clxxix. the four champions
The excited chatter followed the crowd like a loud thundercloud through the foyer into the Great Hall. At first, Harriet expected a new table would be added for the visitors, but when no such table appeared, the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students joined the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables respectively, which meant tight quarters during lunch. Harriet squished between Elara and sixth-year Adrian Pucey, who smelled like manure from Herbology class.
Once settled, Dumbledore made some rather lengthy introductions for the foreign staff that mostly went over Harriet's head. Her attention turned instead to the group of new students and eying the Aurors dotted about the hall's peripheries, taking note of where Gaunt's Guardians lingered. She never liked being in the same room as them.
When she did look back toward the High Table, she noticed something curious. Headmaster Karkaroff took his seat and happened to turn his head, and he caught sight of Slytherin four chairs down—Slytherin, who'd been staring at the bloke for awhile, and whose mouth unfurled in a cruel smile when he made eye contact.
Karkaroff paled so drastically, Harriet thought he might pass out.
"I hope you will all join me in making sure our guests feel welcomed while they stay with us here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued with a gentle smile. The Durmstrang students appeared curious about their surroundings—more so than their Beauxbatons counterparts, who were cold and rather disdainful in Harriet's opinion. Having been to their school before, she guessed they probably found Hogwarts relatively modest in comparison. After all, they didn't have gilt chandeliers and twinkling ice sculptures on display.
The Headmaster invited them to eat with a sweeping motion of his hand, and the dishes filled themselves on the long table. Harriet wriggled closer to Elara to avoid Pucey's arm and the less than pleasant odor. The taller witch huffed in frustration, glared from the corner of her eye, and started dishing things onto Harriet's plate to spare herself from reaching arms and thrown elbows.
As lunch started, Harriet surveyed the hall again, and more than a dozen faces kept turning to stare at the Slytherin table—or, more precisely, at the back of Viktor Krum's head. Most of the people in Harriet's House had crammed themselves as close to the Quidditch star as possible, and many of the witches whispered furtively to their friends, giggling and fluttering their eyelashes.
Harriet peered at the bloke as well, trying to figure out what the fuss was about. Oh, she thought him being a professional Quidditch player at such a young age was brilliant and wondered if he'd share stories about the games he'd played, but otherwise, Krum appeared surly and unwilling to be there. Peregrine Derrick tried asking him a question, and Krum ignored him, concentrating on his meal.
A flutter of silvery hair caught Harriet's attention, and she watched as a Beauxbatons witch crossed from the Gryffindor table with a dish of bouillabaisse and returned to the Ravenclaws.
"Hey, Elara?"
"Yes?"
"Don't we know her?" Harriet pointed a blatant finger, and Elara looked up—only to slap Harriet's hand down out of sight, a brilliant red glow flushing her face. "She told us off that one time! Remember?"
"Stop pointing, brat."
"You don't remember?"
"I remember, now stop pointing."
Harriet rolled her eyes and returned to her lunch and her observations of the Durmstrang students along the table. Eventually, the meal dwindled, the last goblets of pumpkin juice enjoyed, and Professor Dumbledore rose for his seat at the High Table to approach the winged lectern again.
"Ah, now that we are all sufficiently fed and watered—it is time, at long last, for the Triwizard Tournament to officially open. Before we bring in the judge—."
"Oi," Harriet whispered to Elara. "I didn't know they were picking the contestants tonight."
"They're not," Elara replied. "Not until Hallowe'en."
"Then who's the judge? Are they going to be skipping about Hogwarts all week?"
"I don't know, just wait and listen."
Harriet brought her attention back to Dumbledore, who had turned to the staff entrance by the upper dais, through which Filch came dragging a heavy wooden casket. Everyone watched him bring the casket to Dumbledore, who thanked the caretaker before Filch nodded, scowled at the students, and hobbled his way out the staff entrance.
"Now, then. At the end of the week, on Hallowe'en, three champions will be chosen to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Those selected will represent the very best qualities and abilities of their school, and will be bound by magical contract to compete in three daring—and dangerous—challenges."
Dumbledore paused for effect, and the students turned to one another, whispering in speculation until the Headmaster raised his hand again.
