Harry burst into the Champions' Room, where Victor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were standing by the fireplace. Krum, slouched, thinking about something intently, was slouched against the mantelpiece. Cedric put his hands behind his back and stared at the fire. Delacour, flicking back a wave of blonde hair, turned to Potter.
"What's the matter?" She asked. "Should we go back to the hall?"
He silently smoked in response, tucking back the hem of his robes and leaning against the fireplace.
French furtively decided to take a closer look at the man who interested her.
His eyebrows were furrowed, his hands were tense, and his eyes were closed. Surprisingly, he was not short in stature compared to the Diggory standing next to him. "Yes, and in beauty," Fleur admitted at least to herself. He looked pretty well built for a fourteen year old. An outsider would give him more like sixteen, if not seventeen.
Smoking rather nervously, apparently pretty pissed off. Judging by the inquiries, he has another annual adventure, the fourth champion or something like that. He doesn't know where to put his free hand: either his clothes are unfamiliar to him, or he's holding something usually in his hand. The clothes are typical Hogwarts uniforms, so it's not it. Obviously holds his wand a lot - so he's practicing a lot. If he's practicing so much at fourteen that he's developed a reflex - his core is pretty developed for his age, otherwise he just wouldn't have the strength to keep practicing.
What confused veela was the sparse drops of blood she found on his sleeve. And the fact that he's standing there calmly smoking when three directors should be walking in right now. This is the first person whose analysis had yielded almost nothing for Delacour.
Behind him there was heard the thumping of footsteps, and Ludo Bagman ran into the room.
"Unbelievable! - He exclaimed, seizing Harry's hand. - An extraordinary occurrence! Gentlemen... ladies, may I present to you, as amazing as it may sound, the fourth champion and participant in the Tournament!"
Fleur needed to keep playing the blonde Frenchwoman, so she took her eyes off Potter, flipped a shiny wave of hair, and grinned:
"Ooh-la-la-la! That's a very funny joke, Mr. Bagman!"
"Joke…"
"Oh, no, it's not a fucking joke!" Harry interrupted the man, pulling his hand out of Bagman's grasp.
"I have to compete in this stupid tournament amongst stupid people at this stupid fucking school!" Potter stormed off, tossing the cigarette butt into the fireplace.
Victor Krum squared his shoulders, looked Harry over from head to toe, and his frown darkened. Cedric, hearing mats, insults, and strong emotion from Mr. Modesty for the first time, seemed a little out of the world. A pattern breaker he is. Fleur raised her eyebrows adorably, as if in mild surprise.
Spewing out his irritation, hormones be damned, Harry began to cool down and slowly analyze the situation. It was unlikely that he would be allowed to withdraw from the Tournament, a magic contract was no joke. But he could use his stale brain to its fullest now, if only for a few minutes.
So.
What do we got? Someone threw a name in the cup. It couldn't have been students, because the principal isn't stupid and should have anticipated all the options.
Someone from the teaching staff or guests wants to kill him. He threw all the regular teachers of Hogwarts aside, if they wanted to, they would have killed him long ago. Moody, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Crouch, Bagman, and Dumbledore. "Adventure" should be in the style of the last one. Well, let's try the elimination method.
Foreign school principals. Judging by their behavior, they want to take the cup. Their schools are in the huge shadow that Hogwarts casts. And they're annoyed by it. Fallout.
Crouch is a popular politician known for putting a bunch of fishy... people in Azkaban. Dismissed.
Bagman is suspicious, but judging by talk and rumor, too weak to bewitch such an artifact. Fails.
Moody or Dumbledore?
Considering that Moody is the Headmaster's direct subordinate in both the school and the Order - the conclusion would seem obvious. But there's a small point. As much as the Headmaster throws Harry to the grenade, he doesn't let him die. And here he has no way to control it. Headmasters swore they wouldn't help their wards in any way. No, of course, there are plenty of ways around that oath. Through an intermediary, talking to no one, et cetera, et cetera.
But Dumbledore always keeps his cards to himself. He wouldn't trust a stranger. Though one shouldn't rule out that the Headmaster might have people who are willing to do his most absurd orders without explanation. So it's off the table, but not completely.
And finally, the most delicious part. Alastor "The Terrible Eye" Moody. Well, he'd long been suspicious of Harry. But he used to think it was just another Headmaster's riddle that he would solve by the end of the year and maybe it was, but he was sick of it. Bored with it. Not used to the prosthetic, even though it mimics the opposite quite successfully. He uses his eye strangely and, frankly, not like a battle mage. That is, not efficiently, quickly, and imperceptibly, but just the opposite. He's had both of these artifacts for a long time, if Ron's words are to be believed. He sips from a flask every hour. No more than that. That's highly suspicious, considering Snape was muttering about someone stealing ingredients from him.
Oh, and as a final touch, the map shows Moody as Barty Crouch for some reason. Actually the most important argument, since everything else is pretty shaky evidence.
Making inquiries, Harry learned that Crouch Sr. had a son who had died in Azkaban. Death Eater. Bingo.
I think it's time to deal the cards.
All of this went through Harry's mind in just a few moments.
Fleur saw those moments in Potter's eyes. And she got ready for the show, because the young man's whole look told her that something was about to happen.
The door behind the champions opened. Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Crouch, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape walked in. A rumble of excited voices burst from the hall through the open door for a split second.
Madame Maxime!" Delacour exclaimed indignantly. "They say that this petit garson will also take part!"
"The blonde won't play herself," thought Fleur.
Harry threw her such a mocking glance that the wylloman involuntarily blushed. What was the last time… well, never!
