When they entered the Great Hall and found seats, Harry's friends spoke about the Halloween decorations rather than discussing potential Champions like the rest of the school, and he appreciated it more than he could ever say. That there was a way for Dumbledore to get him out of it was incredibly comforting, but Harry still couldn't help but be nervous, because what if Voldemort knew, and had a way around it? What if Karkaroff was helping him - despite what Draco and Ron seemed to think - and voted against Dumbledore?
Harry reminded himself that Dumbledore - while still a little worried - had been greatly reassured by his conversation that morning, and tried to draw confidence from that. He also tried not to look at the Goblet of Fire, which sat on its pedestal in the place where the Sorting Hat stool usually resided before the Opening Feast at the start of term.
"Evening." Fred and George sat in uncannily timed unison, drawing Harry out of his own head.
"You two look remarkably unscathed," Draco said. Since they'd last seen the twins at breakfast, being dragged up to the staff table by a furious McGonagall, it was a reasonable observation to make; the twins bragging loudly about successfully bypassing the Age Line hadn't ever had any chance of being well received, and even less so when Padfoot walked in and verified it by claiming he'd seen them and their older accomplice.
"Luckily," Fred said, seeming amused. "I don't reckon I've ever seen old McGonagall so angry..."
"And we've given her a lot of cause, over the years," George added. "'course, once she read the letter and calmed down a bit, she went straight from 'eternal detention this' and 'letters to Mum and Dad that' to giving us a twenty points and a biscuit each."
"Blimey," Ron said, looking awed.
"Then it was just a matter of keeping us there long enough to make it believable-"
"Weasleys!" McLaggen flung his arms over both twins' shoulders. "I can't believe you did it - you're my heroes, seriously!" Hermione rolled her eyes.
Fred and George preened a little, but less than they might have if they'd outsmarted Dumbledore's line without Dumbledore's help.
"Do you reckon you'll be picked?" McLaggen looked eager.
"We can hope, but probably not," Fred said, shrugging. "And even if one of us is picked, I don't reckon they'd let us compete."
When McLaggen had drifted off to sit with the other fifth year boys - who'd claimed the bench beside Fleur Delacour and her friends and didn't seem able to believe their luck (or stop staring) - Fred turned to Harry. "Would they?"
"Not if Dumbledore has anything to say about it," Harry said. Fred and George nodded with satisfaction and slid down the bench to where the rest of the Quidditch team - or former Quidditch team, rather - were sitting.
The five of them were mostly quiet as the food appeared and they loaded their plates - or, in Harry's case, took a roll from the basket in the middle of the table and picked at it, too anxious to feel properly hungry. Ron noticed after a few minutes, frowned, lowered his fork, and put a sausage, some roast vegetables, and a large scoop of some sort of pasta bake onto Harry's empty plate and set it down in front of him.
"'M not hungry," Harry muttered, but Ron gave him a look that was so oddly reminiscent of Molly Weasley that Harry found himself tucking in; whatever happened, Harry supposed, it would be better to deal with it on a full stomach.
Ron nodded, and went back to his own dinner without a word, and glancing up, Harry thought Draco was the only one that had noticed the exchange; the girls were picking nervously at their own dinners, and shooting glances up at the staff table.
Then, Hermione put a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle:
"Look at Hagrid," she said. Hagrid had one elbow in his dinner, chin in hand and was gazing - there really was no other word for it - adoringly down the table at Madame Maxime, who sat between Dumbledore and Moony. McGonagall - who was beside Hagrid - tapped his arm several times, then appeared to give up and vanished the mess, without Hagrid seeming to notice. Ginny snorted into her pumpkin juice, and just like that, the nervous tension around their little group eased - literally; Harry could smell the difference.
"He fancies her," Ron said, eyebrows shooting up.
"Of course he does," Draco said. Harry had to agree; he could see from here that Hagrid had tried to comb his hair, and Harry suspected he was wearing aftershave or something similar; both McGonagall and Padfoot - who had the seats beside him - were leaning slightly away, and Padfoot kept wrinkling his nose. Even Moony, who was on Madame Maxime's other side, kept glancing in Hagrid's direction, though he was clearly far enough away that he found it more funny than uncomfortable. Harry found it in himself to smile, amused. "They're practically made for each other."
