Chapter 17

At breakfast the next morning, Professor McGonagall told Harry that Dumbledore wanted to see him in his office when he had finished eating. Harry gulped down his food quickly, then waited for Dumbledore to leave the head table. He noticed that both his godfathers left with him.

Remus was teaching DADA this year. It had been decided in Harry's second year that, since the position was cursed so that no one could teach the subject two years in a row, they would rotate the position. On the days Remus was recovering from the full moon, Sirius taught in his place. It had been a successful arrangement, not only for the two men, but for Dumbledore as well. For the first time since he had been headmaster, he had not had to look for a new Defense teacher every year.

When Harry arrived in the headmaster's office, he was invited to sit. He chose the seat between his two godfathers and accepted the lemon drop that was offered. His eyes almost crossed at the sour taste.

"I have carefully read the contract concerning the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore said. "And I spent most of the night reading over the history of the tournament. I have found that the contract has been carefully written to prevent those selected from abandoning the tournament. History tells us that the reason for this is that, because of the bambling that has always been a part of the tournament, people were offered large sums of gold to quit or concede to another competitor. Because of this, charms were put in place to make it impossible for anyone to abandon the tournament or to purposely lose after being selected by the Goblet. By placing your name in the Goblet, you are making an unbreakable vow. If you do not keep the vow, you will die."

"But Harry didn't place his name in the Goblet," Remus said.

"It has been allowed since the beginning of the tournament for a representative of the challenger to place his or her name in the Goblet. Therefore, it matters not that Harry was not the one to place his own name in the cup."

"But he gave no one permission to do it," Sirius said.

"And that was the loophole I spent the evening looking for," Albus told them. "I even called an expert on the subject who explained to me that it was the one flaw that the magical world had not yet overcome. The Goblet does not know that whomever placed Harry's name in the cup was not acting for Harry. Therefore, it does not matter. Harry is bound by magic to compete in the tournament. There is nothing that any of us can do about it. If he refuses, it will be the same as breaking an unbreakable vow."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. Sirius jumped up, knocking his chair over, and began to pace. "Damn it!" he shouted. "We need to find out who did this!"

"Whomever it was is no friend of Harry's," Albus said. "The tournament is meant for those who have almost completed their training. Harry has only completed 3 years out of 7."

"And it's dangerous," Remus said. "I have heard that people have died while . . ." He stopped suddenly, seeing the look on his godson's face. "But, then, Harry has always been very advanced," he added quickly. "If anyone can do it, he can."

Sirius turned to Remus, giving him a hard glare. "What?" Then his gaze fell on his godson. "Of course he can," he said. "Harry will win the damn thing!"

"Metha dreamed something bad was going to happen to me his year," Harry said softly. "She didn't want me to come back." Suddenly, he wished that he had stayed in the Elven Realm like his mother had wanted.

"I'll get a message to your father," Remus told him. "He'll want to be here."

Harry nodded, but he was still in shock. He could not believe that someone would do this to him. He did not know of any enemies who would want him dead, at least not in the school. And as far as he knew, Voldemort was still without a body.

"I have to get to class," he said. He stood and put his bag over his shoulder. "I'll see you later," he said, walking out of the office with a dazed look on his face.

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At lunch, Harry sat with Ron and Hermione. He picked at his food, unable to eat for the butterflies in his stomach.

"What did Professor Dumbledore say?" Hermione asked.

"I can't get out of it," he said. "It's like Wizard's Oath. If you don't go through with it, you die."

"Bloody hell!" Ron said. "Who do you think put your name in, Harry?"

"I don't know. Do you think it could have been a prank? Maybe Fred and George . . ."

"Nah, you saw what happened. They couldn't even put their own names in. Whoever did it was at least 17. You don't think someone's trying to kill you, do you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Why would someone want to kill me? I mean, Voldemort, sure, but how could he get inside the castle?"

"There could be someone here working for Voldemort, Harry," Hermione said. "Maybe someone here is a Death Eater. There are a lot of people roaming around the school now who don't belong here. There are aurors, and students from other schools, and Mr. Bagman, and reporters."

"Someone had to help Barty Crouch escape from the ministry," Ron said. "Maybe that person's here, trying to get you back for capturing him. Maybe it's his father!"

"His father is the one who put him in Azkaban in the first place," Hermione said.

"Yeah, but somebody helped him escape from there, too, Hermione, and made it look like he was dead," Ron argued. "It could have been his father."

"Well, don't worry, Harry," Hermione said. "We won't let you out of our sights. And your godfathers are here. You know they'll be looking for the person who did this."

Harry nodded. He knew his godfathers were trying to find out who had put his name in the cup.

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Harry was dismissed early from his potions class the next morning to have his wand weighed. When he entered the unused classroom, the other contestants were there, along with his godfathers, Dumbledore, and Ludo Bagman, the Head of Magical Games and Sports. A man with wide, pale eyes that never seemed to blink was standing behind a velvet-covered table. A female reporter with stiff hair, long fingernails, thick make-up, and jeweled glasses was talking with a short, stout photographer.

Everyone stopped their conversations when Harry entered and stared at him as he slowly made his way to where his godfathers were standing.

"Ah, Harry," Ludo Bagman said. "At last we have our fourth champion. Now, we can begin."

