Albus Dumbledore and the Everlasting Flame

Disclaimer: this work is a fan fiction based on the worlds created by JK Rowling

"We all have the capacity to dream, but who amongst us dares to make them happen?"

Chapter 7 – The Goblet of Fire

The Gryffindor second years enjoyed the best dinner they'd had at Hogwarts since the start of the school year. Professor Prewett had vocally returned two hundred and fifty of the four hundred points that they had lost the House; as a reward for the welcome that the Pirates had prepared for the two guest schools. As a result, their fellow Gryffindors were quite happy to sit next to them at the House table, and the frostiness of the preceding month had evaporated somewhat. A trio of first years was so impressed by the way that Fawkes had appeared out of thin air and sung a magnificent ode to the visitors; that they positioned themselves either side of Albus and were peppering him with questions.

'Is it true that that phoenix is yours?' asked a plump boy through a spray of half-chewed shepherd's pie. He had introduced himself as Gregory Rimmington, a muggle with scraggy black hair over a round face.

'Yes,' Albus said, modestly looking down at his plate.

'What did you have to do to get him?' asked a tiny little girl with a toothy smile. She was Mathilda Malkin, sister of the fifth year Gryffindor Beater Richard. Albus thought one could never have guessed it, seeing how small she was with a brother that filled a whole doorway when he walked through it.

'Oh, do tell us! I really want to know!' exclaimed the other first year. This was Allan Glastonbury, brother of Jonathan, the Seeker that Albus had replaced for the Gryffindor-Slytherin match last year. He was short and scrawny like Albus, with black hair and cool blue eyes. His face had a constant look of expectation upon it, so much so that he looked comic. Victoria, who was watching the conversation with interest across the table, suddenly choked in her bowl of pumpkin soup. She pretended to be coughing, but Albus sensed that she was laughing at the eager first year.

'I didn't do anything in particular,' Albus said. 'Fawkes seemed to choose me as his owner, as opposed to me choosing him.'

'You must be amazing…' Allan began. Mathilda and Gregory nodded their agreement, but Albus waved them away with his hand. It was not out of modesty; William had started a discussion about the visiting schools and Albus wanted to hear what everyone had to say about them.

'Those Black Forest lot look like dark wizards and witches, if ever I saw any,' William was saying; 'arriving with Dementors, with wolves as patronuses and a Headmaster who looks like he wants to join the muggle navy!'

'Not to mention that they are sitting with Slytherin,' Alabastor snorted. 'And the stupid Moskva Academy is sitting with Ravenclaw.'

'Didn't any of them see our larks, or Albus' phoenix?' Maggie wondered bitterly. Her cheeks grew almost as red as her bushy shock of hair as she spoke. 'Clearly Gryffindor is the best House, and they go and sit with those other idiots.'

'What do you make of their Headmaster, Albus?' William said, speaking past Maggie, who went scarlet and resorted to clanging her cutlery against her plate as she ate, offended by William's slight against her.

'I do not know,' Albus said, turning to stare at the hulking, shaggy haired Dr Vladimir Strovsky. Professor Prewett had introduced him to the school once everyone had been seated for dinner. He wore an entirely black outfit like his students, except that his collar was sharp and elegant against his bony white skin. Albus reasoned, 'his students look a reasonable sort, so I suppose they reflect well on him. He looks less imposing than Admiral Wolfgang Schultz of the Black Forest School of Magical Arts.'

'Magical Arts,' Alabastor chuckled. 'How about they just substitute Dark for Magical and you'd have the truth.'

'How can you say that?' Emily argued. 'They could be perfectly decent for all we know. Just because they are sitting with Slytherin, does not make them …'

Emily and Alabastor were surely headed for another argument, when Professor Prewett clanged a spoon against a glass and called a silence on the entire Great Hall. The Headmistress stepped up to the lectern and smiled at them all. Albus noticed for the first time that she was wearing black robes that glittered under the Great Hall candlelight. Normally Athene Prewett wore plain black robes. Her straight grey hair hung back over her shoulders as it always did, but she wore a golden pin on her black witch's hat. For an elderly lady she looked quite impressive. A tiny voice in Albus' head told him that it was the fact that he was no longer angry with her that allowed him to see her in a better light, but he ignored the thought.

