Disclaimer: Everything in this story belongs to J.K Rowling and any companies that have a claim to the Harry Potter Trademarks. I make no money out of this. Please don't sue me!
And Then There Were Four
As Harry approached the Great Hall, his eyes were drawn to the beautiful tapestries that hung from the ancient walls and the everpresent portraits lining walls, their subjects whispering and shifting as he passed by.
The conversation with Dumbledore had lifted some of the weight on Harry's shoulders, allowing him to fully appreciate the splendour of Hogwarts, so full of magic, so alive.
"Harry!" Hermione called out, as soon as Harry entered the entrance room that led to the Great Hall. He spotted her and Ron waiting for him just by the entrance to the dining hall, her bushy brown hair bouncing as she waved excitedly.
"Oi, mate! Where have you been?" Ron chimed in, his lanky frame leaning against the wall with a playful grin.
Upon seeing his friends, Harry felt a wave of emotion crash over him, momentarily stealing his breath. The last time he'd seen them, they were lifeless. Images of the past overwhelmed him: Ron falling to the ground, struck by Bellatrix's killing curse meant for Hermione; Hermione, consumed by depression and vengeance, losing her life in pursuit of retribution.
His heart was torn in two. Relief flooded through him at their presence, but the memories of their tragic fates haunted him once again. He blamed himself again for what had happened to them.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice brought him back to reality, concern etching her features. "Are you alright?"
Harry clenched his jaw, shoving the overwhelming emotions deep down into the pit of his stomach where they belonged. It was a familiar tactic, one he had learned over time to cope with his inner turmoil. The weight of it all sat heavily on his chest, but he refused to let it show on the surface. He would push through and enjoy these stolen moments while he could.
"Y-yeah," Harry stuttered, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I just…I'm glad to see you both."
"Aw, we're glad to see you too, mate," Ron said, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders, completely oblivious to the hidden turmoil within his friend.
"What did Dumbledore want?" Hermione's curiosity was piqued, her eyes flicking between Harry and the ornate doors of the Great Hall.
"Long story," Harry replied, forcing a smile. "But we'll talk about it later, alright?"
"Promise?" Hermione asked, looking at Harry with that knowing expression Harry missed so much.
"I promise," Harry assured her, trying to ignore the ghosts of the past that haunted him as they entered the hall.
The warm glow of the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling cast a soft golden hue on the trio, as Hermione restarted her barrage of questions. "But why would Dumbledore take you away for the entire day? What could be so important?"
"Trust me, Hermione, when I can tell you, I will," Harry said with a nostalgic smile, his green eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.
"Fine," Hermione huffed, folding her arms across her chest. "But I won't let this go."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry grinned, clapping Ron on the back as they made their way to the Gryffindor table, laden with steaming dishes and the enticing aroma of spices wafting through the air.
As they tucked into their meals, Harry couldn't help but marvel at how seamlessly he could slip back into their old camaraderie, even after everything he had been through. It felt like he was back at Hogwarts for his very first year, a lifetime ago when his biggest concern had been the twelve-foot troll in the girls' bathroom.
Harry ignored the curious glances from his fellow Gryffindors as he filled his plate with a mountain of treacle-glazed parsnips and roast beef. He felt as ravenous as a Hungarian Horntail, the peculiar hunger that time travel had stirred within him. He took a hearty bite, savouring the rich flavours that danced on his tongue. It had been years since he had had any real food.
"Blimey, Harry," Ron commented, eyebrows raised. "You act like you haven't eaten in years."
"Feels like it," Harry muttered, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
He looked around the Great Hall and his heart swelled with nostalgia. Laughter echoed off the enchanted ceiling, which that night was a sea of candles and enchanted bats in celebration of the festivities. It was almost enough to make him forget the grim reality of why he was here.
But as he watched the smiling faces of those around him, he couldn't help but remember the brutal fate that awaited so many of them. His eyes fell on a group of sixth-year Hufflepuffs, their laughter now sounding like the tolling bells of doom in his ears. In Harry's previous timeline, they had probably either met a gruesome end at the hands of the Death Eaters, or they had joined Voldemort's ranks to save their lives.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked softly.
"Fine," he replied, forcing a smile. "Just lost in thought."
