might have a chance. Fred and George also reckon they might've found a way to get around the age line Dumbledore said he'd set up."

The term had been oddly dull so far, the only exception an underlying eagerness of those looking forward to the tournament.

Unlike himself, Ron had been swept up in the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament, succumbing to the infectious mood that had permeated through Gryffindor tower ever since the beginning of term. Harry had focused his attention elsewhere. Sure, it might be fun to spectate whatever the three tasks would be, but beyond that Harry didn't have a vested interest in the tournament.

"As much as you might believe them, Ron, just because they're your brothers doesn't mean they always tell you the truth. Do you really think they can get around something the Ministry has put in place?" Hermione questioned, eyebrows threatening to disappear into her fringe.

"They reckon they've found a way but won't tell anyone yet," he replied, "What do you think, Harry?"

"Unless it's something no one else has ever tried before, I have a hard time believing they'll manage it." The Ministry never gave Sirius a trial either, they certainly aren't infallible.

Ron scoffed. "They're Fred and George, they'll find a way. They always do."


The following afternoon found Harry once again in the fourth-floor classroom. He'd already lost count of how many times he'd made use of his newfound sanctuary. Ducking into the library on the way, he'd checked out a Defence book from the restricted section on the grounds of the tournament.

The tournament was only half of his concerns at the moment, however. If he wanted to be anything, he would need the magical power to prove it, or at least back him up. He propped the book up against the wall, flipped to the chapter on the Disillusionment Charm and began to read.

Entering the Great Hall a few hours later, Harry quietly manoeuvred himself into his usual seat with his two best friends. He did not want to interrupt their whispered argument regardless of the topic. Tall, floating candles above illuminated newly installed silken banners for each of the houses.

He had hoped to finally get a letter from Sirius earlier that morning but was disappointed when no owls swooped toward him. He resigned himself to sending another soon and seeing if that might net him a reply.

Recalling the letter he'd nearly sent in a panic after his dream over the summer, he found himself regretting his decision to scrunch it up and not tell Sirius. Peter Pettigrew had no reason to feature in his dreams, did he? But perhaps after the end of last year, that made sense. It was only a dream anyway… but I'm not sure why that would make my scar hurt.

Instead, he'd opted to send him a safer description of events, mostly detailing his boredom at being stuck at his relatives. Harry longed to have someone to owl more than once a year. However, he didn't want Sirius to get caught on account of replying to his boring letter either. Maybe it's better this way after all. I'll see him eventually. He quashed the sense of loneliness that threatened to creep in again.

Looking up, he noticed that there were other students amongst them. The ones clustered around the Ravenclaw table wore robes of a light blue, which had a lighter fit than the Hogwarts Robes designed for Scottish winters. Groupings of blood-red uniforms and fur coats interrupted the green trim worn at the Slytherin table. Harry had entirely forgotten the other two schools' names. He'd been so caught up in his own interests the past few weeks, that he'd failed to remember the date of their arrival.

Dumbledore stood, approaching his lectern at the head of the Great Hall in the same manner as he had on the first night. A quick gesture towards the side of the hall sent Filch hurrying up towards him with an aged wooden box. Gazing out over the house tables, he snapped his fingers and dimmed all the lights in the hall.

"Welcome, students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I hope that, in your brief stay here over the duration of the Tournament, you enjoy everything Hogwarts has to offer to the fullest."

Harry heard a low scoff from the Ravenclaw table, seeing the blue-garbed students already shivering in their thin attire.

"I endeavour you all to foster new friendships and connect with the students of schools other than your own. The Triwizard Tournament provides the perfect medium for this."

Stepping forward, Dumbledore flicked his wand at the dated box, lifting the lid off. As soon as it was exposed to the open air, a great chalice-like cup roared to life. Bright blue flame clawed its way out of the top and drew gasps from the students.

"This is the Goblet of Fire. To put your name forth for Champion selection, you must write your name and school upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. As I have previously mentioned to my students, only those at or above the age of 17 will be eligible for selection. Those that do not meet the age requirements will be kept out by an age line I will draw myself. It will be located in the antechamber for those brave enough to enter. I must once again impress the dangers that await you, the tournament is not for the weak of heart. You have until tomorrow evening."

Pausing, he appeared to lighten up.

"Now, without further ado, please enjoy the feast."

