The workload seemed to be increasing exponentially. As much as Harry enjoyed learning new things, he didn't care for the fact that most of his free time was being taken up by homework. He believed that he was one of a select group of students who chose to do their work as soon as possible, to get it out of the way, and even that wasn't enough to slow the tsunami. Lupin continued to make his lessons fun and engaging, but even he wasn't shy about giving them long assignments, beginning to focus on actual spells rather than the dangerous magical creatures they had covered the year before. Snape, to no one's surprise, seemed to take malicious joy about setting something after every class. And it wasn't as if they could avoid that research on antidotes, since the Potions Master had vaguely hinted at poisoning at least one of them at an unknown point.

"I suppose they have to make us prepared for our OWLS," Hermione said at one point. "It's better for us to get used to the amount of work rather than be shocked when it's really important."

"Did I just hear Hermione Granger insinuate that our current work isn't too important?" Matthew had countered. "Strange days, indeed."

As the weeks progressed, Harry continued to write to Sirius, wanting to keep in contact as much as possible with his godfather. Most of the points of conversation were trivial, both of them asking random questions to try to figure out what sort of person the other one was. It was a large, unspoken game of testing the waters. But, on occasion, Sirius would let something slip that sounded more serious than asking what his favourite cereal was.

He sat with his friends in the common room, reading one such letter, before focusing on one certain line. "Sirius is talking a lot about Moody today for some reason," he mentioned to his friends.

Hermione was furiously scribbling away but Matthew looked up. "Did you happen to tell him about the Malfoy incident? I'm expecting a detailed account of it so it's preserved forever in writing."

"Or you could simply replay the moment in a pensieve," Hermione idly added, not looking away from her paper. "You'd get to watch it then, on repeat."

"You know, I rather like it when you show that devilish side of your mind. Everyone else doesn't see it, but we get to experience it. We're the lucky ones."

"I told him straight away," Harry said. "He doesn't like the Malfoys as much as us so I hope he got a good laugh out of it. It's just strange…" He frowned at the message. "He reckons that Moody being here is a sign of Dumbledore reading into the signals. But he doesn't mention what signals! It's infuriating. It's like he's writing in code."

It seemed to capture Hermione's attention because it was the only thing that had made her glance away from her musings. "Maybe it's about the tournament, since Moody is here for that."

"If he's talking about a man like Moody, then I'm guessing it's going to be bad signals," Matthew added. "Which wouldn't surprise me with this blasted tournament. I'm wondering if I can skip Friday evening. Say I'm sick or something."

"But you'll get to see all of the new students arriving!" Hermione protested. "Surely that has to interest you."

"Because I show so much interest in the students already here, don't I?" Matthew replied sarcastically. "They'll make a big song and dance about it. It's all propaganda to improve the school's reputation. That's the whole point of the Tournament. They market it as gaining personal glory, but it's about school bragging rights just as much."

"I don't know about that," Harry countered. "I've seen a lot of students talking about how they want that personal glory. Everywhere you go, you hear people explaining how they think they'd make the perfect representative. Quite a few are mentioning a boy called Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff prefect. I'd never really heard of him before now."

"I think that a large portion of the…female population have taken an interest in him," Hermione calmly noted. "That's why there's so much talk about him."

It was comical how quickly Matthew's neck snapped to look at her. "And are you included in this group?"

She let out a small huff. "Obviously not. I've got more important things to be doing than talking about pretty boys. It's all Lavender and Parvati do when they're in our dorm, gossiping away until they pass out from exhaustion."

"But you're the one who spends all her time with two pretty boys." Matthew gave Harry a nudge and they both pushed their chests out dramatically.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I never knew until now that I was such a hypocrite." She was at least willing to play along with their antics. She'd learnt by now that it was easier in the long run to appease them. She suddenly leaned forward, looking around to see if anyone was listening into their conversation. Her behaviour had her companions copying her actions. "I was wondering about something though. I only thought of it the other day. Dumbledore is obviously placing regulations to prevent students from entering, but do those rules apply to you? Could you enter if you wanted to?"

Matthew pulled a face. "I wouldn't want to. First of all, it would be entirely unfair for the rest of the competition to battle against someone as brilliant as me." He flashed a cocky grin. "Even if it was lover boy Diggory."

