Excitement built throughout the day as dinner—and the selection of Champions—grew closer. The students from every school were eagerly anticipating the Halloween Feast. There was a rumor going around Slytherin that Viktor Krum was the only student from Durmstrang who had been allowed to enter his name, but Harry wasn't so sure he believed it; why bother bringing an entire boat full of seventh-years if you were only going to allow one student to enter? And wasn't the Goblet of Fire the best judge of who the champion should be?
At dinner, the Durmstrang students again sat at the Slytherin table. Krum was once again surrounded by a protective cluster of his classmates, and, slightly beyond the Durmstrang students, a crowd of seventh year Slytherin students, each trying to sit as close to Krum as possible. It was almost embarrassing.
At the end of the feast, Dumbledore called everybody's attention to the front of the hall. The Goblet of Fire roared to life, and a piece of parchment was thrown into the air. Dumbledore carefully caught the parchment between his fingertips and unfolded it.
"The champion for Beaxbaton Academy is Fleur Delacour!"
A girl stood and hugged Madam Maxime, the same girl who had curtseyed to Dumbledore the previous day. Dumbledore waved her forward, and she walked through a door at the front of the Great Hall. There were cheers and clapping from some of the Beaxbaton students, but others remained silent and instead cast hateful looks at Fleur's back. One disappointed girl burst into tears.
The Goblet roared with flames again, and another piece of parchment rose into the air. Dumbledore caught and unfolded it.
"The champion for the Durmstrang Institute is Viktor Krum!"
The Durmstrang students roared their approval. The Slytherin table clapped and cheered loudly, as well. Krum rose from the Slytherin table and Dumbledore directed him through the same door as Fleur.
Flames rose from the Goblet a third time. This was the moment of truth: the Hogwarts Champion. Dumbledore read the name and smiled.
"The champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!"
The Hufflepuff table erupted into complete chaos, cheering and clapping and shouting and stomping their feet. The Ravenclaw table cheered rather loudly, as well, for reasons known only to Harry and the Weasley twins. The Gryffindors were clapping politely, as was Harry—he had just made several galleons, after all. The rest of Harry's table was silent. Disbelief was evident on the face of every Slythrin; they couldn't believe that a Hufflepuff had been chosen to represent all of Hogwarts. A Hufflepuff.
"These are your Champions," Dumbledore said. "In a few moments, they-"
The Goblet blazed to life a fourth time, hurling yet another piece of parchment into the air. After this final act, the Goblet dimmed and became dark. Dumbledore caught the parchment automatically and unfolded it slowly. His blue eyes flicked back and forth, reading the parchment several times before he spoke.
"Harry Potter." Dumbledore's voice was calm and clear. There could be no mistake.
Harry rocked backwards in his seat. What had just happened?
The Slytherin table broke into a rush of whispers. Did he just say Harry Potter? How had Potter done it? Why Potter and not Pucey? Maybe Dumbledore was joking.
"Harry Potter, please come forward," Dumbledore said. Dumbledore's gaze had found Harry at the Slytherin table. His piercing blue eyes would not allow any disobedience.
Draco elbowed Harry in the ribs. "Harry, go."
Harry stood and walked forward. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students were staring at him hatefully, with the exception of the Creevey brothers, who looked as if they had just won the lottery. Which, in a way, they had. The Ravenclaw students were more perplexed than angry, but they stared just the same.
"Right this way, Harry," Dumbledore said, ushering him through the door at the front of the hall. Harry could see Karkaroff and Madam Maxime rushing toward the front of the hall. "I'll be there in just a moment."
Harry walked through the door and found himself in a small room with Diggory, Krum and Delacour. He stood on the threshold for a moment, unsure what to do.
"Did zey send you for us? Do zey want us to come out?" Fleur asked Harry.
Harry shook his head. "I… um…" Harry looked at Diggory. "My name came out of the Goblet, too." Harry realized that he sounded as if he were apologizing.
Diggory's mouth dropped open in shock. Fleur seemed more indignant than surprised, and Krum's face hardly moved at all.
"Very funny," said Fleur. "What do zey want?"
"I don't think he's lying," said Cedric. Once again, as always, Cedric was the good guy. "How'd you get your name in?"
"I didn't," said Harry.