"I think it's sweet," Hermione said.
"I didn't say it wasn't," Draco said primly. "I like Hagrid-"
"I know," Hermione said, "but your tone sort of implied-"
"Imagine how big any baby of theirs'd be," Ron interrupted, eyes wide, and even Harry had to laugh at the look on his face. "It'd be as big as you, Ginny." Ginny scowled, but it was good-natured.
The rest of dinner sneaked past while they speculated about Hagrid and so it came as a rather unpleasant shock when the remnants of Harry's treacle tart vanished along with the rest of the plates and cutlery, and Dumbledore stood. The Hall fell immediately silent.
"It is almost time for the Goblet of Fire to make its decision," he said. "Madam Sprottle, if you would…"
Sprottle stood as Dumbledore sat, and strode around the staff table to stand a few feet away from the Goblet, which was burning with bright, white-blue flames that made Harry think of patronuses.
Some people were shifting impatiently in their seats, glancing at their watches and muttering in low voices. Others sat still as statues - non-magical ones - as if they were afraid movement might make the wait longer. Harry was one of the still ones, as were Draco and Ginny, while Ron and Hermione were fidgeters. Up at the staff table, Padfoot was fidgeting too.
Suddenly, the flames turned red and sparks rained out of the Goblet and onto the stone floor - now Harry understood why Sprottle had kept her distance - and then a long tail of flame burst out, flicked like a cat's tail, and released a smoking bit of parchment. Sprottle caught it a little awkwardly in her palms - and Harry had the absurd thought that she clearly hadn't ever been a Seeker - and unfolded it. The Goblet's flames had gone back to an innocent white-blue.
"The Goblet has chosen Viktor Krum to be the Champion for Durmstrang," she said, in a clear, carrying voice, and cheers erupted.
"No surprises there," Ron said to Harry, clapping enthusiastically. Krum stood at the Slytherin table, amidst pats on the back and noisy whistling, then shuffled up to Sprottle, who waved him toward the door in the Hall's back corner. Colin, strategically placed at the end of the Gryffindor table closest to the staff table, snapped away with his camera.
"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff said loudly. "Knew you had it in you!" Dumbledore clapped politely, but Madame Maxime was eyeing Krum as she clapped, visibly both displeased but unsurprised that it was him who'd been chosen. She leaned over to whisper something to Moony.
A few moments after Krum disappeared, the Goblet's flames turned red again, and flames propelled a second piece of parchment out.
"The Goblet has chosen Fleur Delacour to be the Champion for Beauxbatons," Sprottle announced, and Harry thought that he probably should have seen that one coming too. Fleur rose gracefully, head held high, and with a look on her face that Harry could only describe as satisfied; there was less applause for her than Krum; Harry didn't think it was because she was less popular, but instead because she was rather stunning in her triumph and a good number of people - mainly boys - were too busy staring at her to remember to clap.
Harry did, though, and up at the staff table, Moony clapped loudly, a pleased look on his face.
Two of the Beauxbatons girls over at the Ravenclaw table burst into tears, and a few of the others had sour looks on their faces as they clapped, but the Beauxbatons girls that Fleur had been sitting with on the Gryffindor table were smiling and one even let out a piercing whistle.
Fleur vanished through the door Krum had gone through, and everyone's attention returned to the Goblet. Harry felt like he might choke on his heart, which had taken up residence in his throat, and was regretting how much he'd eaten at dinner.
One name left.
There was another whip of red flame, and Harry heard Hermione suck in a breath. The final bit of smoking parchment fluttered down toward Sprottle's palms, and Ron was sitting very still beside Harry. Sprottle caught the parchment, and Draco leaned forward, as if he might be able to read the name from across the Hall. Sprottle unfolded the parchment and cleared her throat, and Ginny was not looking at her, but at Harry.
