It didn't take Harry long to get back into the swing of things at Hogwarts. All of the ill feelings towards him from his classmates had evaporated over the long summer, as they often did, and he actually enjoyed attending classes and spending time with his fellow Ravenclaws again. Maybe his hopes of a normal year weren't so outlandish after all!

But he had to remind himself that this year would be anything but. The Triwizard Tournament loomed large on the horizon, and with it the prospect of yet another Voldemort plot to undermine the normal operations of the school. Harry wanted to be much more proactive this year, hoping to prolong the grace period before the Dark Lord managed to gain a new body – if not prevent it entirely.

His first opportunity came on Thursday morning of the first week, when he had his first DADA lesson with Professor Moody. The entire class was abuzz with speculation about the man, with most hopeful that he would be able to continue the string of strong teachers after Lupin and Potter put all their predecessors to shame.

But Harry was curious for an entirely different reason. He paid careful attention throughout the man's opening lecture, in which he described the three Unforgivable Curses and asked the class to name each one. Harry was grateful to see that Neville was no longer as traumatized by the Cruciatus Curse in this timeline, though he did wither under the attention of the class as Moody described the Killing Curse and pointed out that Neville was the only one known to survive it.

All in all, the lesson gave the class plenty to chew on as they filed out of the room for lunch. Harry hung behind, waiting for the last few students to trickle out, before approaching the man.

"Good morning, Professor," he said conversationally. "Having a good term so far?"

"Potter," the man grunted in greeting. "Can't complain. You runts can be a handful, but I haven't had to hex anyone yet, so there's that."

"I'm glad to see you here, sir," Harry continued. "We could use someone who really knows their stuff when such strange events are happening in our world."

"No need to call me 'sir'," Moody scoffed. "Dumbledore had to cash in a big favor to get me here, no doubt about it. But if I get the chance to catch a dark witch or wizard in the act one last time, it'll be worth it."

Moody briefly stepped aside to take a deep swig from his hip flask. When he turned back towards Harry, he was surprised to see the teen pointing his wand directly at his chest.

"What's this about, laddie?" asked Moody, narrowing his eyes.

"You visited my house in Godric's Hollow two summers ago," said Harry. "What did we do there?"

"You've got a lot of nerve, boy—" Moody growled, taking a step forward.

"Don't move!" Harry shouted. "Answer the question."

"Your father asked me to train you with Veritaserum, ahead of your trial," Moody said exasperatedly. "If memory serves, you had the googly eyes for my pretty young trainee, Nymphadora."

Harry reddened slightly at this. "I did not," he retorted dumbly.

Moody laughed heartily at this. "You think I wasn't your age once?" he said. "I know that look anywhere, lad. Now put that wand away before you hurt somebody."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, stowing his wand back in his pocket. As soon as he did so, however, Moody drew his own wand and aimed it at Harry.

"What on earth are you doing, Potter?" Moody barked. "You just let your guard down like that because I asked you nicely?"

"Erm...what?" Harry said, flabbergasted.

"Never let the enemy off the hook like that!" said Moody. "If I was a dark wizard, I could have easily killed you just then!"

"B-but you answered my question correctly," Harry said lamely.

"A smart wizard would have known you were on trial two summers ago, and that Tonks was my trainee back then," said Moody. "I could have fabricated that story and gotten lucky, couldn't I?"

"I suppose, but—"

"Luckily I'm not an impostor, and I can also tell you that I taught you to lie about your own address to practice subverting the Veritaserum," Moody continued. "But never ask a question so vague that it can be guessed at!"

"Right, I'll keep that in mind," Harry sighed. "I apologize, Professor...I thought it was possible you were drinking Polyjuice out of that hip flask to pose as the real Moody."

Moody considered this for a moment. "That would be rather ingenious," he muttered. He pulled out his hip flask and twirled his wand, conjuring a glass goblet out of thin air. He unscrewed the flask and poured its contents into the goblet, handing it over to Harry. "Fancy a taste?"

