17. The Four Champions

Impartial

Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He was stunned. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming. He had not heard correctly.

There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat.

Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione; beyond them, he saw the long Gryffindor table all watching him, openmouthed. Lillica, too, was staring at him and, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that Teddy was as well.

It didn't matter. Everybody else was already staring at him.

"I didn't put my name in," Harry said blankly. "You know I didn't."

Ron and Hermione stared just as blankly back.

He heard September's soft, hissing voice. "I know...oh, Harry, I know that you didn't..." And, he had no idea how a snake could suddenly sound so sincere.

Lillica was biting at her lip.

At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.

"Harry Potter!" he called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"

"Go on," Hermione whispered, giving Harry a slight push.

Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. He set off up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. It felt like an immensely long walk; the top table didn't seem to be getting any nearer at all, and he could feel hundreds and hundreds of eyes upon him, as though each were a searchlight. The buzzing grew louder and louder. After what seemed like an hour, he was right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers upon him.

"Well.. . through the door, Harry," said Dumbledore. He wasn't smiling.

Harry moved off along the teachers' table. Hagrid was seated right at the end. He did not wink at Harry, or wave, or give any of his usual signs of greeting.

He looked completely astonished and stared at Harry as he passed like everyone else.

Harry went through the door out of the Great Hall and found himself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him.

The faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered. He saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus mustache. The wizened witch started whispering in his ear.

Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur Delacour looked around when Harry walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair.

"Harry?" The voice came from the figure standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window to the right of the fireplace. His godmother stood there; she had her back to him, so he had no idea how she'd known that it was him. He was suddenly very relieved that she was there, even though he knew that she wouldn't have any more clue as to what was going on than he did. She turned to face him then, the hazel of her eyes illuminated by the glow of the fire, and looked right at him.

And, that was when he vaguely realised that she never seemed to call him 'Harry' unless there was something wrong.

Which, obviously, there was.

She drew in a sharp intake of breath, and her gaze moved past him. She swept across the room without another word and disappeared out the door.

Harry didn't know how to explain what had just happened out there. He just stood there, looking at the three champions. It struck him how very tall all of them were, and he kind of wished that his godmother would come back in, even though she was shorter than all of them.

There was a sound of scurrying feet behind him, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Harry by the arm and led him forward.

"Extraordinary!" he muttered, squeezing Harry's arm. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen. . . lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three.

"May I introduce - incredible though it may seem - the fourth Triwizard champion?"

Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Harry. Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to Harry and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, "Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."

"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"

Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered.

Fleur frowned.

"But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. "E cannot compete. 'E is too young."

"Well. . . it is amazing," said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Harry. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name's come out of the goblet.. . I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage. . . . It's down in the rules, you're obliged. . . Harry will just have to do the best he -"

The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. Emma came back in last; her hands were shaking. Harry heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before his godmother closed the door.

"Madame Maxime!" said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"

Somewhere under Harry's numb disbelief he felt a ripple of anger. Little boy?

Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she said imperiously.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Professor Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. "Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions - or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"

He gave a short and nasty laugh.

"C'est impossible," said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting upon Fleur's shoulder. "Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most injust."

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here -"

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair.

Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry, who looked right back at him, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles.

"Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" he asked calmly.

"No," said Harry. He was very aware of everybody watching him closely. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows.

"Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?" said Professor Dumbledore, ignoring Snape.

"No," said Harry vehemently.

"Ah, but of course 'e is lying!" cried Madame Maxime. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling.

"He could not have crossed the Age Line," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "I am sure we are all agreed on that -"

"Dumbly-dorr must 'ave made a mistake wiz ze line," said Madame Maxime, shrugging.

"It is possible, of course," said Dumbledore politely.

"Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!" said Professor McGonagall angrily. "Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I'm sure that should be good enough for everybody else!"

She shot a very angry look at Professor Snape.

"Mr. Crouch.. . Mr. Bagman," said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, "you are our -er - objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?"

Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice.

"We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."

"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed. "Uh, of course, remembering that there are three objective judges!" He added, glancing over at Emma.

"One of which who just so happens to have been Hogwarts' Champion in the past!" Karkaroff reminded him. He turned his steely gaze towards Emma, who flinched slightly but held his gaze nonetheless.