"About Dumbledore's meeting?" she prodded, unable to resist one more question.
"Something like that," Harry sighed, thinking of the burden he carried alone.
Harry's gaze fell on the Hufflepuff table again. There, surrounded by friends, sat Cedric Diggory – alive, unblemished, and completely unaware of his fate in an alternate timeline. The scene from Riddle Cemetery played out in Harry's mind, fresh, sending a shudder down his spine.
Harry made a silent vow: he would win the tournament and change Cedric's fate. He couldn't let history repeat itself.
Pushing his morbid musings aside, Harry glanced at the Slytherin table, where the Durmstrang students sat. Among them was Viktor Krum, looking as stern as always. Harry's eyes narrowed as he recalled the night of the third task when Viktor had been placed under the Imperius Curse.
"Oi, Harry!" Ron said, elbowing him gently. "You've got that intense look again. What're you thinking?"
"Viktor Krum," Harry replied, watching the Bulgarian Seeker closely. "I would love to fly against him."
Ron chuckled. "Good luck with that mate."
Harry chuckled and turned his attention towards the Ravenclaw table, where the Beauxbatons' students were seated. His gaze caught on Fleur Delacour, her golden hair shimmering like molten sunlight as she laughed with her classmates. He couldn't help but marvel at her ethereal beauty – a fact that seemed not to have escaped the notice of almost every man in the room.
Harry noticed the furtive glances Fleur was drawing from their fellow students and found himself sympathising with the French witch. Being the Boy Who Lived, he had been singled out his whole life, and he knew all too well how isolating it could be to have your every move scrutinised and judged.
"Harry," Hermione said, following his gaze. "You're staring."
"Am I?" Harry replied, blinking in surprise as he dragged himself back to the present moment. "I didn't mean to. I was just...thinking."
"About that french witch?" Ron asked, an eyebrow raised in amusement.
"Shut up," Harry said with a smirk. He was sure he wasn't blushing.
As the last few bites of dessert vanished from the plates, the Great Hall shifted in anticipation. The chatter subsided and all eyes turned to the Goblet of Fire, its flames casting flickering shadows across the expectant faces. Albus Dumbledore rose slowly from his seat, the very picture of regal authority as he surveyed the room with twinkling blue eyes.
"Students and esteemed guests," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hushed hall, "it is now time to choose our Triwizard Champions." he paused for effect – a seasoned showman – before continuing. "This tournament shall provide an opportunity for these young witches and wizards to prove themselves, challenge their limits, and, perhaps, attain eternal glory."
A ripple of excitement surged through the crowd, and Harry felt it too – a tingling in his fingertips, an electric charge in the air that crackled with potential.
The Goblet's fire roared like a dragon, intensifying before their eyes, and Harry braced himself for the inevitable.
Dumbledore's hand, swift as a conjured Patronus, snatched the first piece of paper from the Goblet's greedy flames. The old wizard paused, allowing the anticipation to swell within the hearts of every eager student.
"The champion for Durmstrang," Dumbledore declared, his voice resonating through the Great Hall, "is Viktor Krum!"
A cascade of applause and cheers erupted from the students, as if they had unleashed a swarm of Cornish Pixies. Viktor Krum, a living legend in his own right, rose from the Slytherin table with a subtle nod and approached Dumbledore. The headmaster gestured towards the room behind the Great Hall, and Viktor vanished through its doorway like a shadow.
Harry exhaled, feeling a strange mixture of relief and déjà vu. He watched the fervent excitement ripple through the crowd, each cheer echoing the memories of another life.
As the applause subsided, the Goblet's flame surged once more, hungrily spewing forth another slip of parchment. Dumbledore plucked it from the air with the grace of a dancer and paused just long enough to stoke the fires of anticipation.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," he announced, the words tumbling from his lips like velvet, "is Fleur Delacour!"
The Great Hall roared back to life with renewed enthusiasm as Fleur glided past them with an air of poise determination. She disappeared into the same room that Viktor had entered moments earlier.
After another spurt of the Goblet, Dumbledore's swift hand caught the flying piece of parchment "The champion for Hogwarts," his voice rang out, silencing the whispers and murmurs that had filled the Great Hall, "is Cedric Diggory!"