Harry took a sniff of the golden liquid; immediately the burning fumes of Firewhiskey filled his nostrils, tickling his throat. "No, thank you," he coughed.

"Hope you won't go tattling to Dumbledore that I'm drinking on the job," Moody said, refilling the flask with another twirl of his wand and Vanishing the goblet. "Only thing that keeps me sane when dealing with you twerps all day. Now, what made you suspicious of me in the first place?"

Harry wracked his brain for an acceptable answer, not wanting to divulge his ultimate secret to Moody. "Neville Longbottom had a dream over the summer," he finally said, remembering his conversation with the boy at the Quidditch World Cup. "A vision of Voldemort, talking about a servant he had planted at Hogwarts. You're new here, so you seemed like the most likely candidate."

"Aye," Moody nodded thoughtfully. "Dumbledore has similar concerns himself, which is why he recruited me. He believes this Triwizard Tournament business is a ruse for the Dark Lord to plant a spy in the castle. I suspect Igor Karkaroff myself."

"Karkaroff is a coward," Harry said without thinking. "He gave up his fellow Death Eaters to buy his freedom, and he wouldn't dare go back to Voldemort's service after that."

Moody raised his eyebrows at this. "You're a smart cookie, Potter," he appraised the teen. "Guess that's why the Hat made you a Ravenclaw. Maybe I ought to recruit you as a second pair of eyes and ears once our foreign delegates arrive."

"I think someone's going to put Neville's name in the Goblet of Fire," said Harry. "The Tournament might be a ruse just so he gets killed during one of the tasks."

"That would also be clever," Moody said thoughtfully. "Get him out of the way without anyone asking too many questions. He is underage, but theoretically, the magic of the Goblet would still be binding. You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you, Potter?"

"I saw Voldemort with my own eyes in my first year," said Harry bitterly. "I know he's still out there, gaining power. And this has his handwriting all over it."

Moody nodded approvingly. "Constant vigilance, Potter," he said. "Dark days lie ahead of us, I fear, and you may find yourself in the firing line if you aren't careful."

"I will be," Harry nodded. "I'll keep an eye on Neville as well. He is likely in more danger than I am."

"Aye, probably so," Moody agreed. "Matter of fact, we should establish a code word or phrase, so that we can confirm each other's identities before discussing such matters in the future."

"Alright," Harry shrugged. "What did you have in mind?"

Moody thought for a moment. "To Godric the glory," he said softly.

"Huh? What's that?" Harry asked, frowning.

"The last words of Fabian Prewett," Moody said with a sad smile. "He and his twin brother were holed up with James and myself in a safe house shortly before we were called into battle. Write to your father and ask him what Gideon's last words were – you give me the first phrase, and I'll respond with his."

"Deal," Harry nodded. He left the classroom soon after with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he was now fairly convinced that this was the real Moody he was dealing with, and not an impostor. On the other hand, it meant that there could be another impostor hidden in plain sight, forcing him to treat everyone else as a potential spy. Saul Croaker was right: as reassuring as it was to know Crouch Jr. was in prison, being in the dark about the new reality was equally as scary.

"Hey, Potter!" a familiar voice flagged him down as he entered the Great Hall for lunch; Roger Davies was waving him over. "Still fancy playing Seeker this year?"

"Erm...I did, but the season was canceled, wasn't it?" Harry frowned.

"Yeah, but see, we're putting a petition together," Roger explained. "We may not have a House Cup to compete for, but we want to form an unofficial league so us graduating students don't completely lose a year of playing."

"Brilliant!" Harry grinned, surprised that such an initiative hadn't come to pass in his previous timeline. "Are all the Houses competing?"

"It won't be strictly divided by House," Roger shrugged. "Slytherin will probably remain intact out of pride, and the Gryffindor core too. But Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will surely have keen players as well, so I imagine there will be some mixing and matching."