"It will not fall to any one person to undertake such a daunting task in selecting the champions. Instead, we will be relying on the magic of the Tournament's traditional judge; the Goblet of Fire."
A twitch of his wand had the large casket opening, and from it rose a goblet—a huge goblet, roughly hewn of wood, but otherwise unremarkable aside from the size. Then, Dumbledore lowered the Goblet onto the closed casket—and the rim erupted in blue flames. Several of those seated closest to the dais leaned back from the brush of heat.
"Anyone of age who wishes to be considered need only put their name and their school upon a slip of folded parchment and add it to the Goblet. The Goblet will be relocated to the entrance hall, where it'll be freely accessible this week to those wishing to compete. Other precautions will be added to ensure no one under the age of seventeen will be able to enter their name, should the temptation strike them."
He turned his gaze toward the Gryffindor table, where the Weasley twins seemed most put out by this news.
"Classes for Hogwarts are canceled for the rest of the day, and I hope you will take this opportunity to introduce yourself to our guests and get to know one another. After all, this is a wonderful opportunity to learn about the world at large, and the many things we share with one another. But, for now, I will dismiss you from your lunch and bid you all a pleasant afternoon. Good day!"
xXx
By Thursday, four days before Hallowe'en, Harriet was already tired of this Tournament and eager for it to end.
The visiting students had an understandably shaky grasp of English for the most part and shared only a passing interest in interacting with anyone from Hogwarts. They spent much of their days in class with their own professors. The Beauxbatons students preferred to haunt one of the halls on the third floor cleared out and cleaned for their usage, all the hearths inside always kept at full bore. The Durmstrang students could be found outdoors or on their ship, unbothered by the crisp October weather.
Girls—and a fair number of boys—kept sneaking off to the lakeshore in-between lessons searching for Viktor Krum. The Quidditch star could occasionally be found on the track or out relaxing on the rocks, enjoying the sun. Harriet had seen him there, surrounded by witches, and she wondered if he ever got tired of that.
Truly, Harriet's gripe against the Tournament had nothing to do with the visitors. It had everything to do with Neville bloody Longbottom.
"Well, naturally Dumbledore had to add the Age Line around the Goblet," he said for the umpteenth time in Potions. "Could you imagine the shame when a younger student defeated the best and brightest from both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons? Ha! They'd be right mad when that happened!"
Harriet thought she might vomit into her Weedosoros brew—either that or suffocate under Longbottom's massive ego. She glared at the back of his stupid head.
"And you think you'd be picked, Longbottom?" Malfoy sneered from the table where he worked with Hermione. "Of all the students at Hogwarts? The only class you're the top in is Herbology."
"Yeah, and? You think you'd be chosen, git?"
"I'm not stupid enough to enter," Malfoy hissed. "Unlike some people, I'm not desperate for a thousand Galleons. Are you, Longbottom? Spend too much coin keeping your worthless name relevant?"
Their bickering continued until Elara, next to Harriet, let out a loud, annoyed sigh and stopped pretending to dice ingredients. She palmed her wand under the desk and, with a subtle whisper of "Accio," summoned Finnegan's wet Jewelweed from the table in front of the Prat Who Lived. The gloppy mess sailed backward—right into Neville's face.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said as the class laughed.
The weeds fell from Longbottom's face and splattered on his shoes. "I didn't even do anything!"
"Let it be a lesson in paying attention to your environment."
"That's not fa—."
Snape swept closer and arched a brow at Neville. He wisely chose to shut his mouth.
Harriet smirked as she stirred her potion—and nearly jumped out of her skin when Snape leaned over to put his face closer to Elara's. "Detention, Black," he whispered. "Don't let me catch you doing that again."
Elara didn't protest, only rolling her eyes when the dungeon bat had turned away. "Worth it," she muttered.
"Merlin, anything to get him to shut up," Harriet added. "D'you know he was signing autographs for the Beauxbatons witches yesterday morning?"
"Mhm." Elara toyed with the paring knife, poking a root. "I heard Krum refuses to hand out any."
"What, really?"
"Did you want one?"
"Not especially." Harriet snorted. "I kind of wanted to see if he'd talk about Quidditch, but I don't want to be mistaken for one of those bubble-headed ninnies fawning after him. Ugh."