Behind Harry, the door to the chamber burst open. Ludo Bagman, head of Magical Games and Sports, strode into the room.
"Extraordinary, Harry!" shouted Ludo. "A fourth Tri-Wizard Champion! What a piece of excitement!"
A crowd of adults was close on Bagman's heels: Dumbledore and Karkaroff and Madam Maxime, Barty Crouch and Percy Weasley, Snape and Moody and McGonagall. McGonagall locked the door behind her, preventing anybody else from entering the room.
In the center of the room, Madam Maxime and Karkaroff were shouting at Dumbledore, accusing Dumbledore of purposefully misenchanting the age line. Dumbledore held up his hands to quiet them.
"Please, please," he said. "I am just as surprised as the two of you. Perhaps Mr. Potter could shed some light on the event."
All eyes turned to Harry. Harry, by far the youngest person in the room, suddenly felt very small.
"Did you put your name in the Goblet, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
"No," said Harry.
"Did an older student put your name in the Goblet for you, Harry?"
"That would have worked!?" Harry blurted. He immediately turned red and looked down at his shoes. "No, I didn't even think of it." Mostly, he was embarrassed because he had neglected such an obvious avenue to submitting his name. It appeared that Harry, too, had fallen prey to the wizarding world's lack of common sense.
"Of course it would not have worked," Dumbledore said gently. "Your reaction, however, reveals the truth of the matter. If you had succeeded in your attempts to submit your name, you would not have been nearly so indignant that you had missed such an easy solution." Dumbledore turned back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. "I believe that should answer your questions. Whatever occurred tonight, it was not because Mr. Potter submitted his name."
"We can't believe him," said Karkaroff. "The two of you are practically admitting that he tried to submit his name!"
"As did at least a dozen other underage students from Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, "none of them successfully." Dumbledore stroked his beard. "What I find most curious is that Mr. Potter was selected in addition to Mr. Diggory, and not instead of Mr. Diggory. If the Goblet selected Harry, it should have selected only Harry."
The room was quiet for a moment while everybody pondered Dumbledore's observation. It was Karkaroff who broke the silence.
"I demand that Potter be disqualified," Karkaroff said to Ludo Bagman. "Alternatively, I demand that the Goblet be re-lit and Durmstrang be allowed an additional champion."
"I make this demand as well, for Beaxbatons Academy" said Madame Maxime.
Bagman looked stricken, and clearly had no idea how to respond. Barty Crouch answered instead.
"What you request is impossible," Crouch said. "When Potter's name was placed in the Goblet, he was entered into a binding magical contract. Because his name emerged from the Goblet, he must compete. Moreover, the Goblet will not re-light until the next Tri-Wizard tournament. There will be no additional champions."
Karkaroff clenched his fists. "This is absurd! I have half a mind to pack up my students and leave tonight!"
Moody chuckled. "Don't make empty threats, Karkaroff. This is a binding magical contract. Krum has to compete. And that's the rub, isn't it? Krum has to compete, and so does Potter. It seems rather convenient, don't you think?"
"What are you insinuating?" Karkaroff said.
"I think Dumbledore is right," Moody said. "Potter didn't put his own name in the Goblet; his magic isn't developed enough to hoodwink such a powerful magical object. Somebody put Potter's name in the Goblet, knowing he'd be forced into the competition." Moody clomped forward. "Somebody who would enjoy seeing Harry Potter killed."
"That's a terrible plan," Karkaroff said. "There's no way to guarantee that Potter would be selected by the Goblet."
"It's more likely that somebody powerful wanted to give Hogwarts two bites at the apple!" Madame Maxime said, glaring at Dumbledore.
The room erupted again into a tumult of voices. Dumbledore stood quietly in the center of the room, looking intently at Harry. After several seconds, Harry felt control of his temper slipping away from him.
"Stop it!" Harry shouted. Once again, all eyes turned toward Harry, but Harry didn't care about the attention any more. "You're accusing Dumbledore of cheating because that's what you would have done! If Dumbledore wanted another Champion, do you think he'd pick a fourth year student? I can't even apparate!"
"The boy makes an excellent point," Snape said quietly. Harry felt a flood of thankfulness wash over him. At least he had the support of his Head of House.
