Chapter 40 - Murphy's Law
Harry's campaign was already off to a bad start. He had very little time and he had a hard task before him. He needed to motivate over a score of teenagers to write an anonymous complaint to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, all of it as soon as possible, of course, and with the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin colouring everything they did.
While it was simple enough to ask his ladies to write up their experiences, getting their agreement took time as they had their own ideas on how to respond, including doing nothing. "It's just the way things are." Lavender told him with a shrug.
"It's not right, though, Lavender. He could have made you curse someone, or do anything or even done whatever he wanted to you. No one should have that kind of control over your body except you." He hugged her tightly as she shivered. "I'm sorry, I don't like to scare you. But that's how scary that curse is, and it's been banned for centuries for a good reason."
After more talking, his ladies agreed to send the anonymous notes, but without others involved it would have been child's play to identify who had sent them, making the entire idea useless. Thus Harry was about to try convincing Ron Weasley to do more writing, never an easy task even for his assigned schoolwork, when he realised that they would never be able to keep it secret.
Plan A was dead in the water. Morosely, Harry realised that all the rest of his plans were the same. All but one. The only plan he had left was to brave the worst Moody could do. So it was that Harry was in a bad mood as Wednesday's DADA class approached. Somehow, he had to defeat Moody without defeating him, without letting anyone else get hurt in the crossfire, and without any of his friends getting hit by the Imperius. That was going to be a tall order.
When the scarred Professor entered the room and announced the same plan as for the 4th Year Gryffindors and Slytherins, Harry stood up. "No, sir. I am asking you nicely to stop."
"Stop, Potter? Stop what?" Moody growled, intrigued by the boy.
"No, you will not cast that illegal curse on any of my classmates." Harry moved in front of the former Auror, crossing his arms.
"Very well, you just volunteered to be the first, Potter." Moody gave a malicious smile.
"No, sir. I did not. Nevertheless, you will not force my friends to your will." He never raised his voice but each word was razor sharp.
Moody pulled his wand in a flash on the boy, only to find Harry was not where he had been standing. Moving to track on Harry, Harry slapped away the man's hand, already inside his guard, forcing his wand to point at the ceiling, before falling back to his original place.
"Potter!"
"You said it was better to avoid being hit by that curse, Professor." Harry bit out, wanting so much just to beat Moody to within an inch of his life but holding back for the sake of his friends.
"Imp-" Again, the wand was diverted off target. Another attempt and Harry hit nerves in the man's wrist, making him drop the wand to clatter to the floor.
Bending down to pick up his wand, Moody still kept his magical eye trained on Harry, whispering "Imperio!" as soon as he touched it, finally casting the curse successfully and using his focus to send it directly at the surprising boy.
On Harry's part, he bit back a scream of pain as the curse's magic tried to dominate him while the active chakra running through him fought back. Using the advice from the man on resisting it, Harry concentrated totally on rejecting the foreign magic and was rewarded with a shocked face then a horrible grin.
"Ha! You can resist it, Potter. Look at that, you lot! Potter fought me and managed to throw it off. We'll try that again-"
"No! If you try to cast that spell again, I will stop you and I won't hold back." Harry was even more pissed off than before. He was that close to picking up one of his kunai and enhancing it with a cutting wind, then slicing the so-called Professor into so many pieces that no one could put him back together.
Moody felt a wind stir despite the locked doors that should have made it impossible. The man knew that accidental magic was still possible even in Hogwarts students despite their training in using wands, as long as the student was desperate enough.
"Twenty points to Hufflepuff for your outstanding commitment to oppose the Dark Arts!" Moody ground out as he backed down. He had been looking forward to casting the addictive spell again but it was clear Potter might not care what happened to him as long as he took down the Professor threatening his friends. Unfortunately, while he was confident Potter would be beaten, taking him down would be a bad idea. His boss would not be pleased if Potter was damaged, after all.