Bet every team will be lobbying to get Krum on their team, Harry thought with a wry grin. And he signed the petition, encouraged by the number of signatures already present, hoping that Dumbledore would allow the student initiative to proceed.

It turned out that Roger wasn't the only Ravenclaw lobbying for signatures that morning. "Hiya, Harry!" said Hermione in an uncommonly-chipper voice as he sat down to eat. "Would you like to purchase a S.P.E.W. badge?"

Harry nearly choked with laughter at the innocuous question; he'd nearly forgotten all about Hermione's pet project in his original fourth year. "What's that?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"The Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare," Hermione explained breathlessly. "It's a student organization to raise awareness about the mistreatment of house-elves in magical society."

"Right," Harry said slowly. "That sounds great, Hermione, but do you think it'll actually accomplish anything? Most people don't care about the issue, and the elves are happy where they are—"

"Not all of them!" Hermione said indignantly. "Did you know the Ministry is still holding Winky against her will for refusing to act against her master? And what of all the other elves suffering in silence, under the yoke of their own oppressive masters?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but quickly shut it again. She had a very good point: he'd forgotten about Winky's unjust imprisonment at the World Cup, and Fudge's obstinance in considering legislation to free them from such binding contracts. That wasn't even to mention Kreacher and Dobby, still stuck serving their own twisted masters...and what other pure-blood families must be harboring and mistreating their own elves?

"Do you have a mission statement?" Harry asked. "Or tangible goals to reach towards?"

"Erm...we're still in the early stages," Hermione said, surprised by his sudden interest. "But I figure if we get enough students interested, we can formulate a plan to—"

"That won't work, Hermione," Harry shook his head. "You've got it backwards: you have to establish the goals first and foremost, so that the people joining believe they are actually making a difference by contributing. Otherwise you're just making empty promises, and people will be able to see straight through it."

"Oh," Hermione said softly, considering this. "I suppose you have a point. I'll have to think about it."

"I'll sign up for a badge, though," Harry said, taking the clipboard gently from her. "How much is it?"

"Two Sickles," Hermione said, looking slightly ashamed now. "I'll get to work on that mission statement straight away."

"I'm sure it'll be great," Harry grinned, looking down at the list. There were three names already written down: Ron's and Neville's, as expected, and a third he was surprised to see. "You convinced my cousin to sign up?"

"Damian was quite keen, actually," Hermione said eagerly. "He's been passionate about magical creatures ever since he arrived at Hogwarts."

That made sense to Harry. The kid had spent half his time on campus down at Hagrid's helping with the animals, and he remembered how appalled Damian had been when they visited the kitchen elves the year before. "Well, good for him," Harry shrugged, jotting his own name down on the list and rummaging through his pocket for the silver, handing both back to Hermione.

Hagrid also seemed to be in good spirits during Care of Magical Creatures lessons, and Harry suspected he knew why. One lesson the following week had them herding hippogriffs from one pasture to another deeper into the forest.

"Makin' room fer the Beauxbatons horses," Hagrid explained when a Hufflepuff girl asked why. "Winged Abraxans, according to Dumbledore."

"You seem awfully excited about the other schools visiting, Hagrid," Hermione remarked at the conclusion of the lesson.

"Yeah, well, it'll be nice ter get some fresh blood 'round here," Hagrid shrugged. Then, he leaned in close so that only Hermione and Harry could hear him. "Rumor has it their Headmistress, Maxime, is over eleven feet tall! It'll be mighty fascinating ter get to talk with another—well, someone like me."

Harry remembered the fiasco over Rita Skeeter's article exposing Hagrid's half-giant status to the world, and how devastated Hagrid had been about it. He resolved to prevent such an article being written in this timeline – he would have to mention it the next time he saw her, which wouldn't be long now with the Triwizard Tournament approaching.

