A/N: I'm in such a good mood about this story that I started the next chapter as soon as I finished posting the last one! Yippee! Here we go- Champions are chosen in this chapter, and I suppose that it isn't going to be a secret that Harry's going to get entered under a fourth school, though having his older sister's support and help every step of the way is only going to help him. After all, there's nothing in the rules that says that the champions can't help each other, and Fleur will care more about getting her little brother out of this alive than winning. Oh, and one of my reviewers recognized my penname. It totally made my day. ihaveasandbox: yes, it comes from a poem- The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost. Also, to whichever reviewer told me that Ginny is clearly a rabid fangirl who fawns over the Boy-Who-Lived—no. Just no. So, she had a bit of crush on Harry when she was younger. I am going to mention that a bit in this chapter. It will be dealt with. But Ginny is not a rabid fangirl who wants to marry the BWL. And I will not characterize her that way. If you want Weasley bashing, get it somewhere else. And about Ron—well, I already addressed Ron. Go to Chapter 2 if Ron concerns you, and read that. And as for 'Laziness and Manners'- Harry's just as lazy as Ron, most of the time, and usually can be equally rude. They're teenage boys, not saints. It's hypocritical of you to hold fictional characters to a higher standard than you would people in real life, and you would not expect real eleven year old boys to behave maturely. And I could argue that Harry's probably more immature in this than he was in canon, since he was abused, and probably grew up way before his time in canon, which is untrue here.
Also- I thank jediprankster, for pointing out the rather large plot hole that the Delacours would have had no legal right to create a betrothal contract. I am very grateful for your willing suspension of disbelief, and though there's nothing that I can do about it now, I hope that I succeed in entertaining you anyway, and I will attempt to avoid such plot holes in the future.
Disclaimer: I make no profit on the mention of trademarked materials. All recognizable characters, settings, plot points, and quotes belong solely to J.K. Rowling.
The next day was Saturday. That gave Harry and Gabbi the chance to latch themselves onto Fleur early in the morning—before Madame Maxime had the chance to take her eligible students to put their names in the Goblet of Fire—and proceed to follow her around all freaking day, begging her not to put her name in. All that they succeeded in doing was ultimately annoying her out of her mind. She finally managed to evade them to stalk into the entrance hall mid afternoon. Harry and Gabbi halted at the edge of the age line, not wanting to know what Dumbledore's idea of security would do to them if they tried to cross it. Fleur walked like a caged animal as she stalked past the line drawn on the floor and, glaring at them triumphantly, tossed a piece of parchment that bore her name and school into the flames. All of the spectators around the goblet watched as the flames flared, indicating that Fleur's name had been accepted. Then, not saying a word, she stalked back out again, glaring daggers at her younger siblings.
"Wow, mate. If looks could kill. What did you do, anyway?"
"Tried to talk her out of entering," Harry answered Ron glumly. "She's my sister! I'm not about to let her get killed!"
"Harry!"
"Sorry, Gab. Didn't think. I'm sure that if she gets chosen, she'll do fine. I just don't want to think about her in danger."
Just then, Fred and George Weasley came into the hall. Smirking, since this promised very good entertainment, Harry pulled Gabbi back from the age line (who knew how it would react when Fred and George tried to cross it, and Harry didn't want either of them to get caught in the crossfire), Harry didn't need to tell her to watch. Gabbi had spent enough time with Fred and George (or, as she liked to call them, Gred and Forge) over the years to know that their mere presence created havoc worth watching.
Sure enough, after bragging about ageing themselves a few months until their seventeenth birthday, Fred and George crossed the age line and stood there for a moment with baited breath before cheering. And then they were simultaneously catapulted out, this time with the addition of Dumbledore-length beards.
Dumbledore himself came down the stairs and nattered on about ageing potions before sending the twins to the hospital wing, to join the others who had attempted the same thing. "Mr. Potter," Dumbledore called. "Perhaps we could speak in my office? I have some concerns that I need to discuss with you."