Waving his wand and restoring the classroom to its normal look, with Potter clearly alert to every move he made, he decided to have a little fun. "And another ten points to Hufflepuff for CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
The flinches from the rest of the class were very gratifying. If only he hadn't flinched himself at the fear he felt of the Potter boy and the way he felt the boy's desire to kill him clawing at his throat.
Falling back on some standby material, Moody quickly finished up his teaching on the Unforgivables, before moving on to cover any of the long list of other Dark curses in the course. That was doubly annoying. Firstly because it meant he had to work harder at teaching the little buggers. Secondly, because he still didn't have a good read on the Potter boy. He needed that.
He had orders from the greatest wizard of modern times to test the Boy-Who-Lived and he had no intention of failing.
Harry made sure to post clones in all the DADA teacher's classes, but it seemed that there were no more mind control attacks on the students by their own Professor. Word of his defiance of the grizzled wizard spread quickly, along with rumours that he had managed to defeat the ex-Auror, rumours that were quickly discounted by Harry himself who pointed out that Moody hadn't taken him on seriously. "All I did was stand up to his bullying, really."
He noticed Dumbledore looking approvingly at him. Though that made Harry feel dirty, it was much better for him than for the old wizard to take action against Harry. From what Minerva told him after her next meeting with the Headmaster, Albus was proud that Harry had put himself between his friends and harm. The way Dumbledore wanted to shape Harry into a martyr made the man no less than Harry's enemy. What else could you term someone who wanted you to die?
The end of September was something of a relief to Harry. He had got past a tricky situation without getting anyone killed or hurt, without revealing anything 'impossible' to wizardkind and without making Dumbledore view him as an enemy and worthy of respect. Better to be underestimated by the man as long as he could manage than to try to get him to overestimate Harry. It simply wasn't probable for a politician with a century of experience under his belt to be afraid of a fourteen year old untrained wizard.
No, better to fit into his expectations without letting that dictate Harry's life.
Better still to have ladies as loving and perceptive (and excited) as Harry's. His Hufflegirls had decided to celebrate surviving their first month of the term with a Hufflepuff Party on the first Saturday, a night of games, giggling and gossip, leaving your worries at the door. Add in the massages, the cuddling and kissing, and it was just what the doctor ordered for all of them.
The night was fun, then sweet, then loving, but always friendly, and Harry woke up in the middle of a Hufflegirl pile, hugging all of them to him, even Nym. Indeed, while all of them were feeling the effects of the increased workload, it was worst for her since she was in her NEWT year, while Cho was also feeling the burden of her OWLs. In some ways, the lack of Quidditch helped her since it freed up a lot of time for things like research and sleep. Harry's Hufflegirls noted that for next year when it would be their turn, and gave her support and cuddles in the meantime, just as they did to Nym.
That Sunday, they had decided to take the morning off from anything resembling work and have a comfortable time wearing pajamas. They made a cute sight, as Luna attested when she bemoaned the lack of her camera. Daphne giggled as she reclined against one of Harry's clones and Tracey pointed out they could never allow pictures of themselves to get out. Luna pouted, making them giggle or laugh, joining in herself.
It was a great way to spend the day. While they didn't have official Quidditch matches, that didn't stop students from flying or organising their own informal games as long as they got the approval of Hooch. Strangely enough, while Slytherin students were always approved, students from other Houses often had problems or were kicked off during their booked times if a student in silver and green wanted the field. To counter that, Harry had made some illusions so that all students except those in Slytherin who approached the woman looked to have the silver and green trim on their uniforms.
When that was discovered, he started applying it at random to confuse the woman further. Hopefully it would also prove that there was no difference between the Houses that was worth being so petty-minded like she was. He didn't exactly hold out much hope, but it was worth a shot. In the meantime, it meant Hooch was being tricked into doing her job better than before, and Harry and others got a laugh in private.
It wouldn't do to let on just who was responsible for her shocking competence.