"The Goblet has chosen Cedric Diggory to be the Champion for Hogwarts." A roar went up, both deafening and oddly distant to Harry all at once, as if his ears were filled with water. Relief flooded through him and he looked immediately to Padfoot, who'd leapt to his feet with a pleased exclamation and then covered himself by applauding in Cedric's direction. Cedric had stood, smiling and accepting pats on the back, and was making his way toward the front of the Hall.
"Diggory, Harry!" Ron laughed, shaking him by the shoulder. Hermione clapped, beaming at Harry across the table, and Draco's scent was satisfied. Ginny - also clapping - caught Harry's eye and he could see the same relieved confusion in her smile as Harry thought must be in his, because having Harry as a Champion had seemed to fit Voldemort's agenda so well. They could worry about how they'd been wrong later though, maybe even be a bit embarrassed about it, but for now… For now, he was just going to be glad for it.
Ginny's smile grew a bit more genuine as she watched Harry, and then there was a surprised murmur racing around the Hall, and Ginny's face went white.
Harry whipped back around, and felt like he was the only one moving in a Hall gone still to watch the once-again-red Goblet shoot out another bit of parchment.
It fluttered downward with deceptive innocence, and Sprottle, who'd been making her way back around the table - presumably to let Dumbledore take over again - watched it in disbelief. Then she unfroze, and walked slowly back to the Goblet, bending to pick the parchment up off the ground.
"The Goblet has chosen Harry Potter to be the Champion for-" Sprottle's eyebrows rose. "-Walpurgis Academy."
There was no applause for Harry, as there had been for the other three. There weren't even whispers just yet, only stunned silence. He was reminded of the first few weeks after he'd managed his animagus transformation and not yet learned to ignore his newly hypersensitive hearing; then, he'd been incredibly aware of the noisy breathing and dull heartbeats of everyone around him, and he was again now.
Harry didn't want to stand, didn't want to leave the safety of the Gryffindor table, but he knew he would have to, and it would be better he did it on his own, with his head up and back straight, than have Sprottle call him again or ask someone to escort him.
Harry stood. There was an edge of dread to his friends' scents - heavy, somehow - but mostly he smelled their resolve. Whether it was to find him a way out, or find a way to get him through if they couldn't, he didn't know. He drew comfort from the fact that whatever came next, they'd be with him, but he knew if he looked at them he'd find it that much harder to walk away, so he didn't. Further down, Colin's camera flashed, and whispers exploded around him:
"Where the bloody hell is Walpurgis Academy?"
"But Potter goes to Hogwarts!"
"Look at his face!"
"He's not even seventeen-"
"That didn't stop the Weasleys..."
"Typical Potter."
"Oh dear." Harry managed to pick Luna's voice out of the crowd. "I don't think Harry wants to be a Champion."
"Surely it's a mistake - it's a Triwizard Tournament, not a Quadwizard Tournament."
There were some rather unsavoury names moving around the Hall too, but Harry just tightened his jaw and pretended not to hear them - with normal hearing, he wouldn't have. Of everything being said - the names, and the questions, and the theories, and everything else - only one comment almost got him:
"Look at Black's face!"
Harry didn't dare.
"Cedric Diggory," said the handsome boy that had joined Fleur and Krum by the fire. He shook both their hands, then moved back, seeming unable to decide whether he wanted to stare at Fleur or Krum more. Fleur found herself amused by it; it was a novel thing for her, and when Krum made a soft noise that might have been a laugh, she thought he must be thinking the same. "Hogwarts Champion. I mean- yeah, that was probably obvious." He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Krum now. "I'm a massive fan, sorry. It's a bit surreal to think we'll be competing against each other. You're- both of you are..." He trailed off with a self deprecating grin, and Fleur decided she liked him, this startlingly normal boy that would compete against an international Quidditch star, and her.
"You are clearly also somethink as vell," Krum said, studying him from beneath thick eyebrows. "The Goblet vould not haff chosen you othervise."
Fleur blinked, because that was a very good point. Cedric Diggory seemed genuinely polite and normal and altogether very unassuming compared to Krum, and was perhaps more dangerous because of it. Krum was a competitor she could respect, could challenge herself against. Cedric was someone she could see herself genuinely liking, and that made him a threat.