"Not to mention zat I 'ave 'eard zat she ees also zis boy's godmozer!" Madam Maxime added, gesturing towards Harry.

Emma glanced at Harry briefly then, but said nothing. She had moved away from the door, and now she turned her gaze away from Harry to look briefly at Mr. Crouch, before she looked over at Dumbledore. She was biting at her lip again.

Karkarof spoke. "Is that so? I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. "You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."

"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," said Bagman, as Emma looked towards the door. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out - it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament -"

"- in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" exploded Karkaroff. "After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a voice from near the door. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Emma here said. Convenient, eh?"

Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk. He stopped by Emma's side, his magical eye glancing at her briefly before he looked at Karkaroff.

"Convenient?" said Karkaroff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."

Harry could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists.

"Don't you?" said Moody quietly. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's name in that goblet knowing he'd have to compete if it came out. It's happened before." He added, and Emma nodded in agreement.

"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" said Madame Maxime.

"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," said Karkaroff, bowing to her. "I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards -"

"If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter," growled Moody, "but. . . funny thing. . . I don't hear him saying a word. . . "

Emma nodded slightly in agreement, again.

"Why should 'e complain?" Burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot. "E 'as ze chance to compete, 'asn't 'e? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money - zis is a chance many would die for!"

"Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it," said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl.

An extremely tense silence followed these words, as Emma shuddered visibly. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, glanced briefly at Emma and, bouncing nervously up and down on his feet, said, "Moody, old man. . . what a thing to say!"

"We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," said Karkaroff loudly. "Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."

Emma drew in a sharp intake of breath and, as Harry watched, his godmother's gaze turned cold as she stared at Karkaroff. "He thinks you're becoming paranoid, Alastor," she said, very quietly. Her hazel eyes were shining in the firelight again. "Imaging and seeing things..."

"Imagining things, am I?" growled Moody. He too was glaring at Karkaroff. "Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy's name in that goblet. . ."

"Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?" said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" Emma exclaimed.

Moody was nodding. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament.. . . I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school..."

"To make sure he was the only one in his category..." Emma closed her eyes briefly as she spoke. "Dear God..." She muttered, shaking her head.

"You two seem to have given this a great deal of thought," said Karkaroff coldly, "and a very ingenious theory it is - though of course, Moody, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously. . . ."

"There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage..." Emma responded. Harry guessed that she was thinking of the events that had followed the Quidditch World Cup.

Karkaroff had, apparently, guessed this too, because his gaze turned even colder as he said: "Ones which often seem to coincide with your involvement, dare I say?"

Emma's head snapped up, and she gasped, but Moody suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder. He looked at her with both of his eyes now.

"If he needs reminding..." Harry thought he heard Moody say. He spoke louder to Karkaroff, and in a menacing voice. "That it's our job to think the way Dark Wizards do - as you ought to remember, Karkaroff..."

"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly.

Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction - Karkaroff's face was burning.

Emma stared down at the ground. Harry's insides burned. It was his name that had, for whatever reason, come out of the Goblet Of Fire, and now almost everyone seemed to be blaming his godmother for it all! It was just like when Emma had found Winky with Harry's wand after the Dark Mark had been cast into the sky after the Quidditch World Cup...Harry was surprised to find that his own hands were shaking.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . .

"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr -"

"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."

Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared.

However, Karkaroff seemed to have one more thing to say, to Emma of course. "Convenient..." He said thoughtfully, repeating Moody's word from before. "That there are two Hogwarts Champions, and a judge who could hardly be considered to be impartial in that regard!" He looked pointedly at Emma, as if to ask her 'well, how do you explain that?'.

Harry watched as his godmother cringed slightly. But, then, she glanced around at the occupants of the room, and seemed to draw herself up to her full height. "This is your first time as headmaster of one of the three schools partaking in the Triwizard Tournament, is it not, Karkaroff?" She asked him, staring right at him. Without even waiting for an answer, she continued. "Ignorance." Her words were as cold as ice just then (a few people even shuddered, although Harry guessed that it may have been because of what his godmother had just said, and not how she'd said it), although they warmed up again as she went on: "However, even those who were witness to the Triwizard Tournament of 77-78, for example... Madam Maxime, Professor Dumbeldore, Professor McGonagall, Sn-Severus..." She faltered only slightly here, and Harry suspected that his godmother was trying her best to be polite to the potions master just then. "Would - with all due respect - do well to remember that I and I alone know what it is like to stand where these young ones stand." She looked at Cedric, Fleur, and Krum in turn, before glancing briefly at Harry. "In more ways than one," she added, somewhat meaningfully, and Harry watched as McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a glance. "I remember it very well...the challenges that I faced before, during, and especially after...alongside my fellow Champions...whom I have maintained my friendships with over the years. Their names were Brunilda Danikavitch and Apolline Violetta..."