'Good evening to one and all,' Professor Prewett said. 'To Admiral Wolfgang Schultz and the students of the Black Forest School of Magical Arts, I say welcome to Hogwarts with our arms wide open. This is your first appearance in the Triwizard Tournament in more than a century, and it is wonderful that you could take the place of the Crimean Magykoria after British War Wizards torched their halls of learning. It is not something I am proud of as a resident of this island, but this is not the place for me to espouse my personal views on politics.'

Most of the students in the Great Hall were exchanging confused looks by now. Admiral Scholtz was nodding in stern agreement with Professor Prewett's words. Albus had the faintest inkling of what she had been talking about; he had heard Archaeon discussing the magical Crimean War with one of his guests at a Dumbledore dinner party a year or two earlier. But it was Mars who seemed to know the most about it.

'My father had something to do with that,' Mars said. A dozen heads turned to look at him at once. 'The muggles are fighting a war with Crimea too, so the Ministry sent a wizarding army to join in the fight as well. It was hidden from muggle eyes, of course, but just as ferocious. We apparently won, but many lives were lost and in revenge; one of our side decided to burn down the school for magic in Crimea, the Magykoria.'

'That is simply revolting,' Victoria said. 'I could not believe that a British wizard would do such a vulgar thing.'

Mars had no time to argue the fact, because Professor Prewett had raised her voice to silence the chatter in the Great Hall.

'It is also my pleasure to welcome Dr Vladimir Strovsky and his Moskva Academy students,' Professor Prewett said. 'Moskva Academy has a proud heritage in the Triwizard Tournament. Students from Moskva have won three of the last seven Tournaments, and I am sure that one of your numbers will be highly competitive in this year's event, also.'

Dr Strovsky bared unnaturally large teeth in a smile. Alabastor wanted to make a derogatory comment but Professor Prewett had some exciting news which silenced him quickly.

'And now that our guests are here,' Professor Prewett said, 'we shall waste no time in getting proceedings underway. Accio Goblet!'

The doors into the Great Hall flung open, sending a blast of cool evening air down the centre aisle and spilling at least a dozen jugs of pumpkin juice. A rather mangy wooden cup entered the room in a hurry, floating six feet above the floor. It stopped moving when Professor Prewett caught it in both hands and set it down on a raised dais in front of the staff table.

'This is the Goblet of Fire,' Professor Prewett said. 'In a moment I will be setting it alight, and the Tournament will be officially open. From that moment on, anyone who wishes to enter the Tournament can put their names on a piece of paper and throw the paper into the flames. You can be of any age to enter, but let me remind you that the Goblet selects the best witch or wizard from each school. A fourth year would be fooling themselves to believe that they had a chance; and anyone younger … well, don't be ridiculous. As you can see; our visiting schools only brought students of fifteen years and older.'

'Let me also stress,' Professor Prewett continued, waggling a bony finger at the school, 'that this is a deadly tournament. Death is an all too common occurrence in this event. The pursuit of eternal glory is something that can only be achieved by taking the ultimate risk. Much as we staff attempt to stave off disaster, we cannot guarantee that the Champions chosen by the Goblet will survive the three tasks. So do not enter this tournament lightly, for if you put your name in the Goblet and it chooses you, you have no way out.'

For some reason Professor Prewett's words sent a chill down Albus' spine. He was forcibly reminded of his excursion to Imhotep's Crypt at the end of his first year at Hogwarts, when his drugged father, the evil Professor Black and the backstabbing Professor Fudge had gone to raise Imhotep from the dead. That day Albus had felt like there was no way out, and that death was the only possible outcome. The Triwizard Tournament sounded a little too much like a visit to a Dark Lord's ancient crypt.

'You shall enter, won't you Albus?' asked Mars; green eyes alight.

'I am going to,' Alabastor said loftily, hoping to attract the attention of the other second years. A couple of first years seemed interested by him, but the other Pirates had their eyes on Albus.

'I do not know,' Albus said honestly.