"Merlin forbid Harriet Potter like someone. The horror."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Elara didn't answer her.
xXx
Hallowe'en arrived with great fanfare, the Hogwarts staff going out of their way to decorate as much of the castle as they could. If it impressed the visiting students, Harriet didn't know; as it had in past years, the day remained subdued for the orphaned witch. Thoughts of her parents and what might have been never seemed far away.
Remus canceled his morning class with the fourth-year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins so he could take Harriet to Grimmauld Place. From there, they gathered Sirius and went to Godric's Hollow.
"Your house used to be there," Sirius said, pointing out an empty lot of browning grass. "I didn't know they tore it down, though I imagine the deed to the property is in your vault."
Harriet didn't want to think about that. Should she be upset they demolished her childhood home? The house where her parents were brutally murdered? Maybe. The thought felt like another droplet into the stirring waters of her old, tired grief. Just another fact she'd never really understand what to do with.
They visited the graveyard and left white carnations on the marker her parents shared. Harriet stood there for a long while, listening to the soft noises of the sleepy village going about their day, Sirius' hand on her shoulder. Then, he and Remus started to share remembrances about her parents—mostly her dad—and Harriet felt lighter hearing the old stories.
Then, Sirius brought up the Potions Master.
"You know, your father and Snivellus used to hate one another," Sirius told her apropos of nothing as they walked toward the Apparition point. Harriet turned to look at him.
"Really?"
"Yeah. They competed for the top place in most of our classes. 'Course, Snape never had a shot at being Head Boy, loathsome git that he is, and everyone always thought he was soft on your mum. We used to prank the bastard like mad."
"You did—what?"
"Just a spot of mischief. We once pantsed him down by the lake with his own spell. The school talked about that for years afterward." Harriet's dawning horror showed, and Sirius backtracked. "He was being a right foul cretin, mind. Deserved everything he got. He called your mother a—."
Sirius might have said more, but he glanced toward Remus and saw the dark, foreboding expression on the other wizard's face. He fell silent.
They returned to Grimmauld Place, then left through the Floo to Remus' office at Hogwarts. He called Harriet back before she could depart to share a cup of tea, and they sat at the sofa by the window, drinking Earl Grey brought by a helpful house-elf.
"What Sirius spoke of—the things we used to do to Snape—were wrong," Remus said as he studied his tea and exhaled. Weariness deepened the gentle lines of his face, and the sunlight coming through the glass at their back caught the edges of his scars. "He was by no means a pleasant fellow, but that doesn't excuse our pranks. Our…harassment."
"Why did you do it, then?"
"I can't speak for James or for Sirius, really. I can speculate that Sirius was maybe jealous of Snape's ability with magic—or, being from a family that never taught him any better, he simply disliked Snape for his appearance and his attitude. Maybe I shouldn't mention this, but Severus was rather…poor, then. It was reflected in his clothes and his hygiene."
An uncomfortable moment passed in which Remus sipped his tea and Harriet pretended to do the same. She knew Sirius and Snape hated one another, obviously. She should have realized the same would be true of her dad.
"I think James was simply jealous of Snape's friendship with your mother. Oh—did you know they were friends? I am not sure Severus would have revealed that…."
"I know," Harriet said, ignoring the lurch of feeling that came with the memory of confronting the Potions Master with the same information. The Dark Mark flickered behind her eyelids.
"James was sweet on Lily even from our first year. Beautiful and brilliant, Lily was. No one could figure out what she saw in Snape or why they remained such close friends for so long…."
Remus trailed off, and Harriet considered the strange puzzle that was Severus Snape and Lily Evans. She didn't know much of her mum, obviously, but Harriet dared to guess she knew enough about Snape to say that Lily must have liked his dry wit, his determination, and his steadiness. All the things Harriet liked—used to like—about the wizard.
She scowled at her cup. She decided her mother was a nutter.
"As for myself, I don't have much of an excuse to give. Severus was intent upon discovering where I disappeared to once a month, and it…frightened me. I lashed out, or I didn't stop James or Sirius—or other Gryffindors—from tormenting him. Some part of me knew it was wrong, but it never occurred to me how wrong until it was almost too late." Remus set his cup back in its saucer on the narrow coffee table. "I simply don't want you to think that James would condone what Sirius said were he alive with us today."
