Authors note: Enjoy you filthy animals.

"YOU DID IT" Ron screamed ecstatically, and he was joined by the eruption of the entire Gryffindor table, that had risen in joyous celebrations, along with, it seemed, the entire school. So great was the noise, that Harry almost felt himself lose his balance from his seat at the table. Several hands reached out to pull and push him to his feet. He turned to Hermione, who also looked overjoyed, though Harry felt, likely a further small scheme to punish him for entering in the first place.

Harry got to his feet, stumbled slightly on his own robes and to the earsplitting roar of his peers walked the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. Hands pelted his back excitedly, but internally he felt numb. He stopped in front of Dumbledore, as if facing an execution, silently hoping for Dumbledore to tell him he in fact could back out but was merely shown to the door the rest of the champions had entered.

Still to a tumultuous roar, Harry moved along the teachers' table. His head was spinning. Harry went through the door out of the great Hall and found himself in a smaller room, it was a cozy room with a fire roaring in the fireplace opposite the door he just entered. Along the walls paintings of witches and wizards were celebrating.

As he entered the room, Viktor Krum, and Fleur Delacour stood next to a large fireplace. Harry walked up to them silently, not quite sure what to say. They seemed to diminish slightly in stature as he approached, the fire had made their silhouette appear very dramatic and impressive when he first entered the dark room, he was taller than both of them. Krum by only an inch or so. Harry looked from Krum to Fleur, she was wearing an unreadable expression on her face. He shrugged his shoulders.

"You?" she said. She eyed him for a long moment, before breaking into a dazzling smile. Harry didn't have anything to say though, not like he had yesterday. He only managed to look back at her timidly. Already he knew his mouth had written a check he could not clear. He just stood there. It struck him how very much older the other two champions were compared to him.

It was hard to look at Fleur, she was almost luminous against the fire. He averted his gaze from her. She opened her mouth but was interrupted before she could speak. There was the sound of a door opening behind him, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed by Ludo Bagman, Mr Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. He heard the still tumultuous roar of the students on the other side of the wall before McGonagall closed the door.

The merry banter between the judges, and the ministry officials stood in stark contrast to the sickening feeling bubbling in the pit of Harrys stomach. The teachers and judges that had entered the room all held the same stiff expression on their faces. Dumbledore turned to Harry, and said in a kind voice,

"Congratulations. How did you pass my age line?" His tone was pleasant, but the question only deepened the feeling of sick in Harry's stomach. The room was all of a sudden quiet. No doubt all eyes were on Harry's, though for the moment he only saw the piercing blue eyes of the headmaster.

"E' is not of age? But ze line.." Harry cringed at hearing the clear voice of Fleur behind him, and immediately regretted having reacted to her speaking. Dumbledore's eyes moved from Harrys, to Fleur's, and then back again to Harry. Harry might as well have just told him outright.

Harry turned slowly towards the French witch. Fleurs eyes darted from the judges to Harry several times, and Harry kicked himself mentally as he was reminded of what a mess this could turn into. He had told Fleur a lot of things earlier this week, all bollocks of course. And now here he was, cashing in his prize.

Dumbledore replied to the French witch in a pleasant tone but kept his eyes on Harry,

"He is indeed not of age."

"I... I didn't-" Harry began quietly. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows. Fleur cut over him,

"You are not of seventeen?"

"It doesn't matter. The goblet picked Harry," Ludo gave Harry another smile, and continued, as if surprising himself, "also I am quite certain he is fourteen?"

Fleur looked at Harry with incredulity. Harry looked at the fireplace. He felt his cheeks hotten.

"You used an older student?" Dumbledore asked somewhat curiously. Harry felt himself shrinking in spite of the light tone of the conversation. He glanced over at Fleur, who looked at him with a stiff expression.

Harry didn't want to lie, but he also didn't want to get the French witch into trouble because he tricked her, handing her the note had been stupid, and accepting it from him had been stupid too for that matter, but there is no reason anyone but him should suffer for it now he figured. Harry also realized he was still looking into Dumbledore's eyes. Dumbledore held a kind expression.