That weekend was also a celebration of the fact that every single one of Harry's ladies could now create a Shadow Clone. While they were far from reaching Harry's level of mastery of the technique, it was still a significant milestone as it basically doubled the amount of time available to his ladies, and about tripled their free time. Their clones generally couldn't take their place in class, nor did they need to eat or sleep, leaving them with almost nothing but time.
Since the clones had the same behaviour as their originals, there was more loving going on. To the surprise of Megan, who knew just how strongly Hermione wanted Harry in her bed or anywhere else, she was wrong about the other girl. Hermione's clone was just as focussed on learning as the original and didn't spend that much more time making love to Harry at all. Lavender's clone, on the other hand, was even hornier than the original, taking her love of provocative clothing and behaviour to a higher level in private.
Being the sensible sort he strived to be, Harry had no objection to any of this, loving and living with his ladies.
The next few weeks were quiet but as October slowly drew to a close the peace was interrupted and the school was abuzz with the news which had been posted in the Entrance Hall. The sign, surrounded by an excited crowd milling around, read:
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Saturday the 29th of October. Students will assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.
"That's only a week away!" Ernie MacMillan announced quite unnecessarily.
"We know, Ernie." Tracey rolled her eyes.
"Sorry." He blushed as his friends chuckled.
"Quite alright, mate," Justin clapped him on the back, "you weren't saying anything we weren't thinking. It was only a matter of who was going to say it."
A muttered "Thanks." and the group slipped inside, grabbing prime seats thanks to the distraction of the other students. Younger students were just as likely to be gossipping about it as the older ones who were allowed to compete, especially in Gryffindor whose students these days were more eager to show off for others in general.
Still, not even Harry and his friends were immune to talking about the news, discussing snippets of details and myths and rumours about the other schools. With this much warning, not to mention the number of Ravenclaws in their circle, they were all aware that all three magic schools were very secretive and not just from their non-magical neighbours. While Beauxbatons was known to be in France, not even that much was common knowledge about Durmstrang Institute, only that it was somewhere in northern Europe.
Harry heard from Minerva after one of his Transfiguration lessons that Dumbledore was most pleased with the excitement about his precious baby, the Triwizard Tournament. She agreed with him that it was only natural they were excited. "After all, he did steal away its biggest competitor for their hearts and minds."
He had continued to cast the illusions each evening in the Great Hall, but the novelty had worn off long since. Now, while people did enjoy the shows and talked about the various characters and events, the Triwizard Tournament, as mysterious as it was, easily eclipsed it. Harry would have been annoyed by this, but the diversions meant Hogwarts was about as peaceful as Minerva had ever known it. The Deputy Headmistress made sure to thank him for his efforts and asked him to keep it up while their guests were there, as did the other two professors aware of his work. While he trusted Professor Sprout, he didn't think she would appreciate some of his film selections, so he had not dropped the illusion for her and the others.
Once Saturday finally arrived, the afternoon seemed to drag on forever. While he didn't intend to participate in the Tournament, Harry was looking forward to learning more about other schools of magic. Harry was curious if they had the kinds of danger and insanity and rampant bigotry that he had encountered at Dumbledore's Hogwarts.
When the bell rang that evening, the students excitedly returned their belongings to their dorms and rushed back downstairs into the Entrance Hall where the Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines.
"Weasley, straighten your hat! Weasley and Weasley, cease this tomfoolery and restore your robes to their original colours, not bright pink, magenta and toad green! Jordan, stop talking!" McGonagall snapped out at her more egregiously wayward students.
"Right! Follow me." She snapped, leading her House out first followed by Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Just getting that order worked out had required weathering a lot of debate in the staff room. In the end, rather than draw lots, three of the four had agreed on alphabetical order. To Flitwick, it was a sensible order, to Sprout, it was nice and fair, and to McGonagall it meant she got her Lions out where she could see them first, making her job easier. Snape in a minority of one was clearly outnumbered and gave with his usual good grace, that is to say none, sneering and making scathing remarks until Minerva had warned then Silenced the ill-tempered man.