Hermione found it quite amusing to see him act in this manner. "Is there a reason why you're acting so jealous at the mere notion someone might have caught my eye." She found it even more amusing to watch him sputter out a coherent response.

"I'm not…I'm not jealous! Harry, tell her I'm not jealous."

"You are sounding quite jealous, Matthew." Harry wasn't going to come to his aid this time. Maybe this could be the push they needed to finally get everything out in the open.

"I feel betrayed. Hermione's allowed to look at anyone she wants. I just don't think Diggory is worth her time."

She arched an eyebrow. "Prefect, quidditch captain, potential Triwizard Champion…it makes you wonder who could possibly be worth my time."

Matthew didn't look like he enjoyed it when he was on the receiving end of such teasing, probably because he was usually the one coming out with witty remarks. "Can we get back to the point? About why I'm not interested in taking part?" That was much safer territory. " Secondly , competing would tell everyone that I haven't been entirely truthful about my heritage. And, finally…even if I could take part, I wouldn't want to. Low key, that's how I prefer it."

Both Hermione and Harry laughed at that. "You're the least low key person I've ever met," the latter told him. "And I know Dumbledore."

If Matthew had been put on edge by Hermione's gleeful teasing, then the same could be said for the professors with the imminent arrival of their guests. McGonagall seemed to bark at every mistake, as if even the barest slight on their honour would make them a laughing stock in front of the other schools. It was even affecting Lupin's behaviour, who appeared to be just as pleased about their impending visitors as Matthew was. They went to visit him one evening but the professor had seemed incredibly distracted, only giving them short responses whenever they asked a question.

The school was being routinely cleaned from top to bottom, with Peeves under constant supervision from the Bloody Baron. Even the mischievous ghost wasn't willing to anger Dumbledore at that present time. Harry found it highly amusing how disgruntled the portraits looked whenever they were scrubbed clean, their frames gleaming as much as their now red faces. The hall wasn't immune either, decorated overnight with huge banners, one each with the House colours, and the largest one of all denoting the Hogwarts crest by the head table. It seemed that Matthew had been right about the intense focus on pageantry that was being put into the preparations.

When the time came for the school delegations to arrive, they were forced to stand outside in meticulously ordered lines. McGonagall kept prowling the Gryffindor selection, ordering anyone to sort their uniforms out if they didn't quite meet her standards. The issue was that, because they were meant to look neat and professional, they hadn't been allowed to take their outside cloaks. And it was October. So they were freezing as they waited. Colin Creevey's younger brother looked like he might pass out from the cold.

"Here," Matthew whispered into his ear, passing a warm object into his hand. "This should do the trick. But keep it covered."

Harry looked down to see a small jar with a blue flame flickering away inside. He was insanely grateful for the heat it was providing, holding it close to his chest. His fingers felt like life was returning to them. He noticed Hermione smile gratefully as she was handed one too, like it was a special secret that only they were allowed to know.

"I'm really glad that I'm friends with you," Harry said. "I hope you know that."

"It's good to know why you keep me around."

"Are they going to get here any time soon? Because I don't think even this jar is going to cut it if it takes much longer."

"Depends how they're getting here."

"I just presumed they'd be coming by the Express."

"What did I say about showing off, Harry? It'll no doubt be something flashy."

"They might all apparate here at the same time. Like you and Dumbledore did. Maybe their rules allow younger students to learn it in those countries."

"Even if that were the case, which it isn't, they wouldn't be able to do that," Hermione pointed out. "The wards around Hogwarts strictly prohibits anyone from apparating onto the grounds."

"I don't even need to ask how you know that, do I?"

Dumbledore's booming voice rang out all of a sudden. "Ah, if I'm not mistaken, it seems that the Beauxbatons party has arrived!"

All the students looked up to where he was pointing, where a shape was gliding across the sky. Someone shouted that it was a dragon, proving that they didn't know what said creatures actually looked like. Another claimed it was a flying house, which was more accurate. Harry spotted the horses first, soaring through the air, pulling a carriage that was certainly the size of a house. The carriage clattered over their heads a bit too close to comfort as it came in to land. Hagrid was the one guiding the palominos, which were much larger than the regular sort.

