The Prince-Who-Lived
Chapter Seventeen
A week before the expected arrival of the other schools, a notice went up in the Entrance Hall. In the time after, the castle seemed to clean itself up in less time than you would expect for such a large castle. The suits of armour gleamed; the portraits ran about to try and not get rubbing spotless, and the talk of the school was the Tournament and nothing else. The teachers seemed to grow a little fierce as well, snapping at failure more harshly than ever before. Ron startled Neville into messing up his spell and got detention for that evening with a threat to never do that in front of any of the other schools. Neville glowered and reversed his mistake before repeating the spell perfectly and leaving without speaking to him. They made up the next morning, and then October thirtieth came. The Great Hall was spotless and decked in silk hangings representing the different houses and the combined badge of the school.
Classes were nigh pointless with none of the students paying any attention to what was going on. Potions was probably the most well behaved class, but with it a half-hour shorter, there was a limit on what they could do. Finally, however, they were released and went upstairs to drop their bags and return to go outside and wait. Harry felt very offended that he was too short to see clearly, and that they'd placed a girl in front of him so as to not block him completely. He was amused to see that it was Ginny. Harry didn't join in the speculation too actively, and when Dumbledore announced the arrival, he watched, poking and jibing Ron and Neville as the large powder-blue carriage landed.
A boy jumped out and dropped the steps before stepping respectfully back to allow for a very tall, very fine woman to step out. Harry had to wonder just by how much the inside of that carriage was expanded to allow for her and the students who followed to remain comfortably inside, as she was quite comparable to Hagrid in size. When Dumbledore respectfully greeted her, he barely had to tilt his head to kiss her hand. The Beauxbatons group slipped inside, and then the waiting began for the Durmstrang crowd. Harry was slightly apprehensive, although he could think of several questions he'd like to ask. Durmstrang had a reputation for being Dark and, as any child, he was curious about what he didn't know.
The large sucking sound drew his eyes to the lake, and he was greatly impressed at the boat that rose from beneath the water. The disembarking went by, but when he took a good look at Karkaroff he felt his mouth curl: his parents hadn't been silent about the Death Eaters that weren't in Azkaban for whatever reason they'd managed to get out, and Harry knew of Igor Karkaroff's reputation. That he was Headmaster at Durmstrang did little for its reputation. However, behind Karkaroff was someone that made Harry jump and grin, elbowing Ron excitedly and pointing to the sharp profile of Viktor Krum. Neville hushed Ron, but that only lasted until the Hogwarts students were freed to allow them to move to the Great Hall with the guests.
"Krum, Harry, Viktor Krum!" Ron moaned. Harry laughed, and Hermione rolled her eyes, looking disdainfully at the group of sixth year girls squabbling over lipstick. Ron didn't seem to notice, "Any of you have a quill?"
Harry glanced back at Neville who raised his eyebrow in turn. Harry chuckled and looked forward again. "Good luck in talking Neville into handing it over."
Ron gaped at Neville, and watched as he brushed casually by, giving Harry a discrete and annoyed glance. Sitting at the Gryffindor table, they watched the guests make themselves comfortable.
"Look at them." Hermione grumbled. She pointed to where the Beauxbatons students were settling at the Ravenclaw table. "You'd think it was still freezing and a draughty little shack with the way they're shivering."
The Beauxbatons students were still wrapped in their shawls and scarves. In contrast, the Durmstrang students were shedding their furs to reveal blood red robes and curious faces; they stared around at the enchanted ceiling and the golden settings with interest. Ron looked at their seating at the Slytherin table and snorted angrily.
"Would you look at that, Prince's already warming up to them. I'll bet Krum'll turn him down flat."
Harry looked quickly over to the Slytherin table and found that Ron was apparently seeing wrong. Alan wasn't warming up to Krum; he was avoiding the Durmstrang student seated next to him who appeared to be invading his space for some reason. Talking to Krum seemed to fix that problem rather quickly, as the student subsided with a faint grumble. Krum seemed reluctant to respond.
Professor Dumbledore and the two headmasters entered the room. The Beauxbatons students leapt to their feet as Madam Maxine passed, completely unembarrassed by the attitude of some of the students around them, and only sat when she did. Dumbledore remained standing, turning to face the students.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, and –most particularly – guests!" Dumbledore beamed across the hall. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts! I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable!"
