When they entered the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved; it was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table. Fred and George— clean-shaven again— seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well.
"Hope it's Angelina," said Fred as Arabella, Ron, and Hermione sat down for dinner.
"So do I!" said Arabella.
"Well, we'll soon know," said Hermione happily.
The Halloween feast took much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, Arabella didn't seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as she would have usually. Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, she wanted the plates to clear and to hear who had been selected as champions.
At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, seemed entirely uninterested, almost bored.
"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber—" he indicated the door behind the staff table "— where they will be receiving their first instructions."
He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting. . . . A few people kept checking their watches. . .
"Any second," Dean whispered, two seats away from Arabella.
The flames inside the goblet suddenly turned red again. Sparks began to fly from it. The next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, and a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it— the whole room gasped.
Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum!"
"No surprises there!" yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Arabella 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 turned red again seconds later. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"
The girl, who was rumored to be 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, they're all disappointed," Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. Disappointed was a bit of an understatement. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads in 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 excitement 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!"
"No!" gasped Ron loudly, but nobody heard him except Arabella, who, in response, elbowed him hard in the ribs. The uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to their feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as, at last, the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—"
But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and what had distracted him was apparent to everybody. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and another piece of parchment was borne upon it.
Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out an extended hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out:
"Lyla Potter."
Lyla sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at her. She was stunned and felt as though a sheet of ice was pressing itself firmly across her whole body. She was surely dreaming. She had not heard correctly.
There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was filling the Hall; some students stood up to get a better look at her as she sat petrified in her seat.
At the top table, Snape got to his feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward him, frowning slightly.
Lyla slowly turned to face her friends; beyond them, she saw the long Slytherin table all watching, openmouthed.
"I— I didn't— I didn't p-put my name in," she stammered in a quivering voice. "You— you know I didn't."
They all just stared back in an equal amount of shock.
At the top table, Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Snape.
"Lyla Potter!" he called again. "Lyla! Up here, if you please!"
"Go," Daphne whispered, giving her friend a slight push.
Slowly, Lyla got to her feet, trod on the hem of her robes, and stumbled forward. She set off up the gap between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, doing her absolute best to avoid eye contact. She didn't dare look toward her sister, fearful of what she might see. It felt like an immensely long walk; the top table didn't seem to be getting any nearer at all, and she could feel hundreds and hundreds of eyes upon her as though each were a searchlight. The buzzing grew louder and louder. After what seemed like an hour, she was right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the teachers' stares upon her.
"Well.. . through the door you go," said Dumbledore. He wasn't smiling.
Swallowing with great difficulty, Lyla moved off along the teachers' table. Hagrid was seated right at the end. He did not wink at her, or wave, or give any of his usual signs of greeting. He looked utterly astonished and stared at Lyla as shepassed like everyone else. She went through the door out of the Great Hall and found herself in a smaller room lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him.
The faces in the portraits turned to look at her as she entered. She saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus mustache. The wizened witch started whispering in his ear.
Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Hunched up and brooding, Krum was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire dazedly. Fleur Delacour looked around when Lyla walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair.
"What is it?" she said. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"
She thought Lyla had come to deliver a message. She didn't know how to explain what had just happened, so she just stood there, looking at the three champions. It struck her how very tall all of them were.
There was a sound of scurrying feet behind her, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He gently took Lyla by the arm and led her deeper into the room.
"Extraordinary!" he muttered, squeezing her arm. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen— lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce— incredible though it may seem— the fourth Triwizard champion!"
Viktor Krum straightened up. His grumpy face darkened as he surveyed Lyla. Cedric looked nonplussed, perhaps even a bit surprised. He looked from Bagman to Lyla and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said.
"Oh, very funny joke, Meester Bagman," said Fleur, tossing her hair and smiling.
"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Lyla's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"
Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned.
"But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. "She cannot compete. She is too young."
"Well. . . it is amazing," said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Lyla with twinkling eyes. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as her name's come out of the goblet... I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage. . . . It's down in the rules. You're obliged. . . Lyla will have to do the best she—"
The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, McGonagall, and Snape. Lyla heard the hundreds of students buzzing on the other side of the wall before McGonagall closed the door.
"Madame Maxime!" said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zis little girl is to compete also!"
Somewhere under Lyla's numb disbelief, she felt a ripple of anger. Little girl?
Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full and considerable height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled.