"Well," Fleur said, drawing herself up to her full height, and letting a little of her veela magic coat herself, "may the best witch win." Cedric blinked and went a bit pink, then seemed to shake it off.
"We'll see," he said, with a playful grin that had Fleur's own mouth turning up in response. Yes, she would need to be careful of him. She glanced at Krum to gauge his reaction.
"We practiced for the Vorld Cup vith full veela tryink to distract us," he told her with a little smirk. "You vill have to try to get the upper hand another vay."
"I look forward to it," she said, a little thrill going through her at the idea.
There were footsteps then, quiet ones, and only a single pair. Fleur and the other two turned to see not one of the Headmasters, or Madame Sprottle, or even her assistant, but-
"Potter?" Cedric asked. Potter's eyes flicked to him and his mouth turned down. Cedric made a small movement toward the other boy, then seemed to think better of it. "Are-?"
"What is it?" Fleur asked, stung that Potter's eyes had not yet landed on her at all, even when she was projecting. "Do they want us back in the Hall?"
"No," Harry said dully, and went to stand by Cedric. He stared down at the fire, looking tired. Fleur could have been any other person, for all the attention he spared her, and the same was true of Krum. Fleur didn't like it any more than she had yesterday, but Krum gave Harry a curious look.
"What's happened?" Cedric asked. Harry glanced up at him, then over at Fleur and Krum. He sighed, and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by loud footsteps, and distant voices.
Auror Black swept into the room and pulled Harry into a hug. Krum caught Fleur's eye and she shrugged. Cedric looked troubled. Harry did not pull away or protest like most other teenage boys would have, but rather clung to Auror Black for several long seconds.
They were speaking, she thought, because their mouths were moving, but - though they were only a few feet away - she could not hear even a whisper.
Everyone else arrived then, and loudly; Headmaster Karkaroff was talking angrily at Headmaster Dumbledore while two of Hogwarts' other teachers - the stern witch in tartan, and the younger, dark haired man with the bad skin and hair - exchanged grim looks. Madame Maxime and Madame Sprottle were both silent, and wore identical troubled expressions, and Monseiur Lupin said nothing at all, just swept past everyone to go and stand by Auror Black and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Fleur scowled.
"What is happening?" she demanded.
"We have a fourth Champion!" Monsieur Bagman trotted in to join them with Madame Sprottle's assistant - who had an enormous book cradled in his arms - trailing behind. "Exciting stuff! Never a dull moment where Harry Potter's concerned, am I right?!" Fleur thought she heard Auror Black growl and Monsieur Lupin put a hand on his arm. Then her eyes moved slightly to their left, because there were more important things to worry about.
"Is this a joke?" she asked.
"Not at all," Monsieur Bagman said. "Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, same as yours."
Harry Potter, a Champion?! Harry tightened his jaw and bore her narrow-eyed look with a stiff sort of defiance. Krum got the same look, but Cedric got a tiny, helpless shrug.
"Him? That boy?" Potter scowled, but Auror Black looked ill. "He is too young!" Fleur spun to look at her Headmistress, who put a heavy, ringed hand on her shoulder but said nothing, eyes on Monsieur Lupin, who seemed to be having a silent conversation with Auror Black. Headmaster Karkaroff, at least, responded appropriately:
"It's an outrage," he said, jabbing an angry finger at Headmaster Dumbledore. "Hogwarts cannot have two Champions, I-"
"Hogwarts does not," said the greasy looking professor that had accompanied Headmaster Dumbledore, tone sharp as a knife. "If you were listening, Karakaroff, Potter is the Champion for Walpurgis Academy."
"Severus," Headmaster Dumbledore murmured, but didn't actually sound like he minded.
"He looks like a Hogwarts student to me," Headmaster Karkaroff said. Potter met his gaze, eyes sharp and almost dangerous-looking, and Karkaroff was the first to look away. No love lost there, clearly.