More food than Harry had ever seen in one place immediately blanketed the house tables. Ron's eyes seemed to bug out and with a whispered "Blimey" he dug in. Harry himself opted to stick to what he knew, staying away from foreign-looking dishes.

A heavily-accented voice drifted over their shoulders. "Excuse me, are you wanting the bouillabaisse?"

Harry had no clue what 'bouillabaisse' looked like, so he decided to let Ron take the lead. With his food obsession, he's got to have a better idea than I do. It was only when Ron had remained frozen, half-twisted in his seat, did Harry glance up. Spying a silver bowl of what appeared to be fish stew, the only foreign-looking dish nearby, he grabbed it and held it up to the source of the voice behind him.

"All yours."

When they made no move to pull away, Harry looked up.

He was met by those familiar, impossibly blue eyes. Her perfectly pale face, framed by that same silver hair, had frozen into an expression of pure shock. Eyes widening as she stared at him, they flicked away from his and up to his scar once again.

The moment was broken as she let her fingers slip from the bowl. A cascade of hot fish stew torrented down over Harry, the balance lost with her withdrawn support.

A sudden hush from the rest of the hall indicated the action had not gone unnoticed. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she spun and retreated from the hall at a brisk walk, every set of eyes following her. Those at the head table included, though none seemed to make a move to help.

Desperately trying to keep it off him, Harry had jumped but caught the first half of the bowls' contents all over his robes. In a disbelieving daze at both the person he'd seen and what had happened, he stared after the tall girl. She made as quick an exit as her brisk pace would allow.

A swell of laughter was followed by a few taunts from the Slytherin table that caught Harry's ear. Malfoy's voice rang out above all others.

"Not even Potty can get a date with her! What chance did you think you had, Potter?"

The Slytherin table descended into hysterics as Ron turned back to him and stared at him incredulously, a slight glaze leaving his eyes.

"Why'd you dump that stew all over yourself?"

Still in shock, Harry gathered what remained of his dignity and pulled himself off the bench, the chunkier parts of the dish dripping off the bottom of his robes. Trying to ignore the jeers and laughter, he plodded out of the Great Hall and towards Gryffindor tower. What the hell just happened?


The next day he was followed by snickers wherever he went, although he was certain others were trying to avoid being seen with him. Luckily the two exceptions to the rest of the Hogwarts populace were Ron and Hermione, who'd not questioned him about the event. As rare as it was, he was grateful that they hadn't.

His thoughts of the girl began anew, wondering why she hadn't spoken to him. Surely the decent thing to do would be to apologise? Harry was also curious as to what had happened that night he'd awoken alone at the edge of the forest.

A profound sense of relief at seeing her alive turned into confusion. He hadn't seen her at all and wasn't about to start asking after her after realising how their audience had read the interaction. Lucky me.

Rumours had also been flying over who had entered their name into the goblet so far. Harry paid no attention to them. Ron took on a vacant stare whenever talk of the Triwizard Tournament drifted past them. Hermione's studiousness had kept her firmly out of the gossip too.

Sitting down in the Great Hall at the end of a long day, he did have the good fortune to witness Fred and George staggering out of the antechamber. Long, white beards hung from their chins, accompanied by rapidly greying hair. He deduced from the laughter following them that they had not been successful.

He'd made a conscious effort to get there early and sit in a different place following last night's incident. Ron and Hermione had trundled in somewhat later and joined him, but he saw no hint of the girl who'd supposedly declined his advances.

Filch dragging the box upon which the Goblet of Fire rested captured his attention, muted swears and curses being muttered whenever the caretaker bumped it on something. Upon reaching the same place the goblet had first been lit, Filch let it drop with a grunt. Blue flames danced along its rim.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, a hush falling over the hall just a second later.

"In just a few moments, we will find out who our three Champions shall be. Please do remember to give your utmost to support them, regardless of the outcome. They will need it. Friendly competition is also encouraged, and I trust you to find a healthy balance between the two."

A few tense seconds later the goblet sputtered, flame vanishing. It then burst back to life and violently threw a fragment of parchment towards the enchanted ceiling, off-white contrasting against the dark sky.

With great accuracy, Dumbledore's hand fished it out of the air as it descended and brought it to his eyes.

Looking up, he announced the first Champion.

"The Champion from Durmstrang shall be… Viktor Krum! Congratulations. Please make your way into the antechamber."

