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Chapter 8
Harry sat alone in the tent, as the tournament carried on outside. Diggory, the Hogwarts champion and the last of the other contestants was on his way to the arena. If the others were any form of indication it would be around a half hour till he was done and the area was made ready again, not much time.
It had been during Krum's trial that they had returned, the documents in the hands of a stern looking woman whose eyes glittered with unshed tears as she handed him the contract along with a small piece of paper bearing Harry's name. He quickly glanced over the contract, he almost laughed when he looked at the 'paper' it was real parchment… the hand-made stuff, with all the imperfections and weight. It had hand-written script in a large looping style.
Truthfully it was very straight forward, as contracts went. Each potential candidate, upon the entrant's name being accepted by the goblet, was obliged to compete if their name was returned by the goblet at the selection feast. They would compete in three trials and a winner would be selected by a panel of judges composed of the three headmasters and three others selected by the Tri-wizard Commission; the points they awarded would be applied to the time each competitor achieved in the event. The penalty for non-compliance with the rules set forth in the contract was the loss of the participant's magic. His name, in an identical scrawl to the one on the small slip of paper, was at the bottom with the others that had been selected.
Nowhere was any mention of a minimum age, or even number of schools to be entered. He had seen a number of contracts in his short life at Fairgrove, ones dealing with everything from sponsors to equipment, the one thing that was constant was the exacting nature of them but this one seemed to be deliberately vague. As Lady Ako had drilled into him, the devil is in the details.
If there was one thing Lady Ako knew it was the details, it was her nature. She had taught him that from the first days she came to their home, and he had become her star pupil. From the tea ceremony he learned to help calm him, to what he was learning at her side in the boardroom he could often be found at her side if he was not on the track. She felt he needed to be able to write the same contracts that would be used to protect him in the future, and he had been quickly convinced.
This contract while looking benign on the surface, was iron clad in its simplicity. The word compete had been used in each necessary reference, while the missing clauses about age or level of ability, and the omission of number and or names of schools left little doubt, it had been written with something else in mind.
The slip of paper more than proved it. It was old, burnt around the edges and a dusty brown with light blue lines set about a half inch apart with a broken line resting in the center of them. Harry recognized the paper, it was used at the school he started at when he lived with them, he used a version at home when he was young as well. It was paper used to teach children handwriting… to teach him handwriting; Harry Potter was written in pencil across the edge, K1-1, his class, and his school, Sandfield Primary… It was how they were taught to place their names on their assignments… He laughed as he realized he was to compete for a grade school!
He wadded the paper in his hand, if what had been said was true there was only one person that would have had access to this, Dumbledore the Gandalf wannabe. McGonagall, the woman that had brought it to him, had been at a loss for an explanation as to the school he would be representing.
He smiled to himself, that had gone over oh so well with Sirius and Amelia. They had ranted and raved especially loudly after finding out that Albus had ducked away after seeing the healer and before they could get hold of him. From that had grown some speculation on why the old man had done this, why was he so desperate to find Harry? Was he trying to kill him?
After it was all said and done it didn't matter, well at least not at the moment. Sirius had said not to worry about anything when he refused to participate in the task, no matter what he would stand with him. Amelia had added that no one would blame him when they knew he did not know how to use a wand, and that Dumbledore was at fault for this mess. Harry had agreed with them, it was a mess. Then asked for some time alone as it was a lot to take in. They both had hugged him and promised to be just outside when he was ready, then stepped out.
He had then taken a seat on the ground his legs crossed, hands on his thighs and began his normal pre-race ritual. He closed his eyes, began to relax and reached into his memory for his 'happy place' and sank into it, releasing the tension held in his body and the thoughts plaguing his mind. His breathing became deep and rhythmic and his mind focused on the task at hand. With his mind settled his eyes opened and he stood as he was called to the arena.
As the sunlight hit him he slipped on his sunglasses, their mirrored lenses flashing in the sun. Sirius's hand landed on his shoulder, "Are you ready, Harry?"