"He is," Headmaster Dumbledore said, and gone was the happy, grandfatherly man he'd been since they arrived. He was still calm, but his tone was cool and unyielding as ice. Headmaster Karkaroff wilted a little. Headmaster Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Madam Sprottle, as Harry's Headmaster, I really must object to him being made to represent another school."
"I object to him competing at all," Auror Black said, placing both hands on Harry's shoulders and glaring at them all over the boy's shoulder. "Harry's underage and as his guardian-"
"None of that matters," Madame Sprottle's assistant interrupted. He was balancing his open book precariously on his knee. "The rules clearly state that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the Tournament."
"It's probably not even a real school," the witch in tartan said. "Surely-"
"It is, actually." Madame Sprottle had joined her assistant and procured a folded piece of parchment from the front cover of the book. "This is the list of schools that registered for the Tournament when it was announced." She tapped a name near the end of a rather long list. "Walpurgis Academy, registered by Headmaster D. Polkov."
Harry, Auror Black, Monsieur Lupin, and Headmaster Dumbledore all reacted to that, either with strange, choked noises, or aborted movements; Auror Black's knuckles went white on Harry's shoulders, which must have hurt, but the boy didn't even flinch. A look passed between the four of them, something significant, though Fleur couldn't guess what.
"The duellink school?" Krum asked into the heavy silence that followed.
"Polkov ran a club, not an school," Headmaster Karkaroff said, sounding disgruntled rather than angry now. Harry and Auror Black's heads snapped over to him in uncanny unison, like dogs that had heard their food bowls being filled, and they they exchanged a loaded look. "And I was under the impression it was exclusive to Durmstrang."
"Apparently not," Madame Sprottle said, watching Harry with pursed lips. "Is Polkov here at Hogwarts?" Fleur watched with interest as the corners of Harry's mouth turned down.
"He was killed at the World Cup," Headmaster Karkaroff said.
"Surely that means we can get Harry out of it," Auror Black said to Madame Sprottle.
"Did the school remain open?" Madame Sprottle's assistant asked Karkaroff. He shrugged.
"I think before we try to get him out of it, we should hear what young Harry has to say about this," Monsieur Bagman interrupted. "He's been very quiet so far, and he wouldn't have put his name in if he didn't want to compete." He grinned at Harry, and Auror Black opened his mouth, expression furious, but Monsieur Lupin elbowed him and he snapped it shut and shot Monsieur Lupin a disgruntled look.
"I didn't out my name in," Harry said, quietly, but firmly. "And I don't want to compete." He tilted his head as if studying Monsieur Bagman. After several long moments that left Monsieur Bagman looking unnerved, Harry shook his head slightly.
"Happy?" Auror Black asked, baring his teeth.
"Not at all," Headmaster Karkaroff said. "Who else would have entered him?"
"If he did not enter and does not want to compete, then we cannot allow him to," Madame Maxime said, speaking for the first time. Harry shot her a surprised but grateful look, that spasmed when she added, "He is only a boy."
After a moment, Madame Sprottle nodded.
"William, can you try to get in contact with someone at Walpurgis Academy - perhaps they can shed some light on this, and, failing that, may be able to withdraw their school. It is not bound as tightly to the Goblet as Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang, so there may be a way… Failing that, the new Headmaster or Headmistress might be willing to call that vote we were discussing earlier today." She exchanged significant glances with the Headmasters and Madame Maxime. Madame Sprottle's assistant bobbed his head and hurried out, clutching his rulebook and the list of schools.
"And failing that, I compete, right?" Harry's tone was matter of fact.
"You're not-" Auror Black began.
"Failing that, yes, you compete." Madame Sprottle said over the top of him. Harry nodded, shrinking - just slightly - back against Auror Black. Monsieur Lupin reached out to squeeze his shoulder.
"Instruction time, I think," Monsieur Bagman said, and when Sprottle nodded, bounced forward, gesturing for Fleur and the others to come closer. "You too, Harry, until you're out, you're in." Harry squeezed in beside Cedric, expression resigned.