"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she said imperiously.
"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff. He wore a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like ice chips. "Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions— or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"
He gave a short and nasty laugh.
"C'est impossible," said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting upon Fleur's shoulder. "Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most unjust."
"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place though his eyes were colder than ever. "Otherwise, we would have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."
"It's no one's fault, Karkaroff," said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for actions he cannot control. At this point in time, I'd say it's appropriate to say Lyla and her sister have been the root of much trouble here since their arrival… trouble seems to be very close with the two."
"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet. Dumbledore was now looking down at Lyla, who looked right back at him, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles.
"Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Lyla?" he asked calmly.
"No," responded Lyla as firmly as she could. She was very aware of everybody watching.
"Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?" said Dumbledore.
"No!" said Lyla vehemently.
"Ah, but of course, she is lying!" cried Madame Maxime.
"She could not have crossed the Age Line," said McGonagall sharply. "I am sure we are all agreed on that -"
"Dumbly-dorr must 'ave made a mistake wiz ze line," said Madame Maxime, shrugging.
"It is possible, of course," said Dumbledore politely.
"Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!" said Snape angrily.
"Really, what nonsense!" cried McGonagall. "She could not have crossed the line herself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that she did not persuade an older student to do it for her, I'm sure that should be good enough for everybody else!"
"Mr. Crouch... Mr. Bagman," said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, "you are our— mm— objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?"
Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked eerie, the half-darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice.
"We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."
"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime as though the matter was now closed.
"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," said Karkaroff. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. "You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."
"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," said Bagman. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out— it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament -"
"— in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" exploded Karkaroff. "After all our meetings, negotiations, and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"
"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a voice from near the door. "You can't leave your champion now. The girl's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"
Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and there was a loud clunk with every right step he took.
"Convenient?" said Karkaroff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."
Lyla could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists.
"Don't you?" said Moody quietly. "It's straightforward, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's name in that goblet knowing she'd have to compete if it came out."
"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" said Madame Maxime.
"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," said Karkaroff, bowing to her. "I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards—"
"If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter," growled Moody, "but. . . funny thing. . . I don't hear her saying a word. . ."
"Why should she complain?" burst out Fleur, stamping her foot. "She 'as ze chance to compete, 'asn't 'she? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money— zis is a chance many would die for!"
"Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it," said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl.
An agitated silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, "Moody, old man. . . what a thing to say!"
"We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," said Karkaroff loudly. "Apparently, he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons.
"Imagining things, am I?" growled Moody. "Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put her name in that goblet. . .
"Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?" said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.
"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" shouted Moody. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the Tournament... I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school to ensure she was the only one in her category.. . ."
"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," said Karkaroff coldly, "and a very ingenious theory it is— though, of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously. . . ."
"There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage," Moody retorted in a menacing voice. "It's my job to think like Dark wizards, Karkaroff— as you ought to remember…
"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly. Lyla wondered for a moment whom he was speaking to but then realized "Mad-Eye" could hardly be Moody's first name. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction— Karkaroff's face was burning.
"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. However, it seems we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Lyla have been chosen to compete in the Tournament."
"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr -"
"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."
Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak. She merely glared. She wasn't the only one, either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, seemed rather excited.
"Well, shall we crack on, then?" he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honors?"
Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep trance. "Yes," he said, "instructions. Yes . . . the first task . . ."
He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Lyla thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup.
"The first task is designed to test your daring," he told Lyla, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard. . . is essential. The first task will occur on November twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the Tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the Tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."
Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore. "I think that's all, is it, Albus?"
"I think so," said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?"
"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," said Mr. Crouch. "It is a hectic, challenging time at the moment... I've left young Weatherby in charge.. . . Very enthusiastic. . . a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told. . .
"You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?" said Dumbledore.
"Come on, Barty, I'm staying!" said Bagman brightly. "It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!"
"I think not, Ludo," said Crouch with a touch of his old impatience.
"Professor Karkaroff— Madame Maxime— a nightcap?" said Dumbledore.
But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur's shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Lyla could hear them both chattering in French as they entered the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.
"Lyla, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed," said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. "I am sure Slytherin and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise."
Lyla glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and they left together.
The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality.
"So," said Cedric, with a slight smile. "We're playing against each other…"
"I suppose your right," said Lyla. Truthfully, she couldn't think what to say, and not having had many conversations with him, she could hardly think of anything to say without coming off as incredibly awkward. The inside of her head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though her brain had been ransacked.