"My mother's sister..." A voice from by the fireplace said, and Harry turned in shock. Was that Krum who had spoken?

"And, my mozzer..." Fleur spoke up. She was looking at Emma, her gaze now clearly one of recognition.

Emma nodded. "Both," she said, looking from Karkaroff to Madam Maxime. "Are correct. So, I would also like you to remember that, if you will...you were there, after all, Madam Maxime..." She added, in a quieter voice. "You know that I would never..."

"But...but ee ees your godson!" Madam Maxime protested, looking once again at Harry. "And, in Greefeendor as you once were! You were friends wiz ees parents..."

Emma sighed. "Yes, Madam Maxime, that is true. I also work with Cedric's father and have known the Diggorys for many years, my daughters are friends with Viktor's cousin who just so happens to be in Hufflepuff with Cedric, and I was the demoiselle d'honneur en chef in Apolline's wedding to Jacque."

"I zought zat you were ze chanteuse...?"

"Yes, I was that as well, but Brunilda and I were both in the noce as well; we were the only ones who were étrangère and I looked remarquablement hideux," Emma sighed, and Harry began to wish that they taught French at Hogwarts. "So, as you can see, I really can't get much more impartial than that, I'm afraid." She shook her head. "We could argue about it a bit more, if you'd like, but I'm sure that Ludovic here would like to get things moving..." She glanced briefly at Bagman, and then did a double-take when she noticed that - like everybody else - he was just staring at her. "..." She coughed, her face visibly heating up, and Bagman seemed to come to his senses.

"Well, yes, now that we've got that all sorted, shall we crack on, then?" He said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honors?"

Mr. Crouch, who had also been staring at Emma, seemed to come out of a deep reverie.

"Yes," he said, "instructions. Yes . . . the first task . . ."

He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Harry thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup.

"The first task is designed to test your daring," he told Harry, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard. . . very important. The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges."

At this point, Harry couldn't help but notice that his godmother appeared to be mouthing the words right along with what Mr. Crouch was saying.

"The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."

Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore.

"I think that's all, is it, Albus?"

"I think so," said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?"

"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," said Mr. Crouch. "It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment... I've left young Weatherby in charge.. . . very enthusiastic. . . a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told. . ."

"You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?" said Dumbledore.

"Come on, Barty, I'm staying!" said Bagman brightly. "It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!"

"I think not, Ludo," said Crouch with a touch of his old impatience. He looked over at Emma. "I will be in touch." He told her.

Emma was looking at him intently, like she was trying to figure something out, and so intent was her gaze that she jumped when Bagman suddenly spoke to her.

"Ah, so, even you're staying, Emma?"

Emma glanced at Bagman, and then back at Mr. Crouch - her gaze took on a look of great concern all of a sudden, but then the moment passed and she looked beyond them both. "Don't sound so surprised, Ludovic." She said, tilting her head to the side with a small, wistful sort of smile. "I'm enjoying being back here, after all..."

Bagman looked thrilled. "That's the spirit! Although, I'm rather interested to know about..."

"Ludovic, stop right there, I know what you are going to say..."

"I just find it so hard to believe..."

"You need to pay less attention to my French and more attention to anything else...why is it that you can only ever seem to understand a foreign language when I'm speaking in it?"

"Professor Karkaroff - Madame Maxime - a nightcap?" said Dumbledore.

But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur's shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Harry could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.

Harry noticed that both Fleur and Krum looked back at Emma before the left, although she was currently speaking with Bagman and only briefly glanced back up at them.

"I mean, I know that bridesmaids dresses aren't meant to look pretty, but it's just not possible that you'd look 'remarkably hideous'!" Bagman was saying to her, and shaking his head.