The students filed down the steps for minutes at a time before being lined up in front of the castle. The evening was cold and clear and the students were now glad of their professors' insistence upon wearing cloaks, though Harry's ladies would have happily made do with using him as their hot water bottle.
As expected, the students were still excited and eager, though that wore off some as time passed without any action.
"Aha!" cried Dumbledore, "Unless I am very much mistaken,"
- 'Which you have been for decades,' Harry thought grumpily -
"- the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"
There were cries of "Where!" among the crowd, but Harry had already spotted it and was pointing it out to his friends around him while thinking that Dumbledore was right this time.
Something large was hurtling across the sky toward the castle, making Harry admire the showmanship. Their oblique course made their journey take longer but looked much faster than a direct approach would have done, merely growing in apparent size until they landed.
The gigantic, powder-blue horse-drawn carriage came in low over the Forbidden Forest in a display of courage or foolhardiness that would have earned censure from pilots in the Muggle world, but here was treated as par for the course. Harry's initial thoughts that Beauxbatons was safe seemed ever more unlikely.
The almighty crash! as the hooves of the horses met the ground prompted the excitable Creevey brothers, who had finally learned not to bother Harry, to jump up and squeak with fright. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.
The coat of arms on the door of the carriage, two crossed golden wands each emitting three sparks, split open to reveal a boy in pale blue robes. He jumped down, bent forward and unfolded a set of golden steps. His job done, he sprang back respectfully and stayed out of the way. The first glimpse they had of the French school's Headmistress was a surprise. An enormous shining black shoe the size of a child's sled descended onto the steps, and the rest of the large woman followed, reminding Harry forcibly of Hagrid's size.
She was richly dressed and far more tastefully than her British counterpart, though that wasn't hard, her jewelled fingers shining in the deepening dusk.
Dumbledore started the applause which quickly spread through the student body, most clapping for the showy method of arrival more than in any real welcome, but it did the job. The ancient wizard strode forward to greet the woman.
"My dear Madame Maxime." he said after kissing her hand. "Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Dumbly-dorr" she replied in a deep voice, "I 'ope I find you well?"
"In excellent form, I thank you." Dumbledore answered.
"My pupils." The Headmistress announced, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.
Lost in the grand entrance of their grand Headmistress, the Hogwarts students finally noticed the ten teens behind her, standing in her enormous shadow. They were dressed in the same powder-blue robes as the first boy, and they were now shivering in the cold. That was hardly a surprise since their uniforms seemed to be made of fine silk and none were wearing cloaks.
After some smalltalk, Dumbledore offered Madame Maxime the choice to wait inside the (heated) castle which she quickly took, leading her students inside and out of the near-freezing temperatures.
Next, the students awaited the Durmstrang contingent, who arrived from under the Great Lake in a whirlpool around their ship. Harry again wondered what happened to the common sense of most magicals. His mind whirred with all the dangers of taking a sailing vessel meant for travelling on the surface and sending it underwater in the first place, having to deal with the extreme pressure differential and losing the natural form of propulsion. Then there was how silly it looked.
The plank was lowered to the edge of the lake and people disembarked, trudging up the lawns towards the castle. While at first, they looked to be as bulky as Draco's hulking minions Crabbe and Goyle in their build, the truth was that much of it was their thick cloaks, made of some shaggy, matted fur, and their warm robes underneath.
Leading them was a man whose sleek, silver hair was matched by the furs on his robes. Professor Karkaroff, as Dumbledore called him, had a fruity, unctuous voice and a solicitous air with his most prized pupil, the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum.
Krum looked just as surly a person now as he had on the posters or when his team lost the match. Idly, Harry wondered if someone might have cursed his face to stay that way or he truly was as antisocial as he appeared. It didn't much matter to Harry, who was on record as saying that the Seeker position should be scrapped or adjusted in order to reform Quidditch into a more sensible team sport.
Karkaroff led his contingent inside, making sure that Krum was first on account of a 'slight head cold'. That made Harry scoff mentally at the contrast between Krum's chosen image of the big, tough guy and Karkaroff treating him like he was made of glass.