The room erupted in a deafening cacophony of cheers and applause. Harry couldn't help but grin as he saw the pride and joy on Cedric's face, the young Hufflepuff beaming from ear to ear as he made his way towards the headmaster.
Dumbledore took advantage of the excitement to deliver a stirring speech about the importance of unity and collaboration between the schools. Harry marvelled at the headmaster's ability to command the room, masking any hint of worry or concern beneath a serene facade.
Suddenly, the Goblet of Fire roared back to life, its flames consuming the room with an almost hungry ferocity before it spit a fourth piece of paper.
"Curious..." Dumbledore mused, a note of genuine surprise creeping into his voice as he snatched the piece of paper that floated through the air. The room went silent, as if the very air had been sucked away, leaving only the whisper of baited breaths and the pounding of Harry's heart.
"Harry Potter," Dumbledore announced, his whisper echoing through the Great Hall like thunder.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Everyone in the room stopped breathing.
"YOU HAVE TO BE BLOODY KIDDING ME!" Harry's exclamation rang out across the Great Hall, shattering the silence that had settled over the room. A wave of shock rippled through the gathered students and teachers, leaving them with wide eyes and open mouths. Ron's jaw dropped so far Harry thought it might hit the table.
"Someone tried to kill me last year already," he continued, injecting his voice with what he hoped was indignation. "Can't I have just one quiet year?"
Dumbledore, ever the picture of composure, nodded sagely. "I understand your frustration, Mr. Potter. Alastor, would you please examine the Goblet and ascertain how this could have happened?" The wily Headmaster gestured towards the grizzled Auror, who gave a stiff nod in reply.
The tension in the Great Hall mounted as Moody muttered complex incantations under his breath, his wand moving deftly through the air. Harry could feel the weight of everyone's gaze shifting between him and Moody, curiosity and suspicion swirling like storm clouds.
After several minutes of scrutiny, Moody straightened up and fixed Dumbledore with an intense stare. "I found a very powerful Confundus Charm on the Goblet," he announced, his gravelly voice carrying through the now hushed hall. "Someone clearly manipulated the Goblet to get Potter into the tournament."
"Of course," Harry snapped, still standing and glaring defiantly at Dumbledore. "I refuse to compete."
"Mr. Potter," Bartemius Crouch interjected, his voice stern and authoritative, "the Goblet represents a magical contract. Like it or not, you must compete."
Harry's eyes flicked between Crouch and Dumbledore, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He had to make this believable. With a frustrated sigh, he crossed his arms and said, "I don't see how that's fair. No one seems to care that someone forced me into this."
"Unfortunately, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore began, "Mr. Crouch is right. You are bound by the Goblet's decision."
"Brilliant," Harry muttered sarcastically, knowing full well that his anger would only serve to convince those around him of his innocence. He shot a glare at the rest of the hall before focusing on Dumbledore and Crouch again. "I'll compete, but not for Hogwarts. Cedric Diggory is Hogwart's champion. I'll compete as an... independent agent."
Dumbledore studied Harry for a moment, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "Very well, Mr. Potter. If that is what you wish, then you shall compete under the banner of no school."
As Harry stood there, surrounded by curious and judgemental gazes, he knew that his decision to act out this little charade was a risky one. But in order to avoid the vitriol he had suffered in his past, he had to make everyone believe that he was just as surprised and angry as they were.
Harry's gaze fell upon his friends, observing Hermione's furrowed brow as she processed the events unfolding before her, and Ron's conflicted expression, torn between loyalty and jealousy. Harry's heart ached at the sight, praying that Ron's insecurities wouldn't consume him as they once had.
With a deep breath, Harry turned away from his friends and strode towards the room behind the Great Hall, his footsteps echoing like the hollow beat of an uncertain heart. As he walked, he scanned the sea of faces around him; confusion, disbelief, and doubt rippled through the hall like a gust of wind through tall grass. He forced his own expression into one of sadness and conflict, hoping that this plan would make the students dislike him less than they did on the other timeline.
As Harry neared the entrance to the room, he felt the weight of every gaze upon him, their unspoken questions pressing down like a heavy fog.
Harry stepped through the doorway, leaving the whispers and stares behind him.