One of the Beauxbatons students, still hidden beneath a shawl, gave a short derisive laugh. Hermione hissed, but Neville held her back with a disinterested look.
"The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast." Dumbledore said. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"
He sat and Karkaroff immediately leaned forward to engage him in conversation. The tables filled with food, and Harry was delighted to see all the variety the house elves had pulled out. The dishes were filled completely, and there were several that were distinctly foreign. Neville sat forward with interest and moved to sample several unknowns. Harry remained with his staples and only tried a few new dishes.
"What's that?" Ron asked, pointing at the shellfish stew Neville was taking a taste of.
"No clue." Neville said, just as Hermione said, "Bouillabaisse."
"Bless you." Ron said.
"It's French." Hermione patiently explained. "I had it on holiday, summer before last, it's very nice."
"I'll take your word for that." Ron responded, leaning back to the black pudding. Harry laughed, and Neville nodded slowly, refraining from trying more.
Hagrid came in partway through with a bandaged hand and a wide grin. Shortly thereafter, the girl who'd finally removed her muffler stepped over and asked with a heavy accent, "Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"
Neville turned and Ron squeaked. Harry turned as well and nodded slowly, lifting the pot into her hands. He was entranced a moment by her silvery hair, and then shook his head slowly. Neville merely shrugged beside him, not looking.
"It was lovely." Ron beamed. Neville had to stifle a snicker, and the girl left. Harry pulled his eyes from her hair and then rubbed them quickly. Ron gulped, and stared longer.
"She's a veela."
"Of course she isn't." Hermione snapped. "I don't see anyone else gaping like an idiot."
She silenced as Neville pointed several others out who were staring deeply, and then Neville shrugged again. "I'd say part veela, possibly."
"She'd definitely not normal!" Ron breathed, leaning aside to keep an eye on her. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"
"That's because you're not looking." Neville returned, his gaze returned to his plate.
Hermione rolled her eyes, and looked up. "Well, when you've put your eyes back in you can see who just arrived."
Harry and Neville both looked up at the table at once, and found themselves looking at one stranger and one person they recognized. Beside Professor Karkaroff was Mr. Bagman, and next to Madam Maxine was a round-faced, lean man with light brown hair, wearing a proper suit in an eye-catching dark orange, almost brown, with scarlet piping. He was smiling and talking pleasantly with the woman, with a face that was quick to smile. Harry nodded slowly.
"I think that's Kenner Templar, Crouch's replacement. I heard he's a nice man." Harry answered slowly. Neville nodded, and Ron shrugged.
Pudding arrived and Ron tried to draw the girl over again with strange blancmange, but she didn't come and neither Harry nor Neville commented on it; Hermione's snort was enough. Finally, the plates cleared, and all eyes turned to Dumbledore as excitement built in the air. Fred and George were watching him intently, and Dumbledore spread his hands with a warm smile as he looked over the eagerly attentive room.
"The time has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure we will be following this year. First, let me introduce the newly appointed Mr. Kenner Templar," Kenner stood and bowed promptly, giving everyone a bright smile, "taking over for Mr. Crouch as Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation," Pleasant applause followed, as the students were heartened by his pleasantly eager face, "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
The applause for him was much louder, either from his fame as a Beater or his far showier acknowledgement of waving and grinning. Dumbledore continued.
"Mr. Templar has done wonderfully to pick up from where Mr. Crouch left off, and he and Mr. Bagman will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxine on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts." The attention in the room palpably sharpened, and Dumbledore acknowledged it with a smile. "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."
Mr. Filch moved from the far shadows carrying a large chest decorated with enough jewels to make it look tawdry. A murmur of interest moved through the gathered students, as Filch walked up with the old-looking chest.
"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been looked over by Mr. Templar and Mr. Bagman, and the necessary arrangements have been made and double-checked." Dumbledore continued as Mr. Filch placed the chest on the table between himself and Dumbledore. "There will be three tasks for the champions, spaced throughout the school year that will test the champions in different ways … their magical prowess … their daring … their powers of deduction … and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."
Silence fell throughout the room, and Harry breathed slowly, turning carefully in his seat to glance over at Alan. Alan was watching Dumbledore through half-lidded eyes, playing on his plate with his knife. He was very tense, and Harry had finally remembered why.