With their foreign guests inside, the Hogwarts professors called for their charges to follow their lead. While the Beauxbatons students had already picked seats at the Ravenclaw table, the Durmstrang students were huddled and unsure where to sit.
The French wizards and witches were looking around the Great Hall with glum expressions on their face. That was pretty much par for the course for many French dealing with the 'uncivilised; English, though Harry felt a twinge of sympathy here. He had often felt that Hogwarts left a great deal to be desired in a school for magic, starting with being a drafty old castle that no one had fixed in a thousand years to deal with the drafts. The castle, while adorned with magical paintings, lacked any decent pieces of art unless one counted the suits of armour in the halls and corridors.
Since this was an official event, Dumbledore had insisted upon House unity, rather than interhouse unity, by requiring students sit with their House not with their friends. Mostly, Harry could understand his point, it made the students look neater by keeping them with their Houses and evened out the crowding, and this was an important public affair, too. It still didn't mean Harry wanted to be cut off from three quarters of his friends during another mediocre dinner.
The Durmstrang group had finally settled on the Slytherin table. Though their blood red cloaks would have suggested Gryffindor as a closer match, the rumours about the bigotry at Durmstrang seemed supported by their selection of the so-called home of the Purebloods. Then again, it could just be a coincidence. The real test would come in the months ahead seeing if they stayed there or chose different seating.
Looking around, he noticed that while the French wizards and witches were unimpressed, the Durmstrang students were very happy with the golden plates and other such accoutrements, a couple staring at the enchanted ceiling with interest.
The Great Hall seemed more crowded than the extra numbers alone would suggest. It had something to do with the splashes of colourful uniforms amidst the Hogwarts black, but also the way it had changed the patterns of seating, students leaning close to the newcomers or choosing to avoid them instead.
The platters of food were more varied that night in honour of their guests, including several French dishes Harry recognised from cooking lessons and a smattering of more Germanic cuisine. Harry tried the elves' version of proper sausages and made a face. They would do better to stick to their 'traditional English' ones that were far more bread than a real sausage ever was.
Happily, at least someone had told the little creatures how to prepare a decent bouillabaisse, though it was still one of the less popular 'French' dishes on offer tonight behind a decent onion soup and, in a display of cultural ignorance, french fries.
During the feast, one of the Beauxbatons girls had risen from the Ravenclaw table and come over to the Hufflepuff table, looking for one of the tureens and spying the one near Harry first. "Excuse me, but are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"
Meeting her eyes, Harry smiled. "I believe we are done with it, Mademoiselle?"
"Ah, excusez-moi, je m'apelle, pardon, I meant to say, I am Fleur Delacour."
"A lovely name, Mlle Delacour, and I am Harry Potter. Here you go." He passed over the tureen to the older girl, noting that her crystal blue eyes were alight with pleasure at his understanding of French culture, the first sign since she arrived, and her long sheet of silvery-blonde hair bobbed as she dipped her head.
"Merci, that is, thank you, Harry Potter."
Once she had returned to her seat, Hermione leaned in and whispered, "Is she?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed, "she is definitely a Veela. She resembles the others at the World Cup very closely and I felt a light touch at my defences telling me to find her beautiful."
"Not that she needs it," Hermione blushed, "but it's good to know it wasn't just me who felt something."
Harry gave her a quick but loving kiss. "Whatever her looks, you are still my gorgeous kinky haired girl, Hermione. I love you."
"I love you too, Harry, and thanks. I felt like I couldn't compete with her -"
"And you'll never have to." He smiled and kissed again, more gently, before giving his other Hufflegirls their own smiles.
The dinner passed peacefully enough after that until the plates were cleared away and Dumbledore stood up, the movement effortlessly getting everyone's attention.