"How did you pass my age line?" The tone was of pleasant curiosity, though Harry could tell Dumbledore was not used to having to ask questions twice very often. Harry winced at how stupid what he was about to say was, but he steeled himself,

"I- just… stood outside the boundary and tossed it." He felt his cheeks hotten. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. His headmaster didn't push the matter further. Dumbledore simply closed his eyes, smiled, and said as much to himself as to Harry it seemed,

"Ah, of course. It's always the simplest solution. Congratulations, Harry," Dumbledore's voice left an eerie silence. Harry felt somewhat empty receiving the praise from his headmaster. He tried very hard to not look at Fleur, whom he could feel was looking at him. No one else spoke until Dumbledore broke the silence again, Harry rather thought he was playing the pauses for dramatic effect, his voice was still calm as he spoke,

"Well then-"

"Potter, I should give you detention for every single weekend of the rest of term! You stupid boy." McGonagall's sudden eruption had most of the room, most of all Harry, whipping around.

"Minerva..." Dumbledore began placatingly, but the deputy headmistress continued angrily.

"There must be something you can do? Surely, we can't have a fourteen-year-old … "Harry saw and heard in the corner of his eyes Fleur craning her neck to whisper to her headmistress. The giant woman merely waved her away. When Harry returned his attention to his head of house, she had resumed her quiet. Now it was Dumbledore who spoke again.

"I admit, this is uncharted territory for me. Barty, does he have to compete?"

Mr. Crouch moved forward into the firelight. Strange shadows moved across his face, though Harry thought he looked markedly better than he had when Harry had met him at the World Cup.

"The impartial adjudicator chose him... This however stands in contrast to our panels of judges. If they were to unanimously decide that the boy is... unfit for competition..." The word unfit struck Harry as somewhat uncomfortable. He didn't want to be champion, but even less so to be deemed unfit by a panel of judges, even further less in front of the uncommonly pretty French girl.

McGonagall spoke again,

"So, it is decided then? He will not compete."

"It is up to the judges." Crouch determined.

"Ah, but of course 'e must compete! Ze goblet chose 'im!" cried Madame Maxime.

"He could die!" McGonagall shot back angrily.

"I quite agree with Maxime. I must insist that we proceed." Karkaroff eyed Harry hungrily as he spoke, his tone smooth and ingratiating.

"No surprise you'd see the boy in harm's way, Karkaroff" Moody growled from his corner,

Dumbledore shot a warning look towards Professor Moody, who quieted down immediately.

Mr. Crouch spoke next, his eyes closed.

"Dumbledore, what's your say?"

A silence followed. Despite wishing with the entirety of his being just a moment ago there was a way out of all this, he now found himself wishing even more not to be declared unfit. He imagined the look on Malfoys face as the news spread to him, Harry Potter is unfit to enter the tournament. He cringed inwards.

Harry dared a glance at his headmaster. Dumbledore slowly opened his mouth and spoke in a low voice,

"I will allow Harry Potter to enter the tournament."

McGonagall opened her mouth in protest but did not manage a single syllable.

Harry gaped at his headmaster. How on earth did he just allow him to enter? As realization dawned on Harry, he immediately started wishing there was someway for him to get out of the whole thing again, now that at least he didn't have to face the shame of being declared sub-par.

"Amazing. Well Harry Potter is champion!" Bagman beamed as he said it. Karkaroff and Madame Maxime both looked triumphant. Harry figured they were quite happy having a fourteen-year-old facing their own champions of seventeen.

Dumbledore spoke next, cutting across the discussions that had erupted again around the room.

"Well then. Mr. Crouch if you would proceed with the rules..."

Mr. Crouch didn't miss a single beat.

"The first task is designed to test your daring," he told Harry, Fleur, and Viktor, "so you are not going to know what you are to do. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard …"

"The task is to take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and a panel of judges."

"The champions are not allowed to ask for nor 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 task has come to an end. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempt from end-of-year tests.

Many precautions have been undertaken to ensure these rules are followed. Do not accept help from your teachers."

Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore.

"I think that is all, is it not, Albus?"

"I think so," said Dumbledore.

"Per 'aps, Dumbly Dorr, you would join myself and Karkaroff for a drink?" Maxime asked Dumbledore. Harry definitely noted an air of triumph to her. For some reason, her giddy tone infuriated him as much as the thought of him being ruled 'unfit'.