'You have to!' William exclaimed. 'You are the best of us. If I had your talent, I would enter. In fact, I probably will enter it anyway. I am not afraid of a little death!'

'No he does not have to!' Victoria spat all of a sudden. Her outburst was so loud and so fervent that people sitting on the neighbouring table turned to look at her. She went beetroot red and chose to stumble from the room, attracting even more unwanted attention.

'What did I say?' William said, looking befuddled.

'You are a right idiot,' Annabel said, to William's obvious dismay. 'Victoria likes Albus, so if Albus enters a Tournament in which he could very probably die, she would herself die of worry. And if he did die, then she would be distraught for months, if not years. If he didn't die, but didn't win, she would be relieved beyond words but would not be able to express it to him. And if he won, only if he won, would she be truly happy.'

Albus, William, Mars, Alabastor and Edward all stared open-mouthed at Annabel. It was the most words she had ever spoken in a sitting, but it was the complexity of her thinking that had them flabbergasted.

'Girls belong in asylums,' Alabastor concluded confidently. 'That was utterly crazy.'

'Crazy, was it?' Emily snapped. 'I'll show you crazy …'

But while Emily and Alabastor started another round of quarrelling, Albus found his thoughts drifting away to a magical place where he was receiving the Triwizard Cup from Professor Prewett. Some unnamed witch in Moskva Academy's black robes and a wizard in the Black Forest School of Magical Arts' red and silver uniform were watching, their faces written with the disappointment of defeat. But one face in the crowd stood out. It was Victoria's, and she was smiling through tear-filled eyes, and laughing, and being truly happy, as Annabel had put it, that Albus had won.

After that fantasy it was not difficult for Albus to make his decision. He was going to enter the Triwizard Tournament.

At the conclusion of dinner, when masses of students made their way back to their respective Houses for the completion of homework or attend meetings of their various club affiliations, Albus started up the staircase that led to Professor Rolleston's Charms classroom. He had, after all, yet another session of detention to attend. But he was stopped short by his ever-taller brother, Aberforth.

'Hold it, little brother,' Aberforth said, grabbing Albus by the hem of his robe. 'We have moste important brotherly issues to discuss.'

'Yes,' Albus said tersely. He was not quite ready to forgive Aberforth the discretion of keeping his distance these past weeks.

'Good job on winning those points back for Gryffindor, by the way,' Aberforth said, trying to sound conciliatory. 'I always knew you would win them back for us.' The way he scrunched up his eyes and the corners of his mouth made Albus laugh. The chill was broken and the brotherhood was whole again.

'Of course I was going to,' Albus said. 'Now what are these moste important brotherly issues? I cannot miss my detention with Professor Rolleston.'

'Two matters of import,' Aberforth said. 'Not the least of which, is how to make sure that a Dumbledore is School Champion. You and I should both enter, and I think we should jinx that silly cup so that it has to choose between you or me.'

'Oh no, no, no, no, no, no,' Albus said. He had to add a few more no's in for emphasis. 'No, no, no, we simply cannot do that. I simply cannot break any more school rules. Besides, that would be cheating.'

'It isn't cheating!' Aberforth protested. His face broke into a wicked grin. 'Well it is cheating, but everyone does it in the Triwizard Tournament.'

'I cannot do it,' Albus said.

'Very well,' Aberforth said, pulling his robe over his chest as if he were a regal vampire. 'I shall undertake to jinx the Goblet by myself. But seeing as I am your loving brother, I will leave it to the Goblet to decide which one of you or me is the Champion.'

'I doubt you can do it,' Albus said, a cynical look on his face. Aberforth was not renowned for his serious magical abilities.

'I am a master of mischief,' Aberforth reminded him. 'I shall find a way. In the meantime, you and I also need to pay a visit to the basement of the Hog's Head. We will need some celebratory drinks for when one of us is named Champion.'

'Is it your desire to see me expelled?' Albus wondered out loud. He was not entirely kidding.

'Of course it is,' Aberforth said, grinning from ear to ear. He bit his tongue in jest. 'No, little brother, I would never conspire to be rid of you. I enjoy being bigger and better than you too much.'