"We do not know how this situation came to be," Dumbledore said gently. "However, we have no choice but to accept it. Both Mr. Diggory and Mr. Potter are bound to compete." Madame Maxime opened her mouth to protest, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "Unless you are prepared to propose an alternative, Madame, I believe that we must simply forge onward." Madame Maxime said nothing, and Dumbledore nodded. "Mr. Crouch? If you would recite the rules for the champions, please?"
Mr. Crouch began reciting the rules of the tournament. Harry was only half-listening. The other half of his mind was churning. How had he been chosen? Why? How had his name gotten into the Goblet? How were both he and Cedric selected?
At the conclusion of the rules, Dumbledore dismissed Cedric and Harry to return to their dormitories. Harry began to follow Cedric, but Snape grabbed Harry's arm.
"My office. Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock."
Harry nodded, and Snape strode away in a swirl of black cloak. Perhaps Snape's support wasn't quite as enthusiastic as Harry had thought.
Harry walked back into the Great Hall. The feast had ended and the students had returned to their dormitories. The Goblet of Fire still stood in the middle of the hall, unlit and lifeless. Cedric Diggory was standing near the Hufflepuff table, waiting for Harry.
"You ready to go?" Diggory asked.
"I don't need somebody to walk me home," Harry said.
Diggory shrugged. "It's after curfew. No detentions if you're walking around with Head Boy." Diggory paused. "And I wanted to talk to you."
"Talk to me? About this?" Harry started walking out of the Great Hall, and Diggory fell into step beside him. "You know as much as I do. You were in that room."
"Come on."
"I'm not kidding. I don't know how my name got put in." Harry frowned. "I'm not saying I didn't try, but I am saying that I didn't succeed."
"If that's how you want things to be…" Cedric shrugged. "I was disappointed we didn't get to play quidditch against one another last year. It'll be good to have another match against you, even if it isn't on the pitch."
They walked quietly for the rest of the distance to the Slytherin common room, where Harry paused just outside. On the other side of the door was his entire house. Pucey, Derrick and Bole would have been furious about Diggory's selection alone; that Harry had been chosen ahead of them, as well, would leave them twice as angry. Draco would be upset that Harry had left him out of the scheme—which was true, actually, even if Harry had ultimately been unable to submit his name. Tracey would be worried sick, concerned about Harry's safety. And Pansy… Pansy would probably tackle Harry the second he walked through the door, eager to congratulate him.
Actually, the bit with Pansy might not be so bad.
"What are you waiting for?" Diggory asked. "You don't have to worry about keeping your password secret. I have it already—Head Boy and all that."
"That's not it," Harry said. "What am I going to say to them?"
Diggory made a noise in the back of his throat. "Go in there and act like a champion. Whether or not you managed to put your name in the Goblet, it's what you wanted, right?" With that, Diggory walked away.
Harry took a deep breath. "Sinuous," he said. The door to the common room opened, and he stepped forward into the soft green light.
The common room was full of students; everyone was waiting for Harry's return, and Harry was willing to bet that not a single Slytherin was in his or her dormitory. Immediately to the left of the common room door was Astoria Greengrass, Daphne's younger sister. As Harry stepped inside the common room, her head jerked up. Her eyes got wide, and she turned and shouted to the common room: "Harry's back!"
All conversation stopped. For the fourth time in only a few short hours, every eye in the room was focused on Harry. There was a long moment where nobody said a thing.
In the farthest corner of the room, a lone voice cheered: "Harry Potter!" Harry recognized the voice as Tracey's. In that same corner, hands began to clap. The applause spread like wildfire, and before Harry knew what was happening, the entire common room was clapping and cheering.
Harry looked around, astonished. The people he most expected to be upset with him, Pucey, Derrick and Bole were at the front of the crowd, cheering and smiling. Pucey stepped forward and pulled Harry into a rough embrace.
"If quidditch has to be cancelled for this stupid tournament, at least one of our own is competing!" Pucey said.
Harry felt hands tugging on his shoulders. Everybody seemed to want to congratulate him, shake his hand, pat him on the back, or give him a hug. Harry plastered a smile on his face and did his best to navigate through the crowd. It seemed like it would never end.
Harry found a butterbeer thrust into his hand be Theo Nott. "Drink up!"
"How'd you get this?" Harry asked. "There's no way you made it to Hogsmeade and back." Harry might have been able to manage, or the Weasley twins, but not Theo Nott.