"So. . . tell me. . ." started Cedric as they reached the entrance hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. "How did you get your name in? I heard about the Weasley twins— you don't have a beard— does Arabella know?"
"I didn't," said Lyla, staring up at him. "I didn't put my name in! I was telling the truth. Arabella could tell you just as much."
"Mmm. . . okay," said Cedric, and Lyla could plainly see that Cedric didn't believe her words. "Well . . . see you, then."
Instead of going down the marble staircase, Cedric headed for a door to its right. Lyla stood listening to him going down the stone steps beyond it, then, slowly, he started to climb down the marble ones. Would anyone believe her, or would they all think she'd put herself in for the Tournament? Yet how could anyone believe that when she would be facing competitors who'd had two years more magical education than she had—- when she was now facing tasks that sounded very dangerous and were to be performed in front of hundreds of people?
The Gryffindors were buzzing madly as they walked toward the common room.
"Can you believe that just happened?!" gushed Parvati shrilly. "I don't believe it— and Lyla, of all people!"
"How d'you reckon she got passed the Age Line?" wondered Seamus. "I didn't know she had it in her— you know, being a rule abider for the most part…."
"Do you think she asked an older student to do it for her?" asked Neville worriedly.
"Nonsense, Neville," replied Lee, looking excitedly but also forlorn at the same time. "No one in their right mind would do that… unless she paid them or something."
"You think she'd stoop that low?" asked a small first-year, her eyes bulging slightly.
Arabella listened without speaking, feeling her stomach roil with horror and anxiety. Just how on earth had this happened? Hadn't they already been in enough life-threading disasters?
"Can you believe her?" spat Ron venomously. "I mean—" he added quickly at Arabella's glare, "she could have at least let us know what she was doing. I had no idea she was even interested!"
"You don't honestly think that, do you?" said Hermione with exasperation. "Lyla's a good student, I can't deny that, but I don't believe she's got the skill to pass the age line— in fact, I don't even think I could."
"Aren't you curious?" said Fred in wonder. "I mean, this is Lyla we're talking about. Now, this is behavior we could expect from Arabella being—"
"What's that supposed to mean?!" said Arabella indignantly.
"Oh, don't deny it," said George, grinning wickedly. "We all know you've got a little bit of a trickster in you."
Arabella was stopped from responding when she found herself facing the portrait of the Fat Lady. It was a great surprise to see that she was not alone in her frame. A wizened witch was now sitting smugly beside the Fat Lady.
"Well, well, well," said the Fat Lady, "Violet's just told me everything. "Is it true about Lyla Potter?"
"Balderdash," said Arabella dully.
"It most certainly isn't!" said the pale witch indignantly.
"No, no, Vi, it's the password," said the Fat Lady soothingly, and she swung forward on her hinges to let them all into the common room.
"She should've told us you'd entered," sighed George with a saddened expression.
"How did you think she did it without getting a beard?" said Fred loudly, who was now looking half annoyed and half impressed.
"I don't know," Arabella said. "It isn't as if we're in the same house—"
But Angelina had now swooped down upon her, grasping the girl firmly in a tight hold.
"I had hoped for a Gryffindor champion," she said, "but I like Lyla. She's got spunk!"
"She'll be able to pay back Diggory knocking you off your broom!" shrieked Katie Bell, another of the Gryffindor Chasers.
"She won't—"
But nobody wanted to hear what Arabella had to say. Faster than her brain could comprehend what was going on, the Gryffindors had begun to celebrate— despite Lyla being a Slytherin, she was extremely liked by the scarlet and gold house.
Soon, platters of desserts had materialized (courtesy of the Weasley twins), and everyone was celebrating loudly. Hands constantly reached out to pull Arabella down, everyone wanting to know how her sister had done it.
"I don't know how it happened," she kept saying repeatedly, but no one appeared to be listening.
Half past midnight, Arabella had grown extremely irritated. Ron had refused to speak to her for most of the night, slinking off towards Dean and Seamus while Hermione had taken out a book.
"I'm tired!" She bellowed finally after nearly half an hour. "No, seriously, George— thank you, but I'm going to bed—"
All she wanted now was to lie in bed and sleep the nightmare away.
P.S. If you could, if one has the time, please leave
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