Harry snorted. So the old man had finally figured it out, huh? A bit slow on the uptake, but it wasn't like he had any legal right to meddle in guardianship affairs, especially when the people that he would be fighting with were French citizens. The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot had no jurisdiction in France, and the Supreme Mugwump (what the hell kind of title was that, anyway? Who named these things) of the International Confederation of Wizards was really more of a figurehead position. Harry knew all about the UN from his studies on muggle politics, which he had taken as a child so that he could understand enough to get by in the muggle world. The International Confederation of Wizards had no more real power than the UN, and couldn't interfere here. He was probably planning to use his 'trusted grandfather' persona to convince Harry that he only wanted the best for him.
"Of course, Professor. Hermione, could you hang out with Gabbi till I get back? She doesn't know Hogwarts very well, and I don't want her to get lost."
"Sure, Harry," Hermione agreed. She budged over to make room for Gabbi to sit on the bleachers next to her, sending her very heavy and full book bag (though not as much as last year. Honestly, who bends the very fabric of reality to help a thirteen year old girl attend some extra classes? Why not just rearrange the schedule, or, better yet, tell her that she had to pick?) to the floor in front of her with a thump before going back to the book in her lap.
Secure that Gabbi was safe for the moment, Harry followed Dumbledore to the gargoyle that guarded his office. He announced the password to be, "cockroach clusters," and the staircase began moving with a grinding sound. Muggle escalators were so much more efficient than this.
The Headmaster led the way into his office before offering Harry the chair in front of his desk. "Now, curious as I was about your familiarity with a few of the Beauxbatons students, I looked into where you could have possibly met them and Olympe, only to discover that you were adopted by the Delacour family several years ago." Dumbledore gave him a disappointed look.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, so?" Knowing why he was here didn't help him keep his temper.
"Harry, I have made several comments over the years that made you believe that I still assumed that you were living with your muggle family. Why did you allow me to continue believing this?"
Harry clenched his fists. He had had enough. "Those people are not my family. Apolline and Jean-Paul are my parents, Fleur is my sister. Gabbi will be my wife someday."
"If you had told me, I would have been able to work to rectify the situation," Dumbledore insisted, having not even registered what Harry had just said.
"What situation?" He clenched his teeth in effort to keep his temper, knowing exactly what 'rectify the situation' was code for. Dumbledore was actually going to fight to send him back to the Dursleys after all of these years.
"Harry, my boy, do you not remember when we had that discussion in the hospital wing after your little adventure with the Philosopher's Stone?" Dumbledore asked jovially, completely oblivious to Harry's rising temper. "When I told you of your mother's sacrifice? She left you very powerful magical protection, protection that I was able to weave into blood based wards. However, those wards, and that protection, would only be active if you resided under the roof of a blood relative of your mother's. Petunia Dursley, as your mother's last living relative, is where that protection runs. It is imperative that you remain there for your own protection."
"Really?" Strangely, Harry's temper calmed. He could argue with logic when it was necessary. "Do these wards do anything to protect me from internal threats?"
"Whatever do you mean, dear boy?"
"From them. The Dursleys. Do the wards protect me from them? Do the wards provide a child with love, attention, fitting clothing and food?"
"No, dear boy! Of course not. That would be up to your aunt and her husband to provide that. Do you not understand anything about how warding works?"
"No, I understand warding. I just wanted to make sure that you did. So the wards provide nothing but basic physical protection from all external attacks, is that right?"
"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed with a smile.
"So there were no contingencies in place to protect an orphaned infant from his petty and self-centered muggle relatives?"
"What are you going on about, Harry?"
"Well, Headmaster, I'm questioning your wisdom in leaving a defenceless infant in the hands of people who would starve, abuse, neglect, and lock a child in the cupboard under the stairs, of course."
"Where are you getting these fantasies, Harry?"
"Apolline said that when they finally went to the Dursleys' house to pick me up, they found me bruised, neglected and malnourished, in the cupboard under the stairs and dressed in worn out hand-me-downs that were four sizes too big for me. When the Dursleys complained about the cost to keep me, Jean-Paul went to Gringotts and discovered that they were receiving a healthy stipend from my vaults to keep up for my care."