"I snuck some past Filch at the start of the year," Nott said. "I was saving it for a special occasion, and I think this qualifies."
Before Harry could reply, he was pulled back into the whirlwind of his housemates. It was frantic and overwhelming. Harry had hoped to get back to his dormitory and go to sleep, but that was certainly not going to happen.
Harry told himself not to get upset. He could imagine Tracey's voice almost as clearly as if she were standing next to him: "These are the people you need to be friends with." So Harry kept smiling, long past the point when his face started to hurt, long past the point where the noise in the common room gave him a headache, long past the point where repeating the same meaningless small-talk conversation had become unbearably dull. And through it all, Harry kept wondering… why? What had happened to his house? Why was everyone so happy?
The idea that Slytherin was unified as a house was a facade that the Slytherin students put on for the rest of the school. If a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor was watching, Harry would act as if he was the best of friends with any Slytherin, even Urquhart. Once Harry passed the doors of the Slytherin common room, however, he had to watch his back.
The internal politics of Slytherin was like a roiling basket of snakes. Pure Social Darwinism, in which only the most cunning could survive unscathed. It wasn't the downside of being in Slytherin; instead, it was the whole point. Any time Harry had done anything conspicuously successful, the house had been evenly split: half the students would try to increase social standing by currying favor with Harry, and the other half would attack Harry, trying to show dominance over Harry and place themselves higher on the social ladder.
The only time that the entire house was happy was after a quidditch victory, but even then there was an undercurrent of social tension. Harry had never before experienced such uniform cheerfulness from his housemates. This party had no right to be so pleasant. It was unnerving.
As the night moved on, however, Harry discovered the source of his housemates' unnatural calm: Draco Malfoy. Harry didn't hear much grumbling throughout the night, but whenever he did, Draco suddenly appeared to smooth things over. Whenever the party seemed to flag, Draco was there to rally the troops for more celebration. Whenever a conversation started to go nasty, Draco swooped in and started spouting about Slytherin pride.
Harry's suspicions were confirmed during a conversation with Montague and Warrington. Harry had been talking to his quidditch teammates for several minutes when Montague leaned in conspiratorially.
"Harry," the older boy said quietly, "You have to tell us. How did you and Draco get your names into the cup?"
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Draco told you that, did he?" Harry carefully avoided either confirming or denying Montague's statement, trying to gain more information before he committed himself to an answer.
Montague nodded, confirming Harry's suspicion. "How'd you manage it? Everyone's dying to know. It's all people can talk about."
Harry grinned. It was a look that exuded pure confidence. "Telling will ruin the fun."
"That's exactly what Draco said," Warrington muttered. Harry wasn't surprised; he and Draco had picked up many of the same turns of phrase during their friendship.
After a few moments, Harry excused himself from the conversation and walked across the room to get a drink. He wasn't really thirsty, but he needed time to think. Obviously, Draco had smoothed things over in Slytherin and instigated this enormous celebration. In exchange, Draco was taking a part of Harry's glory, claiming that his own name had gone into the cup, as well. It was a good arrangement. Harry got a warm reception where he might otherwise have been frozen out, and Draco improved his social position.
The next time Harry was able to catch Draco's eye, he gave his friend a warm smile and a nod of appreciation. Draco tossed off a flippant salute before disappearing back into the crowd.
When Harry next looked at the clock, he saw that it was past one o'clock in the morning. Somehow, time had gotten away from him. Harry needed to be awake in less than six hours if he wanted to eat breakfast and be properly dressed before meeting Snape.
Harry made his way toward Tracey and Daphne, who were standing near the door to the door to their dormitory. Harry draped an arm over Tracey's shoulder and leaned down to speak into her ear, so that he could be heard over the crowd.
"I need to get out of here," Harry said in a low voice. "I have to be in Snape's office at eight. Can you arrange something? I don't want to seem like I'm snubbing my own party."
Tracey stared off into space for several seconds, not moving. Harry recognized this as her "thinking" expression. Harry left his arm draped over her shoulder, allowing her to process his request without interruption.
"Got it," Tracey said. She looked up at Harry. "Give me five minutes. I have to find Draco." With that, she was off into the crowd.
