It's All in the Intent (sorry if you got two alerts on this one. I noticed a typo or two after I posted. I'm sure there's more, but my editor has the century off.)
"Harry Potter!" The headmaster of his school called Harry's name when a slip burst forth from the ancient, powerful Goblet of Fire.
With that, Harry was conscripted as a fourth contestant in the so-called "tri" wizard tournament. Harry wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but even he knew tri meant three.
"No." Harry loudly and emphatically stated as Dumbledore glared at him, the ancient wizard's blue eyes lacking their traditional twinkle.
The murmurs and accusations were starting to swell at the student tables. He could hear the "cheat" accusation already. Harry didn't let his exasperation with his fellow students show on his face. He just kept his eyes trained on Dumbledore.
"Harry, you have to go," his best friend, Hermione, pled as she pulled on his robe sleeve. His other friend, Ron, was torn between a glare of jealous anger and a stunned disbelief: Harry wouldn't back out of a magical contract.
Still, Harry made no move.
"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore stated with a heavy voice, "the Goblet constructs a binding magical contract. You must go to the ante-room and prepare to compete in the tournament."
Harry inhaled deeply through his nose, briefly closed his eyes, then opened them and spoke.
"Sir, we have been taught here that magic is about intent. I did not enter my name, I have no desire to compete in this tournament. I will not compete in this tournament." His voice held both strength and finality. The Potter (Evans, really) stubbornness had kicked in, big time.
Some of the murmurs around him began to be questions. Would Potter really break a magical contract? Why would someone else put his name in the drawing? Of course, most of the folks were still tarring him with the "attention-grabbing cheater" brush, a la Snape, but the tide had a bit of turn to it.
The headmaster, however, seemed to sag a bit as worry filled his countenance. "Mr. Potter, Harry, I have no doubt you did not enter your own name. No one with your education or access would have been able to force this instrument to believe there were four schools in the competition. That level of… potentially a variant on a confundus charm?..." he paused, thinking aloud, "would take both time and training that you simply did not have available to you. But the fact remains: you are bound. If you do not compete, you will lose your magic."
The tide of accusations around him came to a screeching halt with Dumbledore's explanations. The crowd waited with bated breath to see what Potter's answer would be.
His answer was a shrug.
"So, I lose my magic," he stated with a bit of a sigh. "I know next to nothing about your magical world. I've no idea how to do even the most basic things – like find a job, a flat, buy food, cook it… all things I can do with ease on the muggle side. The only reason I came here was because I'd get fed three meals a day and have an actual bed to sleep in – never had any of that before I came here. So, yeah, I'd be sad to have to leave, especially if I have to go back to the Dursleys. But it wouldn't be the end of the world.
"So, Headmaster Dumbledore, for the third time, I say NO. NO, I WILL NOT compete in the tri-wizard tournament."
The Goblet shimmered as Harry's thrice stated refusal terminated the contract. The ancient, powerful object reacted almost cataclysmically. Its purpose: to strip magic from the ones whose intent it was that Harry Potter should compete in the tri-wizard tournament.
The blue flame streamed through the enchanted ceiling and, after a short period, multiplied at its base. It zapped Potter directly in the forehead. It zapped Severus Snape and Igor Karkaroff (who had been waiting impatiently in the ante-chamber) in the arm. Flares hit the chests of Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody (or the man posing as the famous ex-auror: his appearance changed immediately as he did not have enough magic left to support the appearance rendered by the polyjuice potion he had been imbibing.) Other rays of light aimed for places inside and out of the castle, stripping the magic of the ones who had broken a contract.
The fallout was both intense and immense.
Aurors flowed into the great hall, having been mustered by Amelia Bones, head of the department of magical law enforcement. She, in turn, had been summoned by her niece, Susan Bones, when the goblet first spit out a fourth slip.
After the petrifications of students in Susan's second year at Hogwarts, Susan's parents had wanted her to have access to some authority outside the castle in case of emergency. A mystical magical artifact behaving in a strange way was just the kind of harbinger Susan's parents had warned her to be wary of. Her aunt took charge of the chaos that followed the blue light show.
"I am Amelia Bones and I am in charge here, now. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, please have your prefects hold the students at their tables. Calm down, all of you!" she shouted into the melee. There was a lessening of noise and movement almost immediately. "Shacklebolt, contact Rufus, tell him to organize healers and veritaserum. We have a man here who was posing as Alastor Moody, and he looks a great deal like Bartemius Crouch, Junior, who's supposed to be dead." Those who heard that gasped at that information, none more so than Neville Longbottom. Bones, however, gave the hairy eyeball to Crouch Senior, who could not - or would not - meet her gaze.
With that, aurors took over the crime scene, isolating those who had been struck with the goblet's wrath and the organizers of and participants in the tournament. There was a great deal of work to be done.
~~this is a line break~~
And so it was, several days later, that Harry awoke in "his" bed in the infirmary. Next to him, he could hear that lady with the funny eye piece talking to – or rather chastising – Headmaster Dumbledore, who was (similar to Harry) incapacitated and abed.
Knowing that the best information would, once again, be held from him, Harry feigned sleep as he eavesdropped.
"I ask you again, Albus, how is it that you missed the signs that man was not Moody? You had your potion master complaining that the ingredients for Polyjuice were missing from his stocks. There were several tells – many of them Alastor insisted we check him for, and if we didn't, he'd ream us a good one. No, I think you knew it wasn't Moody. You let it play out. The fact that the goblet stripped some of your magic shows that you had some intent for the Potter lad to complete. The fact that said-same poseur and potion master are now little better than a squibs shows what could have happened to you. I'd think you'd cooperate fully, in case there's some other magical oath you're in danger of breaking."