"He wouldn't?"
"No. He wouldn't. He and Severus were on their way toward reconciling their differences by the time James passed on. Or, I should say, some of their differences." Remus smiled and reached out to pat Harriet's arm. "I want you to know that though James may have made questionable choices in his youth, he was—. He devoted all of his energy to being better. He wanted to be someone you and your mother could be proud of."
The sunlight rippled in Harriet's drink. Amber streaks glittered on the rim, and she stared at them as she recalled James Potter's voice telling Lily to run at the cost of his own life.
"Go, I'll hold him off!"
She didn't think she could ever ask anything more from her father.
The rest of Harriet's day lacked the same cloud of sadness that encumbered her morning, thinking instead about what kind of people her parents might have been, and what Remus meant by 'until it was almost too late.' She pictured Sirius and how his mouth twisted around the word 'Snivellus.'
Would her dad and godfather have hated her because she grew up neglected and unloved with ugly hair and glasses? Because she was a Slytherin? Would they have picked on her because she wasn't like Petunia Squabs or other, normal witches?
It reminded her of running from Dudley's game of Harry Hunting. Of how he'd tell their teachers or the Dursleys it was only "a spot of fun," or "a silly prank," while Harriet stood to the side with bloodied knees, a scratched face, and broken glasses.
"Are you coming, Harriet?" Hermione asked, and Harriet blinked, realizing she'd stopped in the middle of the Transfiguration corridor, staring at nothing. Their last class of the day had gotten out moments before. "The Feast is starting soon."
"I'm coming, I'm coming."
"You've been off since this morning. Do you…do you want to skip dinner? I'm sure we could ask Mably or Dobby if they'd be willing to get us food for the common room…."
"Nah, I'm fine. I always have a lot on my mind when it's Hallowe'en."
Whether or not the excuse truly placated Hermione, they nonetheless continued to the Great Hall. The smell of food already drifted from inside—pumpkin and cider, woodsmoke something sweet like honey or burnt sugar. The House tables had been removed in favor of smaller, circular tables scattered about the room, huddled under Conjured chandeliers floating in mid-air. Living bats swept about the rafters, and jack-o-lanterns the size of cars bordered the open doors.
In the middle of it all, on a raised dais, the Goblet of Fire waited.
"Hey, you three!" Ginny Weasley waved from a mostly empty table near the front of the Hall, away from the High Table and the Goblet. "Over here!"
"Oh, brilliant," Harriet said as they made their way to her and Luna. "Thanks, Ginny."
"This must be another Dumbledore's efforts to make us all mingle," Elara commented with a gesture at the table. "I don't believe it will work as he thinks it is."
More and more people began to filter into the hall, cheering and greeting their friends. Despite Elara's words, many of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons visitors found themselves sitting with Hogwarts students, and they didn't look entirely put out by it.
"Oi, let me run our bags down to the dormitory. There's not enough room for them," Harriet said, popping onto her feet to throw her own satchel over her shoulder. Elara handed hers over, then Hermione—Harriet grunting under the unexpected weight. "Save me a seat, please."
"I will," Elara said.
"Be back in a tick."
Staggering for a moment, Harriet mustered her strength and hurried from the Great Hall before it became too crowded. She broke into a light jog once she reached the dungeon steps, and when she made it to the Slytherin dormitories, she didn't stop to sort out their bags. Instead, she dropped all three on her bed before departing.
It was on the top step above the dungeons, just outside of the foyer's welcoming light, that Harriet felt eyes resting upon her person. She paused to look around—and froze when she met the red-eyed gaze of the Minister for Magic.
He appeared much as he had when Harriet last saw the wizard: pale, sinister, dressed in high-collared, emerald green robes with the golden buttons gleaming. A small smile unfurled on his lips when he realized Harriet had spotted him, and he approached. Harriet considered running for the dormitories, but she remained still.
There's people right there, she reassured herself, watching the mix of students and adults cross the foyer toward the Great Hall. He can't do anything. Not here, not at Hogwarts—.
"Miss Potter," Gaunt greeted. "How nice to see you again."