Harry saw his godmother just barely refrain from rolling her eyes. "Next to Apolline's relatives I did, Ludovic...even when six of them went all harpie dame because Apolline's ex petit ami showed up..."

"Good heavens!"

"Well, the heavens did open up and put out all the feu, so it was good in the end, I suppose..."

"Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed," said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them as he noticed them staring at Emma. "I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise."

Harry glanced at Cedric, who nodded. After briefly meeting Emma's gaze - he noticed that she looked up longer at them than what she had with either Fleur or Krum- Harry and Cedric left together.

The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality.

"So," said Cedric, with a slight smile. "We're playing against each other again!"

"I s'pose," said Harry. He really couldn't think of anything to say. The inside of his head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though his brain had been ransacked.

"So. . . tell me. . ." said Cedric as they reached the entrance hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. "How did you get your name in?"

"I didn't," said Harry, staring up at him. "I didn't put it in. I was telling the truth."

"Ah. . . okay," said Cedric. Harry could tell Cedric didn't believe him. "Although...Aunty Em being the previous champion..." Cedric shook his head. "Pretty unbelievable, right?"

"Absolutely." Harry was glad that they could both agree on that, at least.

Cedric nodded. "Well . . . see you, then."

Instead of going up the marble staircase, Cedric headed for a door to its right. Harry stood listening to him going down the stone steps beyond it, then, slowly, he started to climb the marble ones.

Was anyone except Ron and Hermione going to believe him, or would they all think he'd put himself in for the tournament? What would Lillica and Teddy say? Would they think he'd been trying to outdo their mother? Yet how could anyone think that, when he was facing competitors who'd had three years' more magical education than he had - when he was now facing tasks that not only sounded very dangerous, but which were to be performed in front of hundreds of people? Yes, he'd thought about it. . . he'd fantasized about it... but it had been a joke, really, an idle sort of dream. . . he'd never really, seriously considered entering. .

But someone else had considered it. . . someone else had wanted him in the tournament, and had made sure he was entered. Why? To give him a treat? He didn't think so, somehow...

To see him make a fool of himself? Well, they were likely to get their wish. .

But to get him killed?

Was Moody just being his usual paranoid self? Couldn't someone have put Harry's name in the goblet as a trick, a practical joke? Did anyone really want him dead?

Harry was able to answer that at once. Yes, someone wanted him dead, someone had wanted him dead ever since he had been a year old. . . Lord Voldemort. But how could Voldemort have ensured that Harry's name got into the Goblet of Fire? Voldemort was supposed to be far away, in some distant country, in hiding, alone. . . feeble and powerless...

Yet in that dream he had had, just before he had awoken with his scar hurting, Voldemort had not been alone. . . he had been talking to Wormtail.. . plotting Harry's murder.

"Don't think too much on it, Ssson Of Jamesss..." The hissing came from within the hood of Harry's robes, and he was startled when Septimus slithered his way out. He was amazed that, once again, he hadn't known that the snake was there. "Sssorry," Septimus said, not sounding sorry at all. "I jussst needed a ride..." He sighed in a very Emma-like way. "While you lament on what your next ssstep will be, jussst remember that sssome of usss have no ssstepsss at all..."

Harry nodded, and they continued on in silence. He was shocked when he reached the Fat Lady in what seemed like no time at all. He had barely noticed where his feet were carrying him. No wonder Septimus had wanted to hitch a ride with him.

The black cobra peered up at the Fat Lady, who gave him a nod of recognition.

It was also a surprise to see that the Fat Lady was not alone in her frame. The wizened witch who had flitted into her neighbor's painting when he had joined the champions downstairs was now sitting smugly beside the Fat Lady. She must have dashed through every picture lining seven staircases to reach here before him. Both she and the Fat Lady were looking down at him with the keenest interest.

"Well, well, well," said the Fat Lady, "Violet's just told me everything. Who's just been chosen as school champion, then?"

"Balderdash," said Harry dully.

"It most certainly isn't!" said the pale witch indignantly.

"No, no, Vi, it's the password," said the Fat Lady soothingly, and she swung forward on her hinges to let Harry into the common room.

"Prepare yourssself..."