"The moment has come." Dumbledore smiled around at the sea of upturned faces. "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 that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation" — there was a smattering of polite ap plause — "and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply be cause he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced. His toothbrush mustache and severe parting highlighted how different Dumbledore's long white hair and beard looked, not to mention the ancient wizard's choice of colours.
"Mr Bagman and Mr Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tourna ment." Dumbledore told his audience. "And they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."
At the mention of the word "Champions," the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr Filch."
Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; Dennis Creevey actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rose above anyone else's.
"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman," said Dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways … their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduc tion — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."
At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.
"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "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 after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be cho sen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumble dore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.
Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.
"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have until the Halloween Feast to put their names forward. At that time, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely acces sible to all those wishing to compete.
"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "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 that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a cham pion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, 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 a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."
The buzz of conversation was loud as the students slowly made their way out of the Hall. For Harry's friends and ladies, they made their way to a deserted classroom, one of the many that had been cleaned up for the visitors, unheeding of the way that certain parties watched them. It was natural enough by now for people to watch the Boy-Who-Lived that it didn't even cause comment or concern as long as they only looked.
The Durmstrang students had had the famous British teen pointed out to them and they were surprised by what they saw. Instead of the glasses and scar, Harry's eyes were visible to all and clearly scanned his environment, and the Boy-Who-Lived seemed to have no scar at all, just the easy movement of a strong and confident young man.
From their French guests, Harry also got quite a few looks. They lived closer than the other students and their papers had carried the story of his survival more than most since the Death Eaters had conducted raids on and from French soil during the last conflict. While it was clear that he had male friends, it seemed just as clear that Harry Potter had a large harem of British girls, given the way they looked at him and touched him.
Two of the Beauxbatons students in particular decided to keep watch on him. Their heritage made them far more aware than other girls of just how bad men could be. It also kept them separate from most girls, unable to really form friendships with either gender that survived into adolescence and the fragile flower of teen romance.
That isolation from their peers gave more time to study and improve their magic, leading to another cause for resentment and rejection. So while the other French students were heading back to their accommodations in the carriage they brought, these two were trying to follow Harry's crowd in the confused geometry of Hogwarts. What they heard on the way, and in the room before an extensive set of privacy spells were erected, was enough to tell both of them that this Harry Potter had a lot of girls in his power. That was dangerous, and they felt a surge of fear that he might try to force them too.
Inside, aware that the girls had been listening in, Harry dismissed them as no concern of his while he and the others chatted over various things.
"No," Harry chuckled, "I have no intention of changing my mind. What would I get out of being a Champion? More chances to die, to expose my abilities or experience more of the downsides of being famous like that damned rumour in First Year with the banking, remember that?" They nodded.
"And for what? The glory of Hogwarts is out. Hogwarts will get a Champion no matter what I do short of destroying the Tournament. And I have no intention of trying to make Dumbledore look good after he ruined my childhood and, when he found out my childhood had improved, tried to ruin it again."
Harry calmed himself. "Sorry, guys. I don't mean to bring it up. Anyway, I don't want to help Dumbledore, so that's another reason not to get involved. I don't have any desire or use for more fame in the Wizarding World."
"And the money?" Justin prompted.
"Money is nice and all, but I can just work for it later if I need more. I already have more than I can spend while we're at school." Harry sighed and looked around at his friends. "I know some of you aren't that well off yet, but the Foundation is getting there, and all of our families own a piece of it. I would much rather keep my friends safe than see any of you get hurt in this tournament or worse."
The guys were a little uncomfortable with the display of emotion, while the girls just wanted to cuddle with him. Nym looked challengingly at Harry. "Does that mean you would try to stop me from getting my name in?"
"I wouldn't force it, but I guess I would try to convince you not to get involved. I'll still support you if you do, though. I won't abandon you. End of story."
She relaxed. "Good answer, Harry."
That wasn't the end of the talk about the tournament, and there was speculation about what the tasks would be. Mark Wilkinson, in his last year, had been considering entering his name. Unlike Harry, he didn't have too much fame or wealth and he knew it could be the difference between getting the opportunities he needed or missing out entirely.