"Minister," Harriet acknowledged, her eyes never rising above the notch of his collar. She eyed the door to the Great Hall. It wasn't far, but she would have to pass perilously close to him, even if she ran. She didn't think it was wise to run from the Minister for Magic in public either.
"You're a very difficult witch to find," Gaunt said, tipping his head to the side. "It's almost as if you have something to hide."
"Erm…."
A pair of hands landed on her shoulders, and Harriet flinched—then flinched again when she peeked behind herself and discovered Professor Slytherin smiling at her. It wasn't a kind smile. Not in the slightest.
"I see you've met Miss Potter, Marvolo," Professor Slytherin said, his fingers squeezing Harriet almost to the point of pain. "One of my more promising students, who I hope you aren't thinking of poaching for the Ministry."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Excellent. Then you've no need to bother her. Have you lost your way to the Great Hall?"
Gaunt's smug grin had dissolved when Slytherin appeared from the dungeons, and their red eyes met somewhere above Harriet's head. The enmity thickened in the air, a cold, leaching miasma. "Tom," he acknowledged with a derisive, sharp tone. "I was only having a word with your student."
"Hmm, interesting," Slytherin replied as if it were anything but. He leaned into Harriet, putting his face closer to her ear. It was surreal how he didn't seem quite so tall as he had in years passed. "Go find your little friends, Potter. Get out of my sight."
His hands released her, and Harriet did as told. Head down, she darted for the Great Hall's open doors, and ignored how Minister Gaunt tracked the motion, how his hand twitched against the darker fabric of his robes as if to reach out and stop her. Whatever he meant to do, Harriet didn't know, as she ran for it and didn't stop even when she plowed through a group of first-year Hufflepuffs.
"Miss Potter!" Professor Sprout chided. "Do watch where you're going there!"
"Sorry, ma'am!"
Harriet didn't turn around or pause until she once more reached the table with her friends, all but throwing herself into the vacant seat. Much to her surprise, it was the only vacant seat, their once quiet corner now crowded by familiar and unfamiliar faces.
"Where did this lot come from?" she asked Hermione once her heart slowed down. Next to the other witch sat Terry and Anthony Goldstein, and next to them was a sullen Draco, plus Crabbe and Goyle having a good laugh at his expense. Ginny and Luna sat by Elara, and on their other side were Fred and George and their friend Lee Jordan. Across from Harriet was Viktor Krum, of all people, and one of his friends. With him came a flood of twittering girls who made excuses to pass by the table.
"I guess they had nowhere else to sit," Hermione said with a slight shrug. "Though I do wish they'd stop with the giggling. Goodness."
As if he'd heard them speaking of him, Krum stopped brooding long enough to glance up at Harriet. He noticed her attention and smiled, which startled a reciprocating grin from her, though it felt more like a grimace on her tired face. Harriet quickly looked away.
"I ran into the Minister," Harriet murmured for Elara's hearing. As expected, the other witch almost dropped her cup of evening tea in alarm. "He startled me by the dungeon steps. Slytherin came along and got me out of it."
"Well, never let it be said the slithering fiend wasn't good for something," Elara grumbled, returning to her tea. "I imagine Gaunt's here for the Goblet ceremony."
"Yeah, I forgot he might show up."
Eventually, the hall filled to capacity, and Dumbledore rose from his accustomed seat to introduce the feast. He also introduced Gaunt—seated on the far side of the High Table from Slytherin—and a man Harriet recognized from the Headmaster's Pensieve, Barty Crouch.
Unbidden, her eyes snapped to Snape seated by Slytherin. The Potions Master appeared bored, but he didn't once look in Gaunt or Crouch's direction.
"Fred, George—is that your brother?" she asked the twins, indicating the bespectacled redhead seated at the very end of the table by Crouch.
"That's him," Fred said with a nod. "He landed an internship with Crouch in International Magical Cooperation."
George added, "The old bigoted tosser doesn't even know Perce's name. Keeps calling him 'Weatherby.' Percy hasn't corrected him yet."
Harriet shook her head.
The feast commenced, platters of scrumptious food and a plethora of sweets rolling across the tables, though the day's events had stunted Harriet's appetite. She couldn't bring herself to drink or eat much when she knew Gaunt's attention kept landing in their far corner of the hall.