"That's ridiculous—"
"They have pictures and the healer's report," Harry interrupted. "And, judging by what I know of my aunt, the abuse would have only gotten worse as time wore on."
"Harry," Dumbledore interjected. "I realize that the situation may not be the most ideal, but the protection offered by the blood wards is too important to pass up. I'm afraid that, come the summer holidays, I am going to have to insist that you return to the care of your aunt and uncle and recharge the wards that are obviously severely neglected."
"Really? If the wards are so neglected, why haven't you noticed it before?"
"Due in part to our state of peace, and to my blind trust that you were returning there, I haven't been monitoring them as closely as I admittedly should have. Now Harry, about the marriage contract, can't you see that your so called family has only taken you in because they wanted the notoriety that would come from raising the boy-who-lived? And having him betrothed to their daughter?"
"Really? If they wanted notoriety, why haven't you heard about it before now? Why wasn't it all over the papers? And why is there an out clause in the marriage contract?"
"That is enough, Harry," Dumbledore said sternly. Harry knew that that meant that the arguments were getting to him. "I'm afraid that I must insist on dissolving the contract, and thereby every legal right that the Delacour family has to your guardianship, and returning you to your aunt and uncle."
"And as the Headmaster of my school, I, and my family, must insist that you explain what legal right that you have to either decide my activities outside of school or to dictate my guardianship."
"Harry," Dumbledore chided gently. "As the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I have final say on all guardianship cases that come through England."
"Really? That's fabulous for you, but the Delacours are French, and you have no power over guardianship cases that go through France."
"As your magical guardian, I do have the right to decide."
"That's also fabulous," Harry snapped acidly. "But you gave over the right to be my magical guardian the moment you signed control over to the Dursleys, who had the perfect right to then sign control over to someone else."
Dumbledore, having just realized that he had lost, blanched. "I'm afraid that I have to ask you to dissolve the contract, then, Harry. The Delacour girl is simply not suitable—the British Lady Potter cannot be French. We would be more than happy to sign another contract in its' place, if that's what you want. How about Ginny Weasley?"
"What?" Harry was shocked. Where on earth had that come from? Ginny didn't even like him anymore, hadn't since the summer before second year, when he had cornered her in her room, having gotten tired of her shrieking and knocking over dishes when he entered a room, and given her a verbal slap to the face to make her quit it. He couldn't stand people who worshipped him for something that he didn't even remember. "Ginny? Now you're trying to marry me off to Ginny?"
"Only if you are favourable to this, of course," Dumbledore said hurriedly. "But if you really insist on a contract, then there are things that can be done—"
"A contract? I don't want a contract, I want Gabbi. And this conversation is over," Harry added, finally regaining his bearings. He didn't want to hear anymore about the Dursleys and marriage contracts with Ginny Weasley. This was not school related, and the only reason that Dumbledore was allowed to approach him privately for a discussion was if he had something school related to talk about. Since this had absolutely nothing to do with him, Harry was perfectly justified in walking out, and he had no reason to be obligated to stay, or to bow to his Headmaster's authority.
"Harry! Please, whatever you want," Dumbledore actually sounded rather pathetic, when it came down to it. It was almost sad, how much stock he wanted to put in these blood ward things—Harry would have felt sorry for him, if he wasn't so incredibly brassed off. But nobody took Gabbi away from him, and the fact that Dumbledore is trying to do it 'for his own good' had made it even worse.
Harry opened the door to the office, and then closed it behind him with a slam on the way out. Petty, really, to imagine all of the damage that he'd done to the door, the potential cracks in the wood and be pleased about the potential inconvenience to Dumbledore. But even when he was a kid, he wasn't very good about his temper.
As he was in the process of storming past the gargoyle, he almost knocked over Snape.
"Potter!"
"Sorry, Professor!"
"Ten points from Gryffindor for not watching where you're going!"
Harry winced inwardly. Just what he needed, really, to make his day complete. His sister threw her name into the Goblet, and was potentially going to die, Dumbledore was trying to dissolve his betrothal to Gabbi, and now Snape was taking points for no good reason. Bastard.