"As you know, three champions participate in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total at the end of task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector … the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times on the top of the casket. When the lid opened, he reached inside and removed from within a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It was largely unremarkable except for the fact that it was filled completely with dancing, blue-white flames. The cup was placed on top of the closed casket, clearly visible to everyone within the Hall.
"Anyone wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly on a slip of parchment and drop it into the Goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Hallowe'en, the Goblet will return the names of the three it judges most worthy to represent their schools. The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall tonight where it will be freely accessible to those who wish to compete.
"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," Dumbledore gazed solemnly over the students, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the Entrance Hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.
"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete this Tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once the Goblet of Fire has selected a champion, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become champion. Please be very sure that you are whole-heartedly prepared to participate before you drop your name into the Goblet.
"Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight to you all."
Harry and his friends got up and walked down the table, listening to Fred and George discuss how to get in.
"An Age Line! That should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn't it?" Fred wondered.
"Wouldn't Dumbledore have thought of that?" Neville queried. "That's a pretty obvious cheat, isn't it?"
Fred and George brushed Neville off, much to Neville's annoyance, but Harry reached back to pull him forward as ballast to offset Ron's obsessive search for Viktor Krum. Finally, passing the Slytherin table, Harry heard Karkaroff begin to chivvy his students towards the door. He started to address Krum, and then fell strangely silent. Harry glanced over and saw his eyes had stopped on Alan's face. It lasted only a moment, before Alan jerked his chin up, and stalked away and out the door with the rest of the students, Blaise trailing him. Karkaroff was clearly shaken, but he returned to worrying over Krum once more. Harry overheard him begin another question about whom he'd been talking to before he split from them and went on up the stairs.
IIII
After breakfast Saturday, at which both Fred and George tested the Age Line and got very nice white beards to show for it, Harry and the others slipped outside to pay Hagrid the courtesy of a visit. All of them were less than happy to hear that the Skrewts were still fine, although fortunately they were now down to twenty of the things, rather than more. Finally, however, it was nearing to the time for the Hallowe'en feast, and they left. Neville shook his head as they followed Hagrid and Madame Maxine in.
"Mental, but fair, I suppose." Neville commented. "They are both cut from the same cloth; I've never seen anyone else their size, so mayhap they're made for each other?"
Harry laughed. "Fair enough statement. They do seem to be birds of a feather."
They entered the Great Hall after the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, and found themselves inside with the place as full as it could ever be. The Goblet was once more resting in front of the staff table, directly before Dumbledore's empty seat, and Harry chose seats right next to the once-more clean-shaven twins who had accepted their disappointment and chosen to direct their energies to hoping for a Gryffindor champion.
The Hallowe'en Feast wasn't as warm, tense, or, indeed, enjoyable as it had been the last few years. With the Goblet before every table, all eyes seemed to be drawn inexorably towards it, and the attention of everyone was divided between their food and the upcoming decision, a decision none of them could wait to hear.
Finally, the plates cleared to spotlessness, the talk escalated and then disappeared as Dumbledore stood. Beside him, the other two Headmasters were watching with the same interest as the rest of the students and Ludo Bagman was smiling and almost bouncing with excitement. Opposite him, Mr. Templar was resting his chin on his hands with a wide smile, his interest skipping between Dumbledore and the Goblet.
"Well, I suspect the decision is almost at hand. One more minute should be enough." Dumbledore said, completely calm. "Now, when the champions names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber," He indicated the door behind the staff table, "where they will be receiving their first instructions."
Dumbledore gave his wand a great, sweeping wave and the lights went out, leaving the only illumination as the wavering blue flames of the Goblet of Fire. A gentle murmur passed through the Hall, all eyes steadily focused at front on the almost painful Goblet, several people checking watches and shifting with nervous energy.
"Any second now," Lee Jordan whispered.
The flames inside the Goblet turned red. Sparks began to fly, and a tongue of flame grew into the air, supported a scrap of charred parchment. The room gave a collective gasp.
Dumbledore calmly reached forward and plucked the parchment from the flame. He extended his arm to read the parchment by the light of the once more blue-white flames of the Goblet,
"The champion for Durmstrang," Dumbledore announced calmly and clearly, "will be Viktor Krum."