'Whatever makes you feel on top of the morning,' Albus said. 'Now I am late for my detention, because of your shenanigans.'

Albus started up the stairs again, and Aberforth called after him.

'Very well, it is settled,' he cried. 'Midnight tonight; we meet in the common room and Fawkes can take us.'

'Alright, alright,' Albus yelled back. 'Don't let the entire school know at the top of your voice, in case they all want to join us!'

Aberforth turned to address the portraits, who were listening in with greedy gossiping faces.

'Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore would like to announce that …'

The bat-bogey hex from Albus' wand hit Aberforth before he could say anything else. He started shrieking as enormous bats started crawling out of his nose. Albus allowed himself a minute to watch in fits of laughter, before he realized that he was getting dangerously late for his detention.

Professor Rolleston looked up from his desk with faint annoyance when Albus came bustling in, a full twenty minutes late, but did not question him.

'Have a seat, Dumbledore,' he said smoothly. 'We need to talk.'

'Yes, sir,' Albus said. He planted himself down on his usual classroom seat. Professor Rolleston strolled over and conjured a comfy sofa out of thin air in front of Albus' desk so that they were sitting face to face.

'It is your intention I presume, Mr Dumbledore, to enter this Tournament?'

'Erm … well, actually … yes, sir,' Albus managed.

'Did it not occur to you that Professor Prewett was being serious when she said that people die in this Tournament?' Professor Rolleston said.

'Yes, it did,' Albus replied. He realized that he would be mightily embarrassed if he revealed that his reason for entering was a girl. It sounded ridiculous that he, a twelve year old, should be out to win the charms of a girl. He realized that he needed to invent a reasonable sounding lie. His brain quickly settled on something. He said, 'I heard that Professor Trelawney predicted the death of someone significant this year. I … erm, I thought that if I entered … I could stop anyone at Hogwarts from dying, because none of them would be in the Tournament.'

Professor Rolleston looked genuinely taken aback. His normally placid black eyes now glittered like embers, and he was pulling hard at his grey beard.

'How did you find out what Cassandra …' Professor Rolleston began, but changed tack mid-sentence, '…never mind, it is not my place to know how you come about your knowledge. That is a very noble idea you have, Dumbledore, but I simply cannot let you put your young life on the line.'

'Sir, you seem to think that I only need put my name in the Goblet and I will be the Champion,' Albus said, having a wave of astute thinking. 'I mean, I am only twelve after all, so how could I possibly be picked by the Goblet?'

'Listen to me, Albus,' Professor Rolleston said, his voice dropping to a deep and sonorous note. 'Despite what Professor Prewett said about the Goblet considering age when it appoints Champions, the reality is that it uses natural talent as the primary consideration. I teach every single student at Hogwarts, and … you listen to me carefully now, boy, I am not saying this to flatter you, but to warn you. You are the most talented child at this school. You are probably the most talented child I have ever encountered.'

Albus blushed profusely. Here was the man he had tried to punish with a Pirates prank for embarrassing him in class; telling him that he was the most talented child he had ever seen. Rather than feel special, he felt ridiculous.

'I am being utterly serious with you, Dumbledore,' Professor Rolleston continued. 'If you put your name in that Goblet, I would bet a hundred galleons that you will be selected.'

Albus did not know what to say in response. A part of him wanted to leap for joy at the prospect of winning Victoria's admiration, but another part was struck cold by the thought that he could be putting himself in mortal danger if he disobeyed Professor Rolleston.

'Listen to me, Albus,' Professor Rolleston said. Albus started, for it was unusual to hear a teacher call him by his first name. 'Promise me that you will not enter this event. It may help you to know that the Triwizard Tournament will next be held when you are in your sixth year at Hogwarts. At that age you will be equipped with the right spells to not only survive, but win the Tournament. So, do not enter.'

'I … I …' Albus began, but he could not finish the sentence. He did not want to lie to Professor Rolleston, not after the man had been so nice to him.

'You need time to think about it, I think,' Professor Rolleston said. 'Go on, forget about these detentions. You won those points back from Professor Prewett. I think it is time we stopped with this "punishment". Go back to the House, and think about what I had to say.'