As Harry watched her go, he grinned a little. Tracey was a real friend, and dead useful.
"You shouldn't do that to Tracey," Daphne said. "Or, at least, you shouldn't unless you mean it."
"Do what? Ask her for help? I need to get to sleep."
Daphne shook her head, but didn't elaborate.
Across the room, there was a sudden pounding on the Slytherin piano. Draco was standing in front of the piano, fingers poised to play. The room quieted a bit, and all heads turned toward Draco.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of the tournament. Our Champion needs to be at his best, so I'm officially ordering him up to bed!" Draco pointed a finger at Harry. "And don't give me any backtalk, young man, or my father will hear of it!" Everybody laughed, including Harry. "But before he goes, let's give him a rousing sendoff, shall we?" Draco turned back to the piano, and played a quick series of notes. "And… Hail to Slytherin!"
"Hail, Slytherin" was the song that Slytherin crowd would sing after a quidditch victory. As Draco sang, he banged loudly on the piano. What he lacked in technique, he made up in enthusiasm. The Slytherin students quickly joined Draco in the song. Derrick, Bole and Pucey had their arms draped over each other's shoulders as they screamed, rather than sang, the lyrics.
"Hail to Slytherin!
Hail to victory!
Serpents ascendant!
Hail the silver and green!"
As Draco played, Harry moved toward the stairs. When Harry was several steps up, he turned to the crowd and began waving his arms like an orchestra conductor. Harry remembered Flint doing something similar during last year's match against Gryffindor, and it seemed appropriate. The crowd loved it, and sang even louder in response.
As Draco finished the song, he began pounding wildly on the piano. "Harry Potter, ladies and gentlemen!"
The crowd gave a massive cheer, and Harry waved on last time. Before the cheer could end, Harry turned and dashed up the stairs, through the door to the dormitory.
*!*!*
As Harry was finishing changing into his pajamas, Draco entered the dormitory. Based on the noise that blared through the open door, the party was still going strong.
"How are you doing?" Draco asked.
"Good," Harry said. "Thanks for all that, by the way."
"Don't ever say that I never did anything for you."
"I'd never say that. I also wouldn't say that you never did anything for yourself."
Draco shrugged. "So it's good for both of us. What's the harm in that? I could have brooded and grumbled that you didn't include me, or I could take advantage." Draco sat on the edge of his bed and looked at Harry. "So, how'd you do it? You can tell me, at least."
"Honestly? I didn't."
Draco frowned.
"Really, Draco. I tried, sure. I spent an hour under my invisibility cloak trying to get my name in that goblet. I only stopped because I got caught by Moody."
Draco did not seem convinced.
"Think about it," Harry said. "Each school should only get one champion. Even if I submitted my name, it should have been Diggory OR me, not Diggory AND me."
"So what does it mean?" Draco's expression eased, slightly.
"Moody reckons that somebody submitted my name to try to get me killed."
Draco rolled his eyes. "The man isn't satisfied unless he's discovered three murder plots before breakfast. Who would want to kill you?"
"I can think of a few wizards," Harry said. Peter Pettigrew was at the head of the list.
"However it happened, you should make the most of it," Draco said.
Harry smiled wanly. "Thanks. When I die, I'll die popular."
"That's the spirit." Draco punched Harry lightly on the arm. "I'm going back to the party. Get your rest, and good luck with Snape tomorrow."
A/N: It seems that everybody loves discussing the Dark Arts; I've had more reviews and PMs about Moody's class than any other chapter in the entire series.
Thus far, my favorite comment has come from caellwin. While discussing the Unforgiveable Curses, I mentioned that the Entrail-Expelling Curse didn't seem to have a legitimate use. Caellwin's response: "[It's] just a cooking charm, like most of the supposed 'Dark Arts.'"
This is the funniest thing I have read this month, and it makes so much sense.
Entrails-Expelling Curse? Giving you the freshest haggis since the 1600s.
Blood boiling curse? Duck soup, obviously.
Imperius curse? It's just a teaching tool. Learn how to cook soufflé, first hand!
Killing curse? The preferred way to kill hog prior to roasting, so you don't ruin your presentation.
Gemino curse? When you absolutely need another set of dishes, RIGHT NOW!
Flagrante curse? Keeps hungry guests away from dessert until the main course is finished.