He shook his arms and legs loosening them, then did a couple of stretches. "Guess I don't have any choice," he said slipping his arms back into his fire suit and zipping it up, finally rubbing the Fairgrove logo on his left breast for luck, and old habit. "Let's get it over with." He began to walk to the arena entrance, and finally stepped down into its floor, alone.
He looked to his left, toward the far end of the pitch to see the mammoth creature, the spines on its tail looking half his height or more, the teeth just as long. It could probably gobble him down in a single bite. The wings looked like they belonged on a passenger jet, and the burst of flame it belched upward looked easily twice as high as one of the towers. As he thought about it, that thing had most likely used toothpicks bigger than him!
He shook his head and looked toward the judges' podium, the voice of Ludo Bagman was magnified so everyone could easily hear him. "Presenting the unprecedented fourth competitor for the Tri-Wizard Cup… HARRY POTTER!" Harry stood stock still, looking at the man, the sound coming from the crowd was thunderous. Startled, the great beast at the far end of the stadium let loose with an earthshaking ROAR! Flames followed as the head swung, they were reaching over 3/4ths of the distance across the ground, and the heat rolling off them was unbelievable!
Harry leaned away from the flames and heat then raised his arms, moving them up and down in a quieting motion. As the crowd sat, Bagman spoke again. "Mr. Potter your time has begun!"
Harry gave him an annoyed look. "Thank you for your concern, but I have something to say before I begin this travesty! Ladies and Gentlemen, I am afraid you have been kept waiting under false pretences." Murmurs ran through the gathering. "I am not a member of any of the schools that would normally compete…"
"Mr. Potter!" shouted Minister Fudge. "Please do not delay things any longer than you already have! I am sure that these good people have no interest-"
"Let me have my say and this will be over quickly then!" Harry yelled over him. Clearing his throat he continued. "I do not even live in this country!" Shouts could be heard coming from the crowd, a few he could make out and they would not make the bearded one happy. Again he raised his arms, "When I woke this morning I was half a world away and blissfully unaware of this… this… tournament!"
Yells erupted again, some focused on him calling him a liar, others focused on those in the judges' box. "I do not meet the criteria set for this contest, but have somehow been forced into it as a competitor."
He slowly walked till he was directly in front of the judges' box and spoke again. "If I had thirty pieces of silver I would be giving them to you Mr. Dumbledore!" He said the name with contempt. "As it is this will do." He brought his right fist across his chest to his left breast and thumped it hard and bowed, as he straightened he snapped his arm out straight his hand slightly higher than his head. "I, who am about to die salute you!" He then flipped his hand over and lowered three fingers leaving the middle one straight "FUCK YOU!"
He then walked to the middle of the pitch keeping a large boulder between him and the creature, turned so his back was against the stone and sat, pulling his legs up and crossing them. 'Now the fun begins,' he thought, as the gathered crowd descended into bedlam.
Voices assaulted the judges from all sides, most directed to the eldest of the group, all wanting answers. At the forefront of them was a shorter woman her hair done in small ringlets, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and taking notes with an acid green quill. "Chief Warlock? What did Mr. Potter mean with his statements? You have always said that he was safe and being well taught, from his vulgar language can it be assumed that that was not the case?"
"I can assure you he is perfectly healthy, Ms. Skeeter. Just a little out of sorts from his travel, and a misunderstanding on how things are to be handled," said Albus, with a grandfatherly smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.
"Oh, come now Albus," the voice of Sirius Black came from behind him, "Let's tell the nice reporter the entire truth. My Godson is right put out with you."
His head snapped around to look at Black, who had a large predatory grin on his face. Albus's mouth opened but upon seeing the chief of the DMLE at Sirius's side he faltered as she said, "Albus, you and I need to have a long talk after today's event is completed," leaving absolutely no doubt that the conversation would be quite unpleasant for the elder statesman. He nodded slowly as the questions began anew, it took several minutes and a good portion of the Aurors on duty to convince the crowd to settle down and return to their seats.
As soon as the crowd settled and their attention returned to the arena the same question entered all of their minds as they gazed down at the pitch. All was quiet below them. The beast had settled itself, chest against the nest, guarding its clutch of eggs, the large head pivoting easily. 'Where was he?'
There was no sign of the Boy-Who-Lived.