However, the initial excitement over the upcoming event waned as September dragged on and the rigors of regular schoolwork taxed the student body. Harry found himself once again behind on homework, spending nearly every free evening writing essays and completing worksheets. His previous fourth year had been trivial due to his exempt status from final exams as a school Champion; now he did not have that same luxury and would have to work harder.

He did not remain idle in his extra-curricular pursuits, however. He checked out a thick leather book from the library called the Hogwarts Student Compendium, containing student rosters for every incoming class. It seemed to be charmed to update itself with every new year, as the back page already contained the incoming Class of 1994, where Harry could see Dennis Creevey and every other first-year listed underneath their respective Houses.

Harry first flipped back to the 1930's and began searching, finding his first target under the Class of 1938: Tom Riddle, Slytherin. He did some quick math: assuming a roughly 20-year gap between generations, Tom's grandfather Marvolo might have arrived at Hogwarts as late as 1900, but probably earlier than that. He decided to start in the 1850's to be safe and work his way forward, combing through each and every student's name to be safe.

It was tedious work, and Harry felt himself growing tired by the end of his search. He was about to give up and call it a day when he found it: Marvolo Gaunt, a Slytherin from the incoming Class of 1879. Gaunt, Harry thought, mulling the name over in his mind. It didn't sound familiar to him, and he couldn't recall anyone else with that surname.

Reinvigorated, Harry pressed onward, hoping to find a trace of Voldemort's mother via another "Gaunt". He came across another soon after, Ominis, in the class of '86, which was too soon to be an offspring of Marvolo's – perhaps a brother or a cousin? No others emerged in the 1800's, and Harry started to lose hope again as the early 1900's produced no candidates either.

Then he found it: Morfin Gaunt, Slytherin, class of 1915. Is Morfin a girl's name? Harry thought, frowning to himself. The only other Morfin he could think of was a seventh-year Slytherin during his first year, and he was definitely a male. But maybe it was a gender-ambiguous name that could apply to either, and this was in fact the mysterious mother figure Harry was searching for.

Or maybe Morfin had a sister? Harry mused, flipping forward through the book. But no other Gaunts appeared before Tom Riddle's arrival at the school, and he had to assume Morfin was the last of his name. Voldemort's mother was a witch, wasn't she? Surely she'd attended Hogwarts, had she not? He sent off a quick letter to Saul that evening with his findings, hoping the man could shed some light on the topic and learn more about the Gaunt family himself.

But aside from that small discovery, there was little else for Harry to do on the investigative front. All of the students and staff were behaving normally, with the possible exception of the caretaker Filch, who was more surly and reserved than usual in the absence of his beloved Mrs. Norris. Harry figured Voldemort might choose a more obscure target to impersonate, perhaps someone from Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. Or maybe he wouldn't impersonate anyone at all, and his plans had radically shifted without Barty Crouch Jr. to do his bidding.

Harry received a care package from home in early October, with two large owls struggling to carry in the box full of sweets and pastries and drop it atop his breakfast with a loud crash. Harry ignored the ribbing laughter from his fellow Ravenclaws and tore open the letter, which contained lots of love from his mother, as per usual. He would save it and relish in the words of comfort another time.

Harry skimmed the letter until he spotted his father's trademark messy scrawl at the bottom of the page, adding a post-script to Lily's flowering language:

Harry,

I don't know why Moody would ask you such a morbid question as a dead man's last words. But if you must know, Gideon Prewett and his brother had a call-and-response motto they would sometimes say to one another before a big battle. Fabian would say, 'To Godric the glory', and Gideon would respond, 'To Helga the spoils'. Some Hufflepuff rallying cry, I guess.

Keep your nose clean and look after your sister this year. And enjoy the Triwizard Tournament! I might ask for time off of work to come watch the First Task with you next month!