'Thank you, sir,' Albus said, happily gathering his schoolbooks and hurrying out the door. He knew that Professor Rolleston was right, but a girl called Victoria was floating around in his head.

The week passed by in a blur of doubts and conflicting battles between the various voices in Albus' head. He accompanied Aberforth on two excursions to the Hog's Head, fetching dozens of crates of butterbeer, Firewhisky and other treasures of the alcoholic kind; but Albus was hardly enthused by the adventure. He passed through classes, performing his charms and doing his homework with accuracy well beneath his usual standards. Even though the Pirates were back to being a happy and relatively united band of ten in the corridors of Hogwarts, Albus could not seem to settle on a happy mood. He spent the entire week debating the two sides of the argument.

For the negative were his conscience, and the voices of Archaeon Dumbledore and Professor Rolleston. His father had told him to keep a low profile that year, and to look after himself. Entering a dangerous and famous tournament like the Triwizard Tournament would be a direct contravention of his father's will. Not withstanding the Howler he had already got for his previous infraction. Professor Rolleston had also willed him not to do it, and Albus' own conscience told him that he would not be able to cope with the complicated spells that would be required to survive the Tournament.

But then there were the arguments in favour. Professor Rolleston had virtually confirmed that Albus would be picked as Champion if he put his name in the Goblet. A large part of Albus wanted the glory associated with it. He had almost single-handedly saved the wizarding world at the end of last year by defeating Imhotep, and not a single word had been written in the papers of his exploits. Archaeon had kept the story a secret, and even though the students of Hogwarts had learned about it, Albus figured that not many had really believed it. Albus wanted a chance to be a hero in everyone's eyes, not least of which was Victoria. He was starting to think of her almost incessantly, and whenever in her company, he often lost his words or started gabbling rubbish. It was as though he was reduced to being a clown in her presence, and it irritated him.

Finally the duel of wills became too much for Albus to bear. He awoke extremely early on the morning of Friday, the day Professor Prewett had singled out as the day the Goblet chose the Champions. Slipping into his slippers, and taking care not to wake the other boys, he tiptoed out of the room and down through the Gryffindor common room. He hurried through the corridors of Hogwarts, hand clutching a small piece of paper bearing the words 'ALBUS DUMBLEDORE'.

Albus snuck into the Great Hall, feeling terribly small underneath the magical sky. The air was thick with clouds, clouds that teemed high into the ceiling with the threat of rain and lightning.

Albus was not alone. A tall, square shouldered boy with blonde hair was putting his name into the blue flames. It was Thomas Jones, the Gryffindor Prefect and Quidditch Captain.

'Oh, hello Albus,' Thomas said softly. His face was drawn and pale. 'So … you're entering too.'

'Erm … yes,' Albus said. He hurried forward and threw his name into the Goblet, feeling awkward.

'Oh well,' Thomas sighed, holding out a hand. 'Let us shake on it, and say "may the best man from Gryffindor win".'

'Oh you will win,' Albus said, shaking Thomas' hand. 'At least, I hope you do. I think I will die of fright if my name actually does come out tonight.'

'Me too,' Thomas said. He gave a nervous laugh, and Albus joined him. The sound of their timid voices echoing in the Great Hall gave them little comfort, and they hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, each thinking the same thing: 'what if he wins?'

Author's Note: thank you to my reviewers. Please keep them coming. Not many of you have been reviewing lately and I feel isolated from my readers. I prefer to know what you are all thinking because it helps me to write better! I also want to point out to those of you who asked where the Triwizard Schools come from. Take out an atlas and I am sure you will be able to locate both Moskva and the Black Forest. And to those of you who wondered why the schools were not Durmstrang or Beauxbatons, let me remind you that this is late in the year 1853. The Triwizard Tournament 150 years ago could easily have involved different schools. And someone suggested that Albus should have taken revenge on Professor Prewett … I think the punishment of 400 points, the Howler from Archaeon and the threat of being expelled was more enough to put Albus in his place. This is not a story about kids being brats all the time. Lessons need to be learned for Albus to grow into the great wizard we know he is.