Unfortunately, while Mark had improved his study habits, he had some issues with his magical power where he was about middle of the pack rather than above the norm. If the Goblet of Fire was going to pick the best of Hogwarts, then he wasn't as likely to be chosen as he could hope. In the end, Mark ducked out to put in his name that night, borrowing Harry's cloak to do so in a quest to discover who else would be trying out.
When curfew approached, and the group split up, they went to their House areas and settled in for the night. In private, Nym thanked Harry for telling her all of that. After that, she wanted to make love to show how much he meant to her, and Harry rose to the occasion, giving her the love and attention that even she craved at times.
Harry's ladies were getting more comfortable in their unusual arrangement as time went by. The knowledge that they could trust each other did a lot to prevent fights before they started. It wasn't perfect. Personality conflicts were certain in any group as large as theirs but there were offsetting factors. Not having to compete for Harry's time and attention, and their own care for each other, helped to keep the situation from becoming too tense. If all else failed, Harry could always be relied upon to provide great ways for them to relax.
The morning dawned bright and cold, beautiful to look out at but not inviting to experience. It did help light up the Great Hall, though, and Harry had more of an appetite than usual, taking a little more food and glad to be surrounded again by all his ladies, with his friends nearby.
After their morning meal, the students wandered around, looking to engage their visitors in conversation. Whatever Dumbledore's other faults, he did have a point about getting to know people from other countries being a good idea.
Since they knew Krum would be mobbed by Quidditch fans, they approached the other Durmstrang students, finding them far more open than their famous colleague and more willing to learn. While they taught the foreign students about the Houses, and the way that the bigots had done their best to take over Slytherin, they learned in turn. The guests talked about Durmstrang, its curriculum and environment, and the views of wizards and witches from northern Europe.
This one decision saw the Durmstrang students, apart from Krum who Karkaroff kept on a tight leash, branch out. At lunchtime, they could be found sitting with the other older students and getting to know British magical society from a more diverse perspective.
When they approached the Beauxbatons students, however, Harry noticed that Fleur and her friend were studying him sharply. As each of Harry's ladies were introduced, they seemed to become less friendly to him and pitying toward his loves. They kept it polite, and their opinions were distinctly not shared by the other French guests who were full of questions and held themselves apart from the Veela girls, making clear that there were also divisions in their own group.
They did thaw out slightly when Harry and Hermione demonstrated their ability to converse in French as readily as in English, making communication easier, and providing translations for their friends as needed. While nothing could erase the language and culture barriers entirely, knowing that at least some of the English speakers were at home in French meant the foreign students didn't feel as isolated.
Fleur was standing next to her friend Yvette as they observed these English wizards and particularly Harry Potter. While he hadn't made any moves on them or been anything less than polite and friendly, he was still a young man with a harem which meant appearances couldn't be trusted. They would wait and see if he was just like the cautionary tales all Veela passed to their daughters. For now, they had to go. Suppressing their Allure was a strain but it was worth keeping in practice and it saved them from having more problems with other people.
Making excuses, the pair of beautiful girls retired to their cabins and relaxed their control, groaning. Fleur laid back in her bed as images appeared to her unbidden of the various students and her sex drive spiked for a minute as it always did when she allowed her Allure to run free.
Once they had recovered, they made their way back to the castle, exploring on their own as they tried to learn the twisting and changing layout, getting lost a couple of times. Both Fleur and Yvette had already put in their names for the Triwizard Tournament so they had nothing else to do until the champions were announced.
In the end, there were quite a few who put their name in. Certainly all the Beauxbatons students did since that was the entire point of their trip. Harry suspected that Karkaroff had intimidated some of 'his' students into changing their mind to better the chances of his favourite Krum to be selected. The rumour mill said otherwise, claiming they all did.
From Hogwarts, the competition was wider, nearly a hundred students were eligible, giving it the home ground advantage. The Age Line that Dumbledore set up caught its share of ineligible students, too, with the Weasley twins Fred and George turning their failure into another prank, one that got a lot more laughs than most of theirs.