A series of whoops accompanied the applause. A red-robed figure rose from the Slytherin table and moved towards the small room off to the side of the Great hall, a grin on his face.

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about the besotted expression on Ron's face.

The goblet spat out another piece of parchment, with Dumbledore reading "Fleur Delacour!" from Beauxbatons.

Chaos erupted around Harry, who found himself in the midst of what he could only begin to describe as a riot. Even Ron had risen from his seat and was clapping ferociously for the Beauxbatons Champion. Hermione looked on with a revulsion that seemed to be shared amongst the rest of the Gryffindor girls. Craning his neck, he struggled to get a peak of Fleur.

For the third time, he was met by deep ocean-blue eyes across the hall, accidentally meeting her gaze. An expression of mild disgust morphed into mortification, her stride faltering. She hurried the rest of the way into the smaller room, averting her eyes. So that's her name.

A final slip of parchment rose from the goblet, with Dumbledore announcing the Hogwarts Champion as "Cedric Diggory!"

The Hufflepuff table erupted. Professor Sprout looked ready to faint with pride or excitement, or perhaps even both.

"There you have it. As I stated before, please do your best in…"

He trailed off, eyeing the Goblet of Fire for a fourth time. It sputtered briefly, and after its most fierce flare of flame yet, shot out another piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it immediately. Both eyes traced whatever was written upon it multiple times, before meeting the confused staff and students.

"Harry Potter."

A ringing began to fill Harry's ears. It violently contrasted the sudden lack of noise that had enveloped the room, as if a vacuum had sucked all the sound out.

"Harry Potter," the voice repeated, and he fixed his eyes on Dumbledore's, who stared straight back at him along with everyone else. Eyes darting from face to face, he felt the shock begin to wear off, replaced with a feeling of dread. Cautiously, he rose.

In dead silence, he put one foot in front of the other. He felt as if he were running the gauntlet whilst walking between the house tables.

His pronounced unease still had not worn off by the time he had reached the room the other champions had disappeared into. A cacophonous mixture of voices ignited behind him when he crossed the threshold. More pairs of eyes met his on entry. With one exception, of course.

"Do they need us back in the Great Hall?"

Cedric's question stumped Harry. He had no clue how to begin to describe the situation. Harry was saved from answering by Ludo Bagman, who bounced in behind him.

"Wow! Would you believe it? Four Champions! I never thought I'd see anything like it. Phenomenal! Fantastic! What a tournament we have on our hands now, eh Crouch?"

Barty Crouch, stood next to Bagman, looked wholly unamused.

Raising his eyes from the floor, Harry looked at the other champions again. Fleur's face had snapped up, now looking at him with as much shock as he felt. He thought he detected a hint of fear in her expression but couldn't place where it might be located.

Cedric and Krum seemed to be adopting expressions of scorn as they gazed upon him. Moody clonked in behind everyone else, drawing the room's attention.

"I reckon someone's trying to do Potter in. Perfect opportunity for it, that's for sure. Did you put your name in, eh?"

Harry struggled to find strength in his voice. "No, professor".

A snarled "Lies!" came from the Durmstrang headmaster, who was silenced just as fast by Moody's stare.

"I don't believe a 14-year-old can beat an age line made by Dumbledore himself. It's ridiculous."

"Perhaps it was rigged to give Hogwarts double the chance of winning," speculated the Beauxbatons headmistress. "Or maybe he accidentally found a way to enter himself?"

Snape seemed to find the perfect opportunity to comment. "I don't believe it for a second, not from your type," his disgustingly silky voice threatened to channel Harry's anxiety into pure rage. His beady, dark eyes threatened to stare straight through him.

Dumbledore appeared next, arguments ceasing upon his entry.

"Did you put your name in, Harry?" he asked, eyes trailing around the room as he took in its occupants.

"No, headmaster. I promise. I wouldn't lie about it either," Harry replied firmly, his intensity surprising even himself, though he didn't show it.

Appearing to evaluate the validity of his answer through his gaze, Dumbledore gave a brief nod.

"Regardless, once your name has come from the goblet, you are bound to compete or risk losing your magic. I fear you will be as involved as the other champions. Ludo, I shall leave it to you to explain the first task."

Bagman clapped his hands together, an eager smile threatening to stretch his cheeks off his face.