Love, Dad

Harry chuckled at the mental image of the Prewett twins, whom he was often told behaved similarly to Fred and George Weasley. To Godric the glory, to Helga the spoils...it certainly sounded like something two cheeky Hufflepuffs might say as inspiration before charging into battle. It was yet another point in Moody's favor, another reassurance that the year might indeed pass without Voldemort successfully sabotaging Hogwarts from within.

The final week of October arrived before he knew it, and student excitement began to build up again when a notice was pinned outside the Great Hall, heralding the arrival of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons that Friday evening. Harry began to second-guess himself, wondering if he should be doing more to prevent another mishap with the Goblet of Fire – but what that might be, he didn't know.

Before Harry knew it, he found himself lined up on the Hogwarts lawn alongside his classmates, waiting in the chilly evening air for the other schools to arrive. "D'you reckon they're taking the train into Hogsmeade?" wondered Terry Boot aloud.

"They're coming from much farther than London," scoffed Michael Corner.

"Brooms, then?" said Anthony Goldstein. "Or Portkeys?"

"Could be," Harry grinned, not wanting to ruin the surprise. He scanned the skies as the rest of the students squinted down the grounds towards the village. Eventually, he spotted it. "Here they come."

Students oohed and aahed with delight as the Beauxbatons carriage descended from the sky, carried by a dozen winged horses. Madame Maxime led her students out of the carriage, the Beauxbatons seventh-years shivering in the cold Scottish air as they hustled towards the castle. Fleur Delacour was already complaining loudly about the weather to her friends; a few boys took notice as she passed by, and Harry too felt the distinctive Veela allure in the air before she disappeared from sight.

The Durmstrang ship arrived soon after, emerging from the depths of the Great Lake with a mighty crash of waves. Igor Karkaroff led his students in a single-file procession up the path towards the school, where he greeted Dumbledore warmly (and did his best to ignore Moody's baleful glares). Harry heard the squeals of surprise and delight as the other students realized that Viktor Krum was among them; the boy looked just as surly and standoffish as Harry remembered, no longer in his element on a broomstick hundreds of feet in the air.

Dumbledore beckoned everybody into the Great Hall, where students took their seats at the House tables. Ravenclaw's was far more cramped than usual, as Beauxbatons had chosen to join them, perhaps feeling more at home among other blue-clad students. Harry spied Roger Davies enthusiastically greeting Fleur, who gave him an appraising sort of look. Probably bragging about how he plans to be school champion, Harry thought with a smirk. Little does he realize who he is talking to…

"Welcome, one and all, to Hogwarts!" said Dumbledore, taking the podium and calling for silence. "To all of our esteemed guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, we hope you enjoy your stay at our castle for the next year. And now, for the moment you've all been waiting for! Mr. Filch, the casket, if you please."

Argus Filch shuffled forward with a wooden box encrusted with jewels and placed it atop the podium. Dumbledore tapped it with his wand, causing the box to fall away and reveal the Goblet of Fire within, already glowing with blue flames within its brim.

"Any student who wishes to enter their name in the Tournament has twenty-four hours to place it in the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore explained. "Only of-age students are permitted to do so. And I must warn you all: any student caught submitting a name on behalf of another underage student may result in expulsion from your school."

That caused murmurs of mild alarm from some of the students. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff looked mildly surprised by this statement, but they said nothing to contradict it. After all, none of the students they'd brought along were underage, and why would any of them help a Hogwarts student enter their name?

"Tomorrow night, our three champions will be selected, one from each school," Dumbledore went on. "Best of luck to all who choose to enter. Until then, we feast!" And he returned to his seat, leaving the students to excitedly gossip while loading their plates.

"Who d'you reckon the Hogwarts Champion is gonna be?" Terry Boot asked the table excitedly.

"Hopefully it's Davies," said Michael Corner, glancing at the Quidditch captain just down the row. "Ravenclaw hasn't had a Triwizard Champion in over three centuries; did you know?"