"No surprise at all!" Ron yelled as tumultuous applause exploded from the gathered students. Harry watched Krum stand and slouch up the Slytherin table to Dumbledore, where he turned and continued on into the room behind the staff.
"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff shouted above the clamour. "Knew you had it in you!"
As Viktor left, the cheering died into expectant silence once more, and the attention returned to the Goblet of Fire. They were not disappointed; the flames turned red not second later and another tongue of flame shot out, throwing the next name aloft. Dumbledore snatched it and read it out once more,
"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!"
Harry was amused to see the veela-like girl stand and sweep back her hair before striding between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables to the top of the hall and along the path Viktor had taken himself. Neville, beside him, snorted.
"Look, they're all devastated." He indicated the remaining Beauxbatons students and Harry fought between pity and amusement. Two of those not selected had dissolved into tears, and dropped their heads onto their arms.
Once Fleur Delacour was gone into the room, the silence grew so stiff as to be nearly oppressive. The Hogwarts champion was next …
The Goblet turned red; Harry felt his hand clench in anticipation that seemed leaden in his stomach as Dumbledore caught the last piece of parchment from the air. He held it back to read it, and paused. Harry felt a tide of dread as he paused so long a short murmur rose before he spoke in a terribly bald tone,
"Alan Prince."
The silence was deafening. The way Dumbledore had spoken left no doubt as to the complete shock of the announcement; even those who didn't know the name knew something was wrong. Harry couldn't see clearly to the Slytherin table, but he didn't even bother to look. The year before had told him all of Alan's secrets, and he knew just which one this was that had placed him where he now was.
It left Harry feeling sick.
"Alan Prince," Dumbledore rumbled, "please come to the front."
There was a loud clatter, and the silence was so thick he could hear Alan's sharp footsteps as he stalked to the front. He went to stand next to Dumbledore and before he could speak, Alan's voice rang across the Hall, shaking with suppressed rage.
"I swear on my magic and history, I did not - enter - my - name."
Harry felt the silence grow even thicker. Dumbledore was staring at Alan, who stood defiantly in front of the staff table, his hands clenched at his sides. Everyone else was staring just as strongly, and a murmur broke out between the tables. Beside him, Ron growled,
"Bloody liar. I'll be he planned this to not get in trouble."
Neville rubbed his nose. "He gave an oath, though. Those are binding; you can't lie. If you do, what you swore by will be denied. Swearing like that, it's said a lie would render you a squib and, on history, he'd lose all claim to any blood status, if his blood didn't just boil. Or so I've read; no one's really ever tested it." Neville snorted. "Nobody wants to risk it being right."
Harry remained silent, watching as Alan glared daggers at Dumbledore, something he could relate to. Finally, feeling the weight of Ron's gaze, Harry sighed, "If he's not lying, then Dumbledore was lax in his security that someone got his name in for him."
Neville froze, and Dumbledore spoke once more.
"Prince, please enter the far room. It appears you are the Hogwarts champion."
Alan's fists released and clenched once more. He didn't move, but growled, "I never wanted this, Professor Dumbledore. You're so bloody arrogant." He spat on the floor, before stalking around the table and through the far door without looking back.
Dumbledore watched him leave, seeming to slump slightly before he turned back to the students. "It appears that an unfortunate miscalculation escaped my notice, but unless there is a change, the Hogwarts champion is Alan Prince." He ignored the angry murmur from most of the students and continued. "I ask that you all give your greatest support to the champion of your school, and cheer them on in their appointed tasks, giving every ounce of support you can muster. The support of watching and cheering is a very real contribution, and one I expect all of you will take part in and enjoy."
The words fell flat on Harry's ears, and he was distracted from them with worry, a worry that had a name, and a face, and a very real, very frightening reason. Alan Prince was now a part of the Triwizard Tournament, a dangerous game that could likely kill him. He had not entered his name; Harry knew he hadn't, they'd discussed the very thing, and Alan would not have entered himself. He'd even looked impressed coming into the Great Hall that morning, which told him he'd inspected the Age Line and had been happy with it. But he'd been entered all the same. And there was one large, worrisome, and very secret reason that seemed to almost glare across the room, which was several times worse than Alan's headaches:
Alan Prince had been the downfall of Voldemort. The Tournament would make it almost too easy to kill him.
IIII
Alan slammed into the back room and turned and kicked the door. He knew this would happen the day he found out the Tournament was going to happen and he hated it.