And on top of all that, Harry had five minutes to climb all the way to the Gryffindor tower to put his book bag away, and then get back to the hall for the beginning of the feast. He had originally been intending to take Gabbi to meet Hagrid today, since she hadn't seen him since he had picked Harry up before first year to take him to Diagon Alley, but Dumbledore had kept him too long.
Racing back down the stairs, Harry managed to encounter Hagrid in the entrance hall, and stopped to stare, completely not seeing Ron, Hermione and Gabbi behind him (evidently when Harry hadn't come back, Ron and Hermione had decided to continue with the plan to see Hagrid without him). Instead of his usual thick, heavy coat covered in pockets, Hagrid was dressed in his best (horrible) hairy brown suit with a banana-yellow waistcoat. His hair was slicked back with greasy gel (or perhaps gel-ly grease), as if he had tried to put it up behind the nape of his neck like Ron's older brother Bill, who Harry had met at the Quidditch World Cup that summer, only to discover that he had too much hair.
"Hi, Hagrid," Harry finally managed to greet him, with a somewhat fixed smile.
"Arry!" Harry closed his eyes and very quickly counted to ten in order to avoid shooting his brain-to-mouth filter off and asking what on earth Hagrid had done to himself. Clearly, he had a little something for Madame Maxime, and he had convinced himself that this would be the way into her heart. For a woman that was so fashion conscientious, Harry doubted it.
"Shall we go to the feast?" Anything so that he didn't have to look at that suit. Ron and Hermione both nodded frantically. Gabbi appeared to be partially comatose with the knowledge that a clothing garment that hideous existed. Harry draped an arm over her shoulder and guided her over to where Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Lavender were sitting. Ginny was just down the table with some other girls from her year, and he could see the twins a bit in the other direction, sitting with Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Lee Jordan.
"Hey, Nev," Harry greeted the round faced boy upon sitting. "Did I introduce you to Gabbi yesterday? She's my betrothed."
This clearly wasn't news to any of his yearmates—clearly, the news that Harry Potter was trapped in a betrothal contract had already made its' rounds around the school since yesterday. Sometimes Harry wondered if there were experiments to determine whether the Hogwarts rumor mill's efficiency was due to its small student population, the fact that Hogwarts was a boarding school, or just plain abnormal.
Harry winced and looked away as Hagrid took his seat. He was a guy, and not a gay one (not that there was anything wrong with that), so it wasn't true that he cared that much for clothes. But that suit really was horrible.
The feast was magnificent, but no one really seemed to care. Between everyone within view with the exception of Hermione and the Weasleys, staring at Harry and Gabbi incredulously and the underlying chatter about who the champion for Hogwarts would be (the Hufflepuffs were clearly supporting Cedric Diggory, and the Gryffindors Angelina Johnson), there were plenty of more important things to worry about than food.
At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored.
"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. 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."
He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness.
The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting … a few people kept checking their watches…
"Any second," Lee Jordan whispered from down the table, though loud enough for everyone around him to hear.
The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it - the whole room gasped.
Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."
"No surprises there!" yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Harry saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.
"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"
The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"
Harry uttered a very bad word under his breath. Hermione smacked him for it. Gabbi's eyes went wide with both horror and pride for her sister. Fleur got up from her seat and headed towards the door on the other side of the staff table, but before she went in, she turned around and stuck her tongue out at him.
"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. "Disappointed" was a bit of an understatement, Harry thought. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.
And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.
"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"
"No!" said Ron loudly, but nobody heard him except Harry; the uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —"
But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.
The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.
Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out - "Harry Potter."
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. Next to him, Gabbi shrieked as if in agony and clung to his arm. But she didn't need to worry—this was just a misunderstanding, after all. He hadn't put his name in. He hadn't wanted to compete. Surely there was some sort of contingency plan for people whose names were put into the Goblet against their will.
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, open mouthed.
"I didn't put my name in," Harry said blankly. "You know I didn't."
Both of them stared just as blankly back.