They entered in full view of a score of students after taking an Aging Potion in order to fool the Goblet and the Age Line that they were old enough to enter, being five months too young. Fred went first, walking right up to the edge of the thin golden line, waiting a moment while he got his nerve together. Then with the air of a diver preparing for ten meter board, he took a great breath and stepped over the line.
For a split second, it appeared to work, fooling his brother George who joined him yelling in triumph, before they were both thrown back bodily ten feet away onto the cold stone floor. The Goblet had let out a loud sizzling sound as its magic picked up the twins, and when they landed there was a loud popping sound and both aspirants sported identical long white beards.
After that, few others underage made any attempt to get their names in, trusting in the twins to be the most sneaky of them all and not liking their chances in the face of that failure. That and the public humiliation of the twins didn't appeal.
So the remaining entries were done with little fanfare in comparison, and Harry wished Cedric luck when he went to put his name in the Goblet. He also spotted Angelina Johnson putting in hers. Both Sixth Years had early birthdays, like Hermione in his own year, turning 17 before the cutoff.
When Halloween came around on Monday, the air of excitement permeated even Snape's Potions classes for the 2nd and 6th Years, as much as he tried to repress it, and the Feast itself seemed to be more lively than the only other one Harry had attended. That was to be expected, really, since last year's was marred by the Daily Prophet's scare mongering.
For many, however, it seemed to drag on as they looked around, craning their necks and waiting impatiently for the announcements. At last, from their point of view, the last plates were cleared and there was a sharp upswing in the noise level in the hall which died away as Dumbledore stood up. On either side of him, the visiting Karkaroff and Maxime were as tense as any of their students. Ludo Bagman was hamming it up, grinning and winking at students while to the other side, Mr Crouch looked almost bored.
"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dum bledore. "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, blue-white of the flames al most painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting. … A few people kept checking their watches. …
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 over the crowd half the Hall away, 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 clapped as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.
"Oh look at them." Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. Harry caught them complaining about her being a teacher's pet and a nightmare and getting everything. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.
When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excite ment you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next …
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!"
Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and cheering, 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 appar ent to everybody what had distracted him.
The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were fly ing 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 Dumble dore 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."
"No." Harry's voice, trained to cut through the heat of battle, was loud and clear throughout the Great Hall. "I did not put my name in your Goblet. No, I do not want to participate. No, I did not get anyone else to enter my name for me.
"Someone has made a mistake, Headmaster Dumbledore."
Dumbledore was surprised. This was the loudest and most public Harry Potter had been in the entire time he had been at Hogwarts, and he was clearly opposed to entering the Tournament to boot. While he would have preferred to keep Harry isolated, that plan had been torn to shreds from the day Harry arrived, bright and confident and healthy. This Harry knew to speak up now, rather than protesting later, and that awareness presented a not-so-small problem. Many of his plans needed Harry to confront Voldemort or, failing that, to die and prove the Prophecy false.
Albus knew that the Dark Lord hadn't fully died that night, though it seemed everyone else had forgotten or repressed that in the years since, and that Voldemort was surely working on a plan to acquire a new body. That made it more urgent than ever that Albus discover the state of Harry's talents for it was crucial to his leadership of the Light that he know how to mould and shape the boy for his destiny.
If Harry did have some sort of power, then he may survive the meeting, and Albus hoped deep inside it would prove to be so. Certainly, the boy had shown his capacity for love which he wanted to believe would be enough. On the other hand, the boy had already survived a Killing Curse, killed a Troll, survived a Basilisk in its lair and unwittingly retrieved and destroyed a Horcrux. That was proof that the boy had something in his favour. The way he had turned to Amelia Bones instead of himself as a mentor was troubling, though, since the woman refused to forgive those who needed it.
'No, Harry must compete. That will allow me to put him to the test.'
Thank you for reading! As always, my thanks go to my betas for their wonderful help.