"Is there something wrong?" The Beauxbatons girl asked from behind him. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"
Alan bit back a laugh as he realized the girl thought he was a messenger. He turned and gave her a bitter smile. "No, Dumbledore just made a mistake and they're dealing with it. They'll come finish their lecture in a moment and the shit will hit the fan."
He got two rather blank looks for his colloquialism but he didn't bother to try and explain, instead he stood with his back to the wall and glared at the door. It wasn't long before it opened and the relevant staff entered. Severus immediately moved to his side and Alan just shook his head. His father turned and glared at Dumbledore from where he stood.
"I told you to be cautious about this, Dumbledore and you ignored me." Severus said in a low, dangerous voice.
Dumbledore sighed irritably. "Severus, you have not even properly explained about why you were so concerned to begin with; I didn't see your point. Now I see your worries borne out and I'm wondering how Alan managed to be chosen as it is. Magicking the Goblet to choose a specific name –"
"I doubt it was magicked, Albus." Severus snarled. Karkaroff laughed derisively.
"Are you saying that boy knows more magic thank your seventh years? Really, Severus, such a doting father you – erk!"
Karkaroff gulped as he was wrenched off his feet and slung into the air. Alan wasn't even looking where his wand was pointed; he'd said nothing. He finally glanced back to Karkaroff and growled, "I was raised by the Alfaerus. They felt a need to give me extra training and I felt a desire to learn, thus I have surpassed the level of formal schooling I can take credit for. I do have an arsenal to nearly rival the seventh years, so it is partially my fault I was chosen." He lifted his wand and Karkaroff crashed to the ground. "However, I neither entered my name nor requested it to be so. I left Severus' quarters once, in the morning with dozens of kids arrayed about the Goblet to get a look at the Age Line, and then to casually eat like any normal child. Ask any of them. I returned afterward. I didn't even consider passing that line. How it happened, I have no clue, but I want out; I don't want to be part of this Tournament, but somehow I don't think I'm going to be getting my way, am I?" He turned back to watching Dumbledore and glared, tilting against the wall to add to his sullen posture.
Dumbledore sighed and inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Mr. Bagman, Mr. Templar? Can Alan be changed for another student?"
"I don't believe so, Mr. Dumbledore." Mr. Templar said calmly. Bagman was watching him and offering nothing. Mr. Templar picked up his bag and removed a thick tome that he flipped through several times, pausing only shortly before he snapped it shut again with an apologetic sigh. "The Goblet will have gone out, having completed its task of selecting the champions. There is no way for another to be chosen or substituted, and the contract will last until the end of the tournament and the gifting of the Triwizard Cup. I'm very sorry about this." He nodded his head slightly to Severus and Alan. "It is indeed an atrocious oversight that a student might be entered against their will."
Dumbledore fixed his glasses on his face and sighed. The other headmasters were also looking uncomfortable, but as Templar had said, the decision was made. Moody shifted firmly.
"You seem afraid this is a danger to you." He grumbled at Severus. "What might make you think that? Possible retaliation, maybe?"
Alan bristled at Moody's tone, but he forced it to remain unseen, his emotions behind a stiff mask. Severus tensed lightly, his hands fisting, but he gave no response either. Finally, Madame Maxine cleared her throat. The noise drew all eyes to her.
"I suppose it is unavoidable that Prince is the Hogwarts champion, even if he is underage. However, I don't see what else can be done. Surely we can continue as we have?"
Severus nodded stiffly and Dumbledore as well. Mr. Templar cleared his throat and gave the room a warm smile.
"Well then, the first task is to be a test of daring. You will be facing a danger unknown, an important quality in a wizard. You must have courage and be on your guard to face anything. The task will be on November twenty-fourth, and will take place in front of a panel of judges and the other students.
"As champions, you cannot ask for help, nor accept help of any kind from teachers for the completion of any of the tasks. You will face the first task with your wand alone. After the first task, the second will be explained. Due to the demands the Tournament will place upon your time, you are excused from the end of year tests. Any questions?"