"It's usually someone from Slytherin," bemoaned Anthony Goldstein, frowning in the direction of the green and silver table. "Gits always want the glory for themselves...Marcus Flint certainly seems eager."

"I could see it being Angelina Johnson," said Padma Patil, glancing in the opposite direction. "Gryffindors are chosen nearly as often for their reckless bravery, and she'd be the first Hogwarts female in a long while."

"Maybe Cedric Diggory?" Harry suggested. But few seemed to consider that a real possibility, speculating on other viable options. Guess they'll all be surprised then, he thought somewhat smugly.

Harry hung around the Great Hall after his classmates headed to bed, as did many of the of-age students from each House. Once the tables had been cleared of food and silverware, Dumbledore waved his wand, and they were gently pushed to the sides of the room, leaving a large empty space in the center. He then moved the Goblet of Fire to the center of the room, still atop its podium, and drew an Age Line around it, a white shimmering circle suspended an inch or two off the ground.

"Rubbish," muttered George Weasley; he and his twin were observing from the back of the Hall, no doubt scheming. "We'll be seventeen in just five months – such rotten luck."

"What d'you reckon, Potter?" piped up Fred, spotting him nearby. "Any ideas on how to get your name in?"

"I'm not entering," Harry said adamantly. "And neither should you. You heard Dumbledore; you could get in big trouble—"

"No, he said other students would get in trouble for entering our names in," George pointed out with a devious grin. "I reckon an aging potion ought to get us in with a chance, don'cha think, Freddie?"

"Way ahead of you, Georgie," Fred grinned. And the two of them hurried off, no doubt to plot some hare-brained scheme to get across the Age Line. Harry chuckled as he watched them go, looking forward to seeing them make fools of themselves again for everyone else's entertainment.

Harry perched in a back corner at one of the displaced House tables, watching as students tentatively approached the Goblet. They stepped cautiously across the Age Line one by one, slips of parchment in hand, and dropped them into the Goblet, watching it flare ominously green in acceptance before returning to its placid blue state.

Harry watched a number of Hogwarts students, including Angelina Johnson and Marcus Flint, enter their names as their classmates cheered them on. A number of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students also lingered; Fleur Delacour entered her own name in quickly before disappearing onto the grounds with a flock of girlfriends. Viktor Krum drew every eye as he strode confidently across the Hall and entered his name, also taking his leave soon after.

"Hey, Harry!" a friendly voice greeted him; Cedric Diggory had entered the Hall alone. "What're you doing down here?"

"Hey, Ced," Harry greeted the boy (now a man, he supposed). "Just watching people put their names in. Exciting, isn't it?"

"Yeah, sure is," Cedric grinned. He had his own folded slip of parchment in hand, flicking it nervously as he glanced at the Goblet. "I'm having second thoughts myself. Dunno if being a Champion is gonna be all it's cracked up to be."

"You'd be a brilliant Champion," Harry insisted. "Stop selling yourself short. And why are none of your friends here to root you on?"

"None of them are of-age yet," Cedric frowned. "But they kept pushing me to enter, so I came down here...oh bloody hell, this is stupid, I'm going to bed—"

"Come on, you noble git," Harry smirked, standing and grabbing Cedric's arm to guide him forcefully towards the Goblet. "Put it in, and quit doubting yourself."

Cedric peered at the Age Line apprehensively. "Guess this is why I wasn't put in Gryffindor," he chuckled. "Alright, here goes…" And Cedric stepped across the line, dropping his parchment into the blue flames. Harry clapped as the flames flashed green in acceptance, and a few other students milling about the Hall turned to watch, bemused, as a sheepish Cedric stepped away from the Goblet.

"Thanks, Harry," he grinned. "Shame you're underage – I reckon you could win the whole bloody thing if you were allowed to enter."