"Now, the first task…" Fleur's stomach gave a little leap. "It's designed to test your daring, so we won't tell you what it is. You'll need to show courage in the face of the unknown - a very important quality in a witch or wizard." Behind Monsieur Bagman, the greasy professor - Severus - leaned over and muttered something to Auror Black, who snorted, his expression wry. "You will be armed with your wand, and only your wand."
"The task will take place on the twenty-fourth of November," Madame Sprottle said, "and you will perform in front of your peers and the panel of judges."
"That's me, Damaris, Dumbledore, Maxime, and Karkaroff," Monseiur Bagman said. "And maybe someone from Walpurgis, depending on how things work out." He winked at Harry, who grimaced.
Madame Sprottle took over again:
"As Champions, you are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from anyone involved with the running and organisation of the Tournament - like myself, William, or Mister Bagman - or from your teachers."
Auror Black twitched, and Monsieur Lupin murmured something that made him relax and nod. Harry's mouth twitched up ever so slightly - at the exact same time as Monsieur Lupin's - though his back was to them and he shouldn't have had any idea what was going on.
Headmaster Karkaroff was exchanging a look with Krum, and Fleur interpreted it as a silent agreement to disregard that particular rule.
Fleur nodded to Madame Sprottle to show she understood, but wondered how loose they would be able to be with their definition of 'help'.
"Any questions? No?" Bagman clapped his hands together. "The four of you can go, then, and the rest of us-" He gestured to himself and the other older adults. "-can pretend we think you've gone to bed and not to join rowdy celebrations." He winked. "Nightcap, Dumbledore? Damaris?"
"I think I need one," Headmaster Karkaroff said, and Madame Maxime nodded tiredly.
"Sirius..." Headmaster Dumbledore said.
"I'll be awake," Auror Black said, stepping forward to put a hand on Harry's shoulder and start guiding him toward the door. "Moony?"
"I'll drop by the carriage at midnight, and make sure the students are all in bed," Monsieur Lupin said to Madame Maxime in French.
"See hello to your Dora for me" she replied, and Monsieur Lupin smiled and nodded, then fell into step beside Fleur as they left the antechamber.
"Congratulations," he said, in quiet French. "I think - with everything else that's just happened - we all forgot to say that." She smiled at him and he smiled back, tired but genuine. "You'll do brilliantly, I'm sure."
"I know I will." His smile became distinctly amused.
"You really didn't put your name in?" Cedric asked Harry, as they made their way through the empty Hall.
"I really didn't," Harry said. Cedric blew out a long breath, then wished everyone a good night and peeled away from the little group to disappear down a side door.
"Hopefully, they vill get you free of it, then, for your sake," Krum said seriously. "You are young, and not prepared, and vill only be at risk otherwise." He nodded at Fleur, ignored Monsieur Lupin and Auror Black, and headed for the large doors to the grounds.
"He should not be allowed to compete," Fleur said to Monsieur Lupin, in French.
"No arguments there," Monsieur Lupin replied. Harry looked between them, eyes narrowed slightly, as if he knew he was being talked about.
"You are too young," she told him, in English this time, so he'd understand. "You should not be allowed to compete."
"Wish the Goblet thought so," he said. She wasn't sure if he meant it as an agreement, or was trying to make a point.
"Hopefully they get you out," she said. She might be able to forgive him for all of this if they did. "But if they don't, you'd do well to remember that you are to us what a first year is to you, and that we entered this Tournament to win. You say you don't want to compete - maybe it's true, maybe it's not - but if you're made to, you'll be after the prize, same as the rest of us." She looked down her nose at him. "The moment you become a competitor, you become a threat, and I will not be soft with you because you are a child."
Monsieur Lupin pursed his lips disapprovingly, but didn't tell her off, perhaps understanding that this was a matter between Champions- or one Champion, and whatever it was that Harry might be. Auror Black was impassive, and Harry...
Harry was neither cowed or defiant; he chuckled, with grim but real amusement.
"No one ever is," Harry said, and Auror Black made a strange noise in his throat. "You can have the cup and the galleons and the glory, or Cedric or Krum can," he said. "I don't care."
And then, as if she didn't already have enough reasons to dislike him, he turned and started up the wide staircase, denying her of the chance to have the last word.