Alan merely shook his head slowly and Mr. Templar nodded and gave Dumbledore a short hint of a bow, turning the talking over to him. Dumbledore smiled at the students, "I believe you are free to return to your beds, then." He turned back to Templar and Bagman and offered them a nightcap. Alan didn't wait to hear about it; he stalked out of the room and heard his father follow behind him. The path he intended was direct and to the point: straight into Severus' office. Once inside, he waited for Severus to close the door and knelt before the floo, tossing in the powder.
"Salem Sorcerer's School!" Alan popped his head into the fire and waited for the spinning to end. Once it did, he opened his eyes and blinked. The desk he could see was empty at the moment, but he could hear someone speaking in the room. Annoyed, he growled, "Excuse me!"
There was a soft gasp and a blonde head shot up over the desk. "Oh, sorry!" The woman began. It was the work of a moment to recognize her: Lyall Wolfgang, teacher of the magical society classes for muggleborns and cursed muggles and sometime receptionist. She skipped around the desk and smoothed her skirt before she knelt in front of him. "I didn't hear it and was cleaning up papers. What's the worry, Alan?"
Alan sighed. "I need Geoffrey over here; keep my godfather out. I can't have him haring over here for this."
Lyall snorted. "I'll keep him if I have to tie him to his bed." Alan raised his eyebrow and she laughed. "I've been practicing! He should have trouble with the knots I have in mind; they're not something he'll have seen before. Gimme a min."
She returned to the desk and depressed a small button. Her voice was official when she spoke. Her words were not. "Geoffrey, you've got a British haemorrhoid reported by your nephew; tie up the fugitive first, then hurry up here."
Alan fought not to laugh. He could imagine the argument resulting from that. Lyall returned to kneeling in front of him and smiled. "So, what's happening this time? More life-threatening situations?"
"Nothing a little acid shouldn't handle." Alan returned. Lyall's eyes widened; the phrase was referring to Alan's mother, and her own attitude. She'd recorded in her journals four instances when a young man named Tom Riddle had approached her about producing him an heir. The first time he'd left after her refusal; the last three she'd tossed prepared potions and acid on him to make him go. Alan had decided that phrase nicely summed up anything that revolved around the bane of his existence.
Lyall huffed. "Good grief. You're just neck deep in trouble, aren't you?"
"Oh, only." Alan returned with a fake smile. He could see Geoffrey coming to the door, so he spoke up slightly as he continued. "The bastard got my name in the Goblet of Fire; I'm stuck participating in the Triwizard Tournament."
Geoffrey let the door shut and swore vividly and loudly. Lyall waiting until he was talking about Fudge-fucking dormice to inform him that the loudspeaker was still on and he was talking loud enough for it to pick it up. He turned an interesting charcoal colour before grumbling about lying receptionists and returning to normal speech to tell her to move away. Alan listened with a brilliant grin. Geoffrey saw it and sighed,
"You are to never use any of those phrases in front of your aunt, you hear me?"
"Yessir." Alan returned.
"Now, the whole story from top to bottom. Tell me."
Alan did, talking about his concerns, his investigations, and his action to remain in Snape's quarters except to fetch breakfast and scope the other students. He relayed everything he could remember, and Geoffrey listened, indicating parts for Lyall to take note of and tapping his chin with a pen. Finally, after Alan was done, he slipped out of his kneeling pose to sit Indian style and lean on his elbows.
"I don't see what to do, pup. You're stuck in there; I know you can handle yourself and I'm sure you'll do well, maybe even have fun. It's not going to be anything worse than one of Green's ideas."
"Or yours." Alan and Lyall both responded at once. Lyall chuckled, "Really Geoffrey. No matter what you try, the blame for that Jabberwocky is yours."
Geoffrey ducked his head, and tried to repel the accusation. It didn't work, because it was true. Alan listened shortly and tried not to smile too hard. He really wasn't scared about going through the Tournament. He could handle the tasks; he was smart, he had skill, and he was more than willing to face whatever they threw at him. What scared him was that he couldn't see what the plot that had placed his name in the Goblet was. Clearly, since the Goblet wasn't magicked and his name had come out unaided, he was more than up to the Tasks. Why, then, had he been entered? What would the gain be?
Alan couldn't see. And that scared him more than he'd ever admit.
A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review.
The next chapter will go up on the twenty-fourth, hopefully, as I will be away from then until the fifth, and the chapter after that will go up the Thursday following. Thought I'd give you lovely people a heads up. What do you think of my scheduling?
Fire & Napalm