"Before you do," Dumbledore said. "I have something I want to say to the champions. Someone, and we do not know who, placed Harry Potter's name in the Goblet of Fire without his knowledge or his permission. He is therefore being forced to compete against his wishes. If it were in my power to remove him from the competition, I would do so, but it is not. Therefore, I ask that you all show Harry the same courtesy you show the other champions."

"Yes, yes, of course," Bagman said, smiling at Harry. "Come, Harry. You will be first to have your wand weighed."

Harry allowed Mr. Bagman to lead him to the table where he handed his wand to Mr. Ollivander, the man with the strange-looking eyes.

"Ah," Mr. Ollivander said. "Yes. I remember this wand well. Mahogany. Eleven inches. Pliable. Good for transfiguration. Quite a bit of power, too. It seems as if it were only yesterday that your father came into my shop to purchase this wand. Eleven years old, he was. You look quite a bit like him, but you have your mother's eyes. I remember her wand, too. Ten and a quarter inches. Willow. Swishy. Good for charms. Yes. Yes. You have her eyes."

Harry did not know how to respond to the man who remembered his parents so well, so he remained silent.

"No. No. This wand is not for you. Oh, it's the legal weight all right, but you would do better with your own wand. I will tell Dumbledore to have someone bring you to my shop on Saturday, Mr. Potter, and we will find the right wand for you."

He gave Harry back the wand. "Next?" he asked, dismissing Harry as if he no longer saw him standing there.

Harry went to his godfathers. "He said I had to have my own wand. He wants me to go to his shop on Saturday and get the right one."

"That's not a problem," Sirius said. "I'll take you to Diagon Alley on Saturday, and we'll get you a wand. We thought that, since you use mostly wandless magic, you would be fine with your fathers. It seems we were wrong."

"Mr. Potter," said a sickeningly sweet voice behind them. "I'm Rita Skeeter from the Daily Prophet. I'd like to do a short interview before we take the pictures." Without waiting for a response, she took his arm and steered him toward the exit. Remus and Sirius quickly fell into step beside them.

"You wouldn't mind if his guardians sat in on this interview, would you, Miss Skeeter?" Remus said. "After all, he is the only champion that is underage."

She frowned. "Well, actually . . ."

"You know," said Sirius. "I've been wanting to meet you. You write the most interesting articles."

She turned to Sirius and smiled. "Really? You think so?"

"Oh, yes. I've said so often, haven't I, Remus?"

"Oh, yes," Remus said. "He can be quite prolific in regard to your work."

She smiled. "Really? Prolific?"

"Quite," Sirius said, with a charming smile.

"Well, then, come on. We'll hold the interview in here," she said, opening the door to another empty classroom. She sat down on the professor's desk, crossed her legs, and laid her pad and pen beside her. "You don't mind if I use a Quik-Quotes Quill, do you?" she asked, wiggling her fingers and smiling flirtatiously at Sirius. "So I can keep my hands free?"

"Actually, I was hoping to speak more off the record," Sirius said, moving a student desk to the front of the classroom and sitting down directly in front of her. He let his eyes roam down her legs for a moment, and then grinned up at her. "You know, since Harry's so young and all."

Harry and Remus glanced at each other, trying to bite back their grins. They sat down in the student desks behind Sirius.

Rita cleared her throat. "All right, then. Harry, you were raised by Elves. Is that right?"

"Yes, " he said.

"And, yet, you're not really an Elf, are you, Harry?"

"Actually . . ."

"Oh, who cares about that Elf stuff?" Sirius said, winking at her. "That's old news. What do you really want to know, Rita? Oh, sorry. Miss Skeeter."

"You can call me Rita, Mr. Black," she said, winking back at him.

"And, please, call me Sirius." He placed his chin in his hand and gazed up at her mischievously.

"Harry," she said, forcing her eyes from his godfather. "What do you think your parents would say if they knew you had been adopted by Elves?"

"They're grateful," he said.

Her eyebrows rose and she looked at him over her glasses. "How would you know that?"

"Well . . ."

"What parent wouldn't be grateful to have their son adopted by a loving family?" Sirius asked. "I know, if I should find the right woman some day, I would appreciate the fact that someone loved our child enough to care for him. That is, if something should happen to us. Wouldn't you, Rita?"

"Well, of course, I would be grateful if someone loved our child." Her eyes widened when she realized what she had said. She picked up the pad and began to fan her face. "Does anyone else find it hot in here?"

Sirius grinned at her. "It does seem to be getting warmer."

"Now, about the tournament," she said. "Harry, what do you think . . ."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Time for pictures, Rita," the photographer said, sticking his head in the door. "We have to be out of these classrooms in 5 minutes."

Rita looked down at her empty pad. "Right," she said, and then slid off the desk. "It was delightful meeting you," she said, holding her hand out to Sirius.

He took her hand, bowed over it, and then kissed it, his eyes never leaving her face. "The pleasure was all mine."

"Perhaps we'll see each other again?"

"Oh, you can count on it," he said, giving her a final wink before joining Harry and Remus in the hallway.

"You're such a cad," Remus commented, and Harry burst into a fit of giggles.

Sirius grinned at him. "I've still got it, Remus."

"Yes, well, let's hope it's not contagious."