Fred and George distracted her with conversation about their newest experiments and inventions, prototypes and ideas they wanted to develop with Harriet's investment. They also told her about their experience with Dumbledore's Age Line.
"We brewed an Aging Potion," George explained, winking at Ginny's disapproving scoff. "We're a few months out from being of age, so we only needed a small sip."
"It was bollocks." Fred stabbed his pot roast, frowning. "We stepped over the Line and got thrown out instantly."
"Don't forget the beards, Freddie. Pomfrey spent hours spelling those off of us. We looked like Dumbledore for half a day."
Harriet found the story hilarious, but Hermione was less impressed. "That's what you get for underestimating the Headmaster," she said. "He would have taken an Aging Potion into consideration. It's not a difficult brew."
"Lighten up, Granger."
"Dumbledore had a good laugh. He came down to watch a few of our other, err, less than successful attempts. I think him and McGonagall were taking bets over whether or not we'd figure it out."
It felt good to laugh after such a stressful day.
When the food dwindled and the last sweets disappeared from their trays, Professor Dumbledore stood again and vanished the remnants. He approached the dais holding the Goblet and, gilded in the wavering blue light, he appeared like a wizard out of the Muggle storybooks.
"It is time," Dumbledore said, the Great Hall falling silent as they watched with bated breath and the Goblet's flames built higher around its rim. "When each of our three champions are chosen, they will rise and venture into the chamber beyond the hall." He indicated a door behind the High Table that had always been closed in Harriet's recollections. It now stood open to the Trophy Room.
He snapped his fingers once, and magic rippled, dimming the floating candles and golden chandeliers. The Goblet glowed brighter, the whole of the hall thrown into its cold, haunting illumination. Bats chittered overhead, impatient feet shuffling on the floor.
Suddenly, the blue flames swelled into white, and Harriet blinked against the searing light. She missed when the first contestant came from the Goblet, as by the time she opened her eyes, Dumbledore already had the charred bit of parchment in hand.
"The champion for Durmstrang…is Viktor Krum!"
Krum rose from their table amid the rampant applause and went to the far door, showing no emotion on his stern face.
The Goblet flared again, Harriet squinting.
"The Beauxbatons champion is…Fleur Delacour!"
One of the blonde witches stood from a table filled with other Beauxbatons students. She flipped her pretty hair behind her shoulder as she departed the Great Hall.
"Who do you think it's going to be?" Elara asked as they waited for the last champion to be announced.
"Dunno." Harriet hadn't paid much attention to who'd shown interest in the Goblet this past week. All she knew was if a Slytherin's name came out, their Defense professor would be livid.
The light glared white again, and everyone held their breath as Dumbledore caught the parchment. "The Hogwarts champion…is Cedric Diggory!"
The Hufflepuffs in attendance leapt to their feet and screamed their joy as Hufflepuff's Seeker rose, red-faced and grinning ear to ear. Harriet clapped as well; she'd always found Cedric the good sort and often ran with him on track around the lake. Better him than one of those nasty seventh-years like Squabs and her little gang.
When the applause slowed, Dumbledore raised his hand for quiet and began to speak. "Now that our contestants have been selected, they will receive further instruction concerning the upcoming tasks and what is expected of them. I hope you will all show your champions support as they endeavor—."
The Goblet flared white yet again.
Murmurs broke out among the spectators, and a fourth piece of parchment rose from the fire. Dumbledore grabbed it as he had all the rest, though his smile had disappeared.
"What is happening?" Hermione whispered.
Harriet didn't know. An inexplicable pall of dread came over her, and she could not look away as the Headmaster unfolded the parchment. He read what had been written there.
"Neville Longbottom."
The confused murmuring grew louder still, and it soon morphed to angry speculation and hissing as Dumbledore repeated the name, and the Boy Who Lived staggered from his seat. For once, Neville didn't look cocky or assured. He looked stunned.
Harriet took a breath. To her, it felt as if the ghost of a grim, horrid fate had passed her by.
A/N: I paraphrased some of Dumbledore Goblet speech lines from canon. Typically I don't like to do that, but there's only so many ways to introduce the tournament.