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. Gabbi still hadn't released the death grip that she had on his arm, and who said that he had to face the firing squad alone anyway? Why couldn't she come with him?
Since he couldn't walk with the way that she was holding him, Harry slid her hand down to clamp onto his own instead. Everyone seemed to be too much in shock to question anything. The path up to the head table seemed longer than it ever had before. Finally, he reached the dais that the staff table was on. Dumbledore wordlessly nodded towards the door, expression inscrutable.
Inside was a comfortable room with several couches and a fireplace. Viktor Krum was leaning against the wall, and Cedric and Fleur had each claimed the end of one of the couches.
"Potter?"
"Harry?" The French and English champions asked at the same time. And then: "Gabbi?"
"Who's the kid?"
This seemed to be all that was needed for Gabbi to throw herself across the room and at her sister, sobbing. She hadn't neglected to let go of Harry's hand, and he knew from experience that Veela had some grip on them. In order to avoid getting his arm pulled off, he willingly followed his betrothed into the group hug.
"Gabrielle?" Fleur asked in bewilderment, rubbing her sister's back. "What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Harry'snamecameoutofthegobletoffire!" Gabbi wailed, reaching out to grab Harry's arm again and haul him into the impromptu group hug.
Fleur stopped dead. "What?" She locked eyes with Harry.
"My name came out," he muttered. Cedric let out an unpleasant sound, and Krum grunted.
Fleur's reaction was instantaneous. She went pale as a ghost, released Gabbi, and grabbed Harry around the back of the neck to hold in a rib-crushing hug. If she had been any other hot seventeen year old girl (like, not his sister), Harry probably would have enjoyed the opportunity to get close to second base. As it was, he barely managed to yank out her grip before her rather ample and impressive bosom smothered him to death.
The door came swinging open, admitting Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Karkaroff, Moody and Snape, Madame Maxime, and Crouch and Bagman. Bagman was at the front. "Miraculous!" he was saying. "Astounding! I've no idea how it was done, but ladies and gentlemen, somehow, we present the fourth Triwizard champion!"
Fleur gasped, Gabbi shrieked in horror, and Harry simply stood still.
"Harry!" Dumbledore demanded. "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"
"No!"
"Did you ask an older student to do it for you?"
"No!" Harry was already sick of this line of questioning, and he had only been asked two questions.
"Harry!"
Everyone in the room turned to look a Fleur. "Harry, hold up your wand and repeat after me," she paused until Harry had nodded and held up his wand.
"Ego Fides."
"Ego Fides," Harry repeated. Knowing what she was getting at, he continued without her help. "I swear on the blood of my birth parents and on their graves, and with my magic that I did not knowingly or willingly put my name in the Goblet of Fire, aid someone who intended to, or ask another to do it for me. Ego Fides." A white light flashed from the tip of his wand. "Lumos."
Harry extinguished the light after sufficiently proving that he still had his magic. "Now that's resolved, I don't have to compete, right?" Dumbledore shook his head.
"Harry..."
"The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract," Crouch explained. "You must compete, or the Goblet itself will punish you."
"What kind of punishment?"
"At best, you will lose your magic," Crouch answered. "At worst—death." Gabbi shrieked again and grabbed at Harry.
"What is that child doing in here?" Karkaroff demanded. Harry shot him a very nasty look, echoed clearly by Fleur.
"She is my sister," Fleur answered sharply. "And Harry's betrothed. She has every right to be here, more so than about half the people in this room."
Harry arched into the conversation (rant) then, in order to calm his sister down. "Honestly, Fleur, the only person who really doesn't have a legitimate reason to be here is Snape." He received a nasty glare from the greasy-haired potions master. As Snape opened his mouth to protest and probably insult Harry by comparing him to a father that he had no memory of, Harry hurried on. "Crouch and Bagman are the organizers for the Tournament, Madame Maxime—"
"'Arry," Madame Maxime scolded gently.
"Sorry, Aunt Olympe, Professor Dumbledore and Professor Karkaroff are the Headmasters of the schools, Professor McGonagall is my Head of House, and Professor Moody is an ex-Auror."