Harry felt a sudden surge of emotion, with images of the Tournament in his previous timeline flashing unbidden through his mind. Images of a bright green light exploding from a wand, claiming an innocent life in the graveyard...images of Amos Diggory, screaming in agony as he clutched his lifeless son outside the maze…

"Thanks, mate," Harry chuckled as he fought to remain in control of his emotions. "Guess I'll have to make do with cheering you on, eh?"

Cedric chuckled and gave Harry a friendly punch to the shoulder before departing from the Hall. Harry returned to his seat in the corner, hoping to blend into the background as students began to trickle off to bed. He was prepared to stay all night if he had to, if it meant catching someone in the act of trying to sabotage the Goblet...if only he had his Invisibility Cloak to remain totally concealed…

Suddenly, he felt the tip of a wand against his neck and heard a grizzled voice whisper in his ear: "Constant vigilance, Potter." He wheeled around; Moody was standing in the corner behind him, chuckling softly to himself.

"Professor Moody," Harry exhaled, heart pounding in alarm. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, apparently," said Moody. "Watching that blasted cup to make sure no one tampers with it. Dumbledore's orders."

"Right; that's good," Harry sighed. He was grateful to hear that the Headmaster seemed to be taking security more seriously this time around.

"Don't you have something to say to me, lad?" Moody asked.

"Oh, right," said Harry, remembering his father's letter. "To Godric the glory…"

"To Helga the spoils," Moody nodded. "Very good. Never assume I am the same person I was yesterday. If someone wants Longbottom dead, they could attempt to impersonate me at any time."

"Uh huh," Harry said, though privately he could have guessed it was the real Moody simply based on the abundance of caution he was exhibiting.

"You'd best run along to bed, lad," said Moody. "Anyone sees you lurking around here after curfew, they might start asking uncomfortable questions when things go belly-up tomorrow."

"If they go belly-up," Harry corrected him as he stood to go.

"Yes, of course," Moody scoffed, though it was clear his confidence was far less than Harry's that things would all go according to plan. "Off you get, Potter."

Harry left the Great Hall, hoping he'd done enough to prevent disaster. At least it seemed that Dumbledore and Moody were on top of things, and that gave him a good deal of comfort as he went to bed that night. Being in the dark was scary, but it was less so knowing that more powerful wizards than him were working towards the same goal.

Still, he found himself nervous as he filed into the Great Hall the following evening for the Halloween Feast. He couldn't bring himself to share the collective excitement of the students around him, still worried that something could go wrong during the selection ceremony. He spotted Neville at the Slytherin table, keeping to himself and eating his dinner calmly, fully unaware of the plot he may or may not soon be involved with.

After a hearty meal, Dumbledore finally stood and stepped up to the podium, calling for quiet. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to officially begin!" the Headmaster declared. "But first, in order to curb the number of posters hung outside by office, I have decided to approve the petition calling for an unofficial Quidditch league. Professor McGonagall has kindly agreed to organize the event; if you would like to play, please submit your preferred roster to her office by the twentieth of November."

A great roar of approval rose from this announcement. Roger Davies jumped up in triumph, looking more excited than he had the year before when they tied for the Quidditch Cup. Harry too was excited – he was sure to feel cooped up during a full year without Quidditch, and this would give him a competitive outlet. And what if he got the chance to fly against Krum? The possibility enthralled him.

"But now, for the big reveal!" said Dumbledore. "In just a moment, the Goblet of Fire will select three names to compete as champions for their respective schools. As a reminder, once a name comes out of the Goblet, the decision is final, and the chosen person must compete to the best of their abilities."

A nervous hush fell over the crowd as Dumbledore turned towards the Goblet, folding his hands patiently to wait. "What happens now?" asked Anthony Goldstein in a hush. "I thought the judges would pick a name out of the Goblet by hand!"

"Shh; just watch!" Terry Boot hushed him.

Just then, the Goblet of Fire flared bright red, and a piece of flaming parchment shot out of it. Dumbledore caught it in midair and unfolded it. "The Durmstrang Champion," he announced in a booming voice, "is Viktor Krum!"