Madame Maxime straightened to her full ginormous height. The top of her beautiful head grazed the candelabrum, and her impressive satin-clad bust rippled.
"Dumbledore! Que quese? What does that mean?" She said imperiously.
"I'd like to know it too!" Professor Karkarov supported the Frenchman. A stony smile froze on his face, his blue eyes turned to ice. "Two champions from Hogwarts? I don't recall the school, the host school of the Tournament, ever fielding two champions. Maybe I'm not familiar with the rules?" A snide chuckle escaped his lips.
"Impossibles." Madame Maxime lowered a huge hand, studded with beautiful opals, onto Fleur's shoulder. " 'Ogwa'gts can't field two champions, c'est injuste."
"We were sure, Dumbledore, that the forbidden line would only allow senior students to enter the competition," the stony smile never left Karkaroff's face. "Otherwise we would have brought a lot more applicants here."
"Karkaroff, this is all Potter's doing," Snape accused him curtly. His black eyes glittered angrily. "It wasn't Dumbledore's fault that Potter broke the rules of the Tournament. That unfit boy has done nothing but break the rules since the first day he came to school."
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said. The potionist fell silent and stepped aside, but his eyes continued to throw angry sparks.
The Headmaster glanced shrewdly at Harry, who didn't look away.
"Did you, Harry, throw your name in the Cup?"
Harry Potter's finest hour. The fish are playing. We're hooking.
"No. And you know it... When I came to this school, I wanted one thing," Harry began his punch line, "to learn."
"You and learning? You're as stupid as your father," Snape decided to interrupt.
"Shut your filthy mouth! A socially maladapted, infantile, affective neurasthenic should figure himself out before assuming anything, even if he is a professor!" Harry said in a curt reply, staring into Snape's eyes. Snape recoiled. Lily's eyes had never been so... dismissive.
Everyone was taken aback by Harry's words. Only two understood something about the speech. And not all of them. One because he had fallen behind modern psychology, the other because she missed the part, glaring angrily at the self-absorbed Potions Master.
"Har…"
"I HAVEN'T FINISHED! YOU have kept me from studying in peace, your constant 'quests', those pesky people you set me on, the annual risk to my life," seeing that Dumbledore wanted to say something, Potter continued, "oh, I know you wouldn't let me die!"
"My bo…
"FURTHER! Look for another hero, I'm leaving this damn school! Yes, I know the goblet will take away my magic, well to hell with it, I have a degree from Oxford. I'll be accepted anywhere! And if you interfere with me, the dirt on you that my goblin attorney has on you will be in the press."
"Miste…"
"I KNOW. That it won't cause you much trouble, but in the time it takes you to clean up the crap I'm about to dump on you, I'll be long gone. Au revoir, I'm outta here. If I don't report to my solicitor soon, the dirt will move on," Potter was bluffing, he couldn't have known he'd be chosen by the Goblet. He only had to write back once a week, and he'd already sent a letter yesterday.
"Wait…"
"OH, AND ONE MORE THING! Your fucking line could only be passed by an adult wizard, a powerful wizard could also enchant the cup. Your Moody isn't real: unfit with prosthetics he's had for ten years, enjoys the unforgivable, drinks from a flask every hour on top of Snape missing a bunch of ingredients for a werewolf. Upon making inquiries, I can tell you that this is Barty Crouch, Jr."
The end of the speech was like a bomb going off. False Moody had already pulled out his wand to... I don't know what he was planning to do, after all, some of the strongest wizards in the world were in this room, but got an expelliarmus spell from Harry and a numbing spell from Dumbledore. Barty Crouch Sr. collapsed sharply. It was as if a doll's strings had been cut.
It's worth noting that the Headmaster's spell came early, considering Potter was facing False Moody and had planned to disarm the Eater at the end of the speech.
Silence hung in the room. Snape, only just recovering from the teenager's speech, sniffed the flask and confirmed confidently:
"A reversal potion."
Everyone in the room turned toward a completely calm Harry. Everyone, except Dumbledore, had a shockingly disbelieving look in their eyes.
And the Headmaster had now taken his word for it. For a second, everyone in the room felt as if a glass of ice water had been poured by the scruff of the neck. The gazes touched the Headmaster of Hogwarts on their own. He looked intimidating. Right now, it could be said that he was the one who had defeated the most terrifying Dark Lord in history. Neither the bells in his beard nor Dumbledore's strange outfit hindered this image.
Cold sweat broke out on everyone in the room without exception. Especially since Albus had neutralized the False Moody with inhuman speed.
"Harry, I heard you. Why don't you listen to me in my office now? I promise I won't bewitch you in any way. You can send a message to the solicitor after our conversation," Dumbledore replied rather gently, considering his appearance at this moment. "I want to tell the rest of you that we have found the culprit responsible for Mr. Potter's name being in the cup. And I will ask that whatever was in this room stays in this room. Otherwise, I will take action," the man warned in an icy tone that seemed to make the air in the room several degrees colder.
"All right, let's go through, but I'm going to smoke," Potter decided to make his own terms, despite the even more stunned looks in the room. Not many people could say anything to Dumbledore right now.
"Oh, you're only fourteen, though if it'll make you feel better, please... Muggle diseases are no big deal to a wizard anyway, and I think you clean the smell with magic," the Headmaster replied, instantly becoming the Good Concerned Grandfather again.
Someone in the room sighed in relief as the pair walked out.
It was the first time Albus had ever seen someone as anything other than a stupid, careless child, even if outwardly he was.