"I think that we need to consider the thought that someone put Potter's name into the Goblet because they wanted to kill him," Moody said into the silence. Fleur gasped in horror and trapped his face in her boobs again. Cedric was watching with a kind of perverse fascination, and Krum had pushed off the wall."
"He's—" Cedric began. "He's too young."
Fleur jumped on this like a lifeline. "Oui. E iz just a leetle boy!" Like normally happened when she was stressed, Fleur's English morphed back into a French accented mess.
"Oi!" Harry, who had the opposite problem of sounding too British for his own good, given that he was technically French, snapped indignantly. His indignant expression probably would have had more general effect if it hadn't been so obviously practiced in the mirror. "If I wanted to, which I don't, I could totally handle whatever you people have put together for tasks in this stupid tournament. I've faced Voldemort twice, fought a Basilisk and a cursed diary, a transformed werewolf, a murderer who betrayed my birth parents, Acromantulas, about a hundred dementors at the same time, a fraud with a penchant for wiping people's memories, a Devil's Snare, nasty looking fire and poison," he said triumphantly, before catching sight of Fleur's completely shocked face, and remembered that he had only provided his family with the extremely abridged version of his school years for a reason. The last thing that he wanted was to be pulled out of Hogwarts and away from his friends.
"I mean, all those visits to the hospital wing were completely freak Quidditch accidents," he attempted to cover lamely. He realized that everyone in the room was staring at him in shock. Fleur yanked him back into the hug that he had just managed to escape from, murmuring soothing sounds that he supposed were French due to her accent, but in truth neither sounded French nor English.
"Harry?" Gabbi asked him softly. He wrench partially away from Fleur to look at her. "Did you really almost die?"
He closed his eyes. "Yes, Gabbi. But I didn't die. I'm still here. And I have to compete?"
Crouch nodded. "Yes. It is the only way."
"Well, I can do it. I won't take stupid risks, Gabbi, I promise. And I don't want to win or get points. I just want to get out of this alive. Besides, you think Fleur can do it, don't you? Why not me?"
Gabbi stared at him for a moment before nodding.
"Excellent," Bagman said. "Now that that is sorted out, Barty, I believe that you wanted to tell them about the first task?"
"Yes," Crouch agreed. "Now, the first task is designed to test your daring—"
"Hold on, Barty," Dumbledore said. "Alastor, if you would go to the Goblet and check what could have been done to confuse such a powerful magical artifact—after all, this is the Triwizard Tournament, and the Goblet shouldn't have been confused into drawing four names."
Moody stumped out of the room and Crouch continued. "The first task is designed to test your daring, your ability to react in the face of danger. That is why we will not be telling you what it is. It will be on the twenty-first of November, and feel free to prepare however you would choose until that time. However, be advised that seeking aid from your teachers is strictly forbidden."
Fleur and Cedric were nodding along and Krum grunted. Harry was still too shocked by the whole turn of events to really react.
"Now, Harry, Cedric. I will contact you if and when Alastor discovers how the Goblet was tampered with. For now, I believe that it is best that you return to your dormitories. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are probably waiting to celebrate with you, after all, and I would hate to deprive them of an excellent opportunity to make a great deal of mess and noise.
Harry grimaced at the thought of returning to the Gryffindor Common Room, but realized that if he didn't, it would be worse tomorrow.
During their walk through the entrance hall, Cedric asked how Harry felt, and Harry assured him that it would be fine. They finally split off to go in opposite directions, where Harry was greeted at his Common Room portrait hole with a roar of epic proportions.
A/N: There's chapter 2, done. So, Harry was chosen for the Triwizard Tournament, Fleur tried to smother him with her bosom, and Gabbi's worried. Everyone else is too stunned to comment. I always thought that there was some kind of oath that someone could swear, and it is well used in fanfic. I wanted Harry to confirm that he had had nothing to do with it. Next up, we get Ron's reaction (which will be the same as canon) and Harry's reaction to Ron (which will not—not giving away any more than that). Remember to tell me what you think.
~ITookTheOneLessTravelled