A great roar of triumph raised from the Slytherin table as the Durmstrang students cheered for Krum, who stood and slunk forward to the front of the room to shake Dumbledore's hand. Many Hogwarts students also appeared excited by the prospect, craning their necks for a better look at him.

Soon after Krum departed into a side chamber, the Goblet flared red again, and Dumbledore snatched another piece of parchment from the air. "The Beauxbatons Champion is Fleur Delacour!" he announced.

Another cheer rose from the Ravenclaw table, though noticeably quieter – Harry saw that several of the Beauxbatons girls looked irritated at the choice. Harry joined the polite clapping as a beaming Fleur stood from her seat not far from his and hurried up to the front.

The Hogwarts students began muttering excitedly as all eyes turned back to the Goblet. Harry spied Roger Davies not far down the table, looking anxious and excited, still believing he had a chance at being chosen. Harry also glanced at the Hufflepuff table, where Cedric Diggory sat quietly as his friends chattered around him, far more reserved – few probably expected him to be chosen, even though he would prove to be a popular Champion.

The Goblet finally flared up red again, and Dumbledore unfurled the third piece of parchment. Harry immediately knew something was awry when he frowned down at the name in silence for a long while. The students murmured quietly to themselves, wondering what was taking so long. Harry watched the Headmaster stare down at the parchment with growing alarm, and his heart stopped when Dumbledore looked up towards the Ravenclaw table and locked eyes with him.

No, Harry thought with a feeling of dread as Dumbledore cleared his throat to speak. Please, no. I can't do this again.

Dumbledore finally cleared his throat. "The Hogwarts champion is Harry Potter," he said in a defeated tone.

At once there was a cacophony of noise around the Great Hall – yells of surprise and outrage, mostly from the older students. "He's not even of-age!" Roger Davies shouted in protest.

"Potter must've cheated!" piped in Marcus Flint from across the room, the Slytherins around him vehemently vocalizing their agreement.

Harry felt a distinct sense of deja vu as the timeline seemed to repeat itself again. Once more he felt the suspicious eyes of the entire Great Hall upon him, and he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the floor. And once more it was Hermione who nudged him hard and urged him to stand, as he awkwardly made his way up to where Dumbledore was standing.

"Sir, I swear I didn't enter—" he tried to explain, but Dumbledore held up his hand to stop him. He showed Harry the slip of paper, and Harry's heart skipped a beat when he saw the looping handwriting: HARRY POTTER – HOGWARTS.

Impossible, Harry thought. I didn't put my name in, and I know nobody else did. Why did the Goblet choose me over every other Hogwarts student? And why me instead of Neville?

"We'll get this sorted, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore in a hushed tone. "Off you get." And he shooed Harry off to the side chamber, where Fleur and Krum were no doubt waiting, the only two people in the castle unaware of what had happened.

But Harry only made it a couple of steps before the Goblet of Fire flared red again, and a fourth piece of parchment flared upwards. Harry was the one to catch it out of the air, his Seeker instincts prevailing over Dumbledore's slower reflexes. A feeling of dread crept over him as he unfolded the parchment, already suspecting what he would find within. His heart dropped to his stomach all the same when he read the words:

NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM – ILVERMORNY.

A/N: Surprise! (Not really, I suppose. Everyone probably saw this development coming.) Who is the big villain/impostor this year? I'm eager to hear everyone's guesses, because I have a juicy plot twist cooking in the oven that I can't wait to serve up to you all. I'd be surprised if anyone manages to guess the truth, but the seeds have already been planted earlier in the fic and will continue to be throughout the year, so let's hear those wild conspiracy theories in the comments!

And while we're at it, let's hear those Yule Ball theories – no one has guessed Harry's date correctly either! Hint: it's someone we haven't seen much in the fic so far, but it ought to make perfect sense once we get there…