The blast of noise that met Harry's ears when the portrait opened almost knocked him backward. Next thing he knew, he was being wrenched inside the common room by about a dozen pairs of hands, and was facing the whole of Gryffindor House, all of whom were screaming, applauding, and whistling.

"You should've told us you'd entered!" bellowed Fred; he looked half annoyed, half deeply impressed.

"How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!" Roared George.

"I didn't," Harry said. "I don't know how - "

"They're not lissstening..."

But Angelina had now swooped down upon him; "Oh if it couldn't be me, at least it's a Gryffindor -"

"You'll be able to pay back Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Harry!" shrieked Katie.

"We've got food, Harry, come and have some -"

"I'm not hungry, I had enough at the feast -"

But nobody wanted to hear that he wasn't hungry; nobody wanted to hear that he hadn't put his name in the goblet; not one single person seemed to have noticed that he wasn't at all in the mood to celebrate. . . . Lee Jordan had unearthed a Gryffindor banner from somewhere, and he insisted on draping it around Harry like a cloak. Harry couldn't get away; whenever he tried to sidle over to the staircase up to the dormitories, the crowd around him closed ranks, forcing another butterbeer on him, stuffing crisps and peanuts into his hands. . . .

Everyone wanted to know how he had done it, how he had tricked Dumbledore's Age Line and managed to get his name into the goblet...

"I didn't," he said, over and over again, "I don't know how it happened."

But for all the notice anyone took, he might just as well not have answered at all.

"I'm tired!" he bellowed finally, after nearly half an hour. "No, seriously, George - I'm going to bed..."

He wanted more than anything to find Ron and Hermione, to find a bit of sanity, but neither of them seemed to be in the common room. Insisting that he needed to sleep, and almost flattening the little Creevey brothers as they attempted to waylay him at the foot of the stairs, Harry managed to shake everyone off and, after he found Lillica - or, she found him...she appeared to have been waiting for him halfway up the staircase; at any rate, they found each other - and managed to conspicuously hand Septimus to her, he climbed the rest of the way up to the dormitory as fast as he could without even bothering to give her any kind of an explanation.

"He'sss jussst tired..." Harry heard Septimus hiss.

To his great relief, he found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He looked up when Harry slammed the door behind him.

"Where've you been?" Harry said.

"Oh hello," said Ron.

He was grinning, but it was a very odd, strained sort of grin. Harry suddenly became aware that he was still wearing the scarlet Gryffindor banner that Lee had tied around him. He hastened to take it off, but it was knotted very tightly. Ron lay on the bed without moving, watching Harry struggle to remove it.

"So," he said, when Harry had finally removed the banner and thrown it into a corner. "Congratulations."

"What d'you mean, congratulations?" said Harry, staring at Ron. There was definitely something wrong with the way Ron was smiling: It was more like a grimace.

"Well. . . no one else got across the Age Line," said Ron. "Not even Fred and George. What did you use - the Invisibility Cloak?"

"The Invisibility Cloak wouldn't have got me over that line," said Harry slowly.

"Oh right," said Ron. "I thought you might've told me if it was the cloak. . . because it would've covered both of us, wouldn't it? But you found another way, did you?"

"Listen," said Harry, "I didn't put my name in that goblet. Someone else must've done it."

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"What would they do that for?"

"I dunno," said Harry. He felt it would sound very melodramatic to say, "To kill me."

Ron's eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair.

"It's okay, you know, you can tell me the truth," he said. "If you don't want everyone else to know, fine, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie, you didn't get into trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady's, that Violet, she's already told us all Dumbledore's letting you enter. A thousand Galleons prize money, eh? And you don't have to do end-of-year tests either. . ."

"I didn't put my name in that goblet!" said Harry, starting to feel angry.

"Yeah, okay," said Ron, in exactly the same sceptical tone as Cedric. "Only you said this morning you'd have done it last night, and no one would've seen you.. . . I'm not stupid, you know."

"You're doing a really good impression of it," Harry snapped.

"Yeah?" said Ron, and there was no trace of a grin, forced or otherwise, on his face now.

"You want to get to bed, Harry. I expect you'll need to be up early tomorrow for a photo-call or something."

He wrenched the hangings shut around his four-poster, leaving Harry standing there by the door, staring at the dark red velvet curtains, now hiding one of the few people he had been sure would believe him.