Dumbledore sighed.
"I have no excuse. I knew that Tom was trying to find his way back to our plane – he's made several attempts. I must be vigilant and use all that I can to stop him. Amelia, I simply must know what you found at the site young Bartemius sent you to."
"No, Albus, you mustn't. You've been stripped of your Chief Warlock position in emergency session. It came out that you did not demand a trial for Lord Black – when you had evidence that he was innocent and had never had a trial. Yes, you aided in his escape, but you did not do your job as chief adjudicator. You allowed that "kiss on sight" command of the minister's - or I should say, former minister – to remain. When it was revealed that Fudge attempted summary execution on the Lord of an Ancient and Noble house? Well, Fudge wasn't long for office. Especially since most of his supporters and personal friends are curiously absent - read comatose, like our friend Snape over there. Indeed, they couldn't have "supported" him anyway, since when they wake they will most likely find themselves locked out of their Gringotts vaults, not having enough magic to access them anymore."
"And what of Mr. Potter? It's been days and all the healers will tell me is that he is stable. Does he still have his magic? As his protector…"
"Stop right there," Amelia almost growled out the command. "Protector. You've been quite the opposite of that, haven't you then? At least you didn't slip up and say headmaster, as you've been – righteously – stripped of that position, too.
"No, my office investigated the 'never had a bed or three meals a day' statement Potter made and, well, you've never protected him from anything, have you? Forced to banish a possessed professor at eleven, faced with a horcrux and a basilisk at twelve, and almost kissed by dementors – thrice! – at thirteen… the memories provided by Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger tell quite the tale. You've been no protector. In fact, I believe many of the trials he's been through were simply tests you've run, contrary to his safety. I'm arranging the Potter solicitors to have all this information. You can answer them as to why you've blocked their access and put their client in harms' way.
"Oh, and by the way, don't think that you'll be able to fool that young man again. If you've wondered why I've waxed so eloquent about the details of just what's going on right now, it's because I want Mr. Potter here to NOT be in the dark anymore. Do you have questions about anything, Mr. Potter?" Bones stood and moved to Harry's bed, sitting gingerly on the side and catching his now-open eye.
"What happened to me?" Harry decided not to acknowledge his embarrassment at being caught out.
"It seems that Mr. Tom Riddle – the formerly self-styled Lord Voldemort – was once again making an attempt at having a corporeal form. Your dream from this summer? That was him commanding the man – his servant – who posed as your defense teacher to enter you into this tournament. It was Riddle's intent that you compete, so it was Riddle's magic that was stripped. I dare say you've saved us all, again." Bones smiled, and in a strangely maternal gesture, ran her hand through his eternally birds' nest/ bed-head coiffure.
"I'm not going to get another barmy name out of it, am I?" Harry asked, exasperated.
She barked out a laugh. Then she sobered.
"Your scar," she nodded to the now very-faint scar on Harry's forehead. "It housed some of his magic. Your friends have stated that you got pains in your scar whenever he was around – this would have been why. His marked servants – ones with his tattoo on their arms – said the same. His magic would make them ache with its desire to return to its source. The goblet… ate, for a lack of a better term, all of that magic. You lost your scar; all of his marked servants had that tattoo burned out and destroyed.
"In your case, your magic had been working to isolate Riddle's magic from you, so now that foreign magic is gone, healers tell me your magic has undergone a radical growth. It's why you've been unconscious for days – your magic needed to stabilize at its new levels. Unfortunately for the death eaters, their own magic was willingly entwined with Riddle's mark, so they suffered huge losses of magic. They, like Professor Snape," she indicated a bed farther down the infirmary floor, "are mostly in comas while their bodies try to adjust to life almost without magic. Some will not survive. And in the end, the goblet is that much more powerful."
"The goblet? The tournament will continue? Will the goblet be evil since it has so much evil magic in it now?" Harry asked in surprise.
Bones shook her head "As you stated so eloquently, magic is about intent. Riddle's magic wasn't evil, his intent was. So the goblet will be no more or less evil than it has ever been. As for the tournament, surely you can see that it must continue. Those other three contestants are now completely aware what will happen to them if they don't compete. Though, I have a feeling this will be the last time the tournament will be held. Do you have any other questions?"
"Too many. Can I contact you later when I get them all in order? I mean, solicitors? And Sirius – is he free now? Do you know where he is? If Dumbledore isn't head anymore, who is? And…"
His litany was interrupted by the arrival of a healer. It wasn't Pomphrey but a short, graying man with a comforting face. "Ah, Mr. Potter is awake. I'll bet you're sore, then, son? Want to get up a bit and stretch it out? Just be careful. The healing we did on your frame means your balance will be off for a while until you get used to being taller and more filled out. Why Poppy never… alas…"
"Indeed," Amelia caught the healer's eye and shook her head. "I must be off. Mr. Potter, make your lists. I'll have my elf stop by this evening for a list, and I'll send him back with it when I finish answering your questions. Meanwhile, Healer Pemberton, please put the silencing ward around Mr. Dumbledore's bed. We wouldn't want him bothering Mr. Potter or anyone else, now that he's awake. Good afternoon."
As she walked off the ward, Harry stood up to begin figuring out how to use his newly-recovered physique. He noticed his friends at the door, waiting with bright eyes and relieved smiles to greet him. He decided maybe this magic world wasn't such a bad place. Although he'd been ready to walk away, maybe he'd give it a second chance. After all, the muggle world would always be there, waiting, if he changed his mind.