"Naturally. I'd be delighted" Dumbledore answered.

Karkaroff grinned towards Dumbledore in a most disturbing fashion. He too looked particularly pleased with himself.

"Harry, I suggest you go up to bed," said Dumbledore smiling at him. "I am sure Gryffindor 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."

Harry glanced at Fleur, who cast him a sideways glance and a crooked smile before exiting the room in front of him. He made to follow her out the door.

"Potter, if you will, a word..."

Harry turned, to see McGonagall hanging back as the rest of the group had left. He sighed deeply and closed the door as the last of the rest of the group exited.

"Just how stupid are you, boy?"

McGonagall's tone was not conversational like Dumbledore's had been, her words cut through him like razor wire.

"I... didn't - mean to... Um..."

Harry collected himself for a second, and tried again,

"Professor, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for things to get this far. It was meant to be nothing. I was talking with the French girl, the champion, and I guess she dared me, or I told her I would enter to impress her or something, but when I said it I figured she would just forget about it, and then I couldn't sleep, so I got up really early before breakfast and just, well threw my name at it and well it went in… because why wouldn't it... Not that she bears any guilt in this," He was rambling again. "But it was just... I let myself get carried away, and now this whole thing, and I'm really sorry."

"It's always you, isn't it, Mr. Potter?"

Harry hung his head. He had absolutely nothing to reply to this. McGonagall poked him in the chest, and he looked up. Her expression was still stern.

"The other two headmasters think you have no business in this tournament, an easy win for their champions. A stupid boy who's gotten himself in over his head." Her tone softened some as she continued.

"Potter, please prove them wrong. You absolute idiot. You prove them wrong, or I'll have you in detention for the rest of your academic career here. For your own good."

Harry looked up from the floor, McGonagall didn't look angry anymore. He merely nodded weakly.

The Great Hall was empty now. The room was dark and quiet. The candles had burned out, and the pumpkins floating high in the enchanted ceiling were mostly dark orbs, save for a few who still had a weak flickering candle inside them casting off small spots of light.

Close to the door leading to the great hall, a slender figure with long silvery hair stood leaning against the wall. Her arms were crossed, and though he could not see her face in the dim light, he knew immediately that is was Fleur.

"'Arry Potter. Eet seems you are my rival now." Said Fleur with a smile.

"Of your own making" Harry replied glumly. Right now, Harry had no witty remarks. He scanned over the pretty French girl, ransacking himself as to just how badly he screwed up.

"You are not 'appy to be chosen? You 'as ze chance to compete for ze honor, ten thousand Galleons!

If anyzing I should be angry wiz you! You tricked me!" burst out Fleur.

"Your headmistress Maxime didn't seem to be bothered."

Fleur huffed. They reached the entrance hall, it had a more subdued ambiance now that the goblet was gone.

"Well, I'm this way.." Harry said, before slowly starting to climb the marble steps.

"You are not walking me to my carriage?" said Fleur. Harry turned around, Fleur stood with her arms crossed at the bottom of the stairs, with a look of expectation. She whipped her silver hair back haughtily.

"See you around, Fleur," said Harry, turning back to continue his slow trek up the many stairs. He could hear the French veela-girl huffing angrily behind him and stomp out of the entrance hall.

Harry couldn't really believe how much he had messed things up for himself. He knew what Hermione would say, that it was his own stupid fault. He hoped that Ron still thought it was a great stunt at least, and wouldn't join Hermione in admonishing him. He could really use Ron right now. He knew most of his house would be pretty excited that he had managed to enter the tournament – even though he was facing competitors three years his senior in tasks that had been deemed by the ministry too dangerous to attempt for anyone not of age. Though admittedly, he had faced dangers before, though If he was being honest with himself, if a panel of judges had been scoring any of those, he can't imagine particularly high scores would have been doled out for any one of those things. Mostly he had wound up in the hospital wing badly injured, and more often than not received outside help anyway, something that was strictly forbidden in the Triwizard Tournament.

When Harry entered the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry was met with a blast of noise that almost knocked him flat on his backside.