And it was a good job that it was the half giant who was greeting them first, for he was the only person Harry knew who could possibly match the height of the woman who emerged from the carriage first. She was gigantic, her height appearing even more indomitable because of the shock of her appearance. The opals around her neck must have been the same size as tangerines to be in proportion to the rest of her, glinting against the black backdrop of her satin gown.

Dumbledore clapped, prompting the students to copy the greeting. The headmaster, usually such an imposing figure himself, was made to look diminutive as she approached, the old man not having to bend to kiss her hand. They murmured a few pleasantries between themselves but most of the students had turned their attention to the group that had left the carriage after their teacher. It was an assortment of boys and girls, all shivering even more than they were thanks to their thin robes. It seemed they hadn't thought to adjust to the Scottish climate.

As the French contingent moved inside where Dumbledore believed they would be much more comfortable (the tall woman repeatedly told Hagrid that the horses only drank single-malt whisky), Harry noticed that a lot of the Hogwarts boys were looking at the Beauxbatons girls. It was practically ogling, though he was also surprised to see that one of the girls, looking slightly younger than the others with sleek back hair, gave him a shy smile as she walked past. By now, he was used to people staring at him thanks to his scar and the weight his name carried, but this somehow felt a bit different. He didn't know how to put his finger on it.

He might have given it more thought if someone hadn't started shouting something about the Lake. Harry turned just in time to see a mast appear from the bubbling water, rising into the air proudly. The lake parted to reveal a magnificent ship. It was a strange sight, even for a magically appearing ship, because of its gloomy lamplights and skeletal outer body. The people that disembarked once it was at the dock below looked to be just as foreboding, built with stocky frames and hard faces. They seemed to be much more favourable towards the Slytherins when they eventually reached them, their headmaster thin and tall, eerily similar to Snape (if the Potions Master sported a goatee). If Hermione was right about Durmstrang loving the dark arts, then that seemed to confirm it in Harry's eyes.

No one way was paying much notice to that man though as he spoke merrily with Dumbledore. In fact, attention was squarely on one of the students. Harry had never seen him before but he heard Ron Weasley excitedly telling anyone within earshot that he was a fantastic quidditch player. That explained it, since he'd never had any interest in the sport. And, with Hermione and Matthew being the same, they were probably the only three people out there not looking to get the boy's autograph. Harry felt sorry for him, knowing how that felt. He wondered whether his Durmstrang counterpart wanted the fame or whether it had been placed upon him.

Ron was still desperately asking anyone unfortunate to look at him whether they had a spare quill so that he might go up to the boy by the time they were back in the Great Hall. The Beauxbaton students had congregated around the Ravenclaw table and, after a moment's hesitation, the Durmstrang group decided to remain in solidarity with the Slytherins. From the looks of things, Malfoy had regained some of his pomp and arrogance around the visitors. Harry dearly hoped that wasn't going to be a continuing trend.

"Four extra seats," Harry noted suspiciously. "At the head table. But I thought there were only two extra teachers."

"Maybe the horses will be dining at the table," Matthew suggested. "They certainly have the diet for it."

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and guests," Dumbledore gladly greeted them. He was making a particular effort to beam effusively at the foreign students. The Durmstrangs were appearing much more comfortable in the new location, staring at the crockery with impressed looks, compared with the Beauxbatons, who wore gloomy expressions as they glanced around at the cold stone interior. "It is my sincerest pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts. For now, enjoy the feast. The tournament will be officially opened shortly afterwards. I hope that this is the beginning of a wonderful bond of friendship! I'm sure that everyone here will ensure your stay is comfortable and, most importantly, enjoyable."

Hermione picked up on a few Beauxbaton students murmuring and, from their looks, it didn't appear to be too appreciative. "No one told them to come," she grumbled quietly.

"It looks as if you're not enjoying the excitement of having new people around," Matthew said, having the opportunity to gloat but choosing not to. "Any reason why?"

"I just don't want them looking down their noses at Hogwarts. Isn't that reason enough?"

"I feel sorry for the girls really. I mean, I wouldn't want a bunch of teenagers drooling after me. No wonder their moods are sour."

"And you weren't looking at them like the rest of your peers?"

"There were more interesting things to look at," he said, staring earnestly at Hermione before it became too serious and he felt the mood needed to be lightened. "Such as Harry having an admirer."

Hermione quickly looked to her other friend. "An admirer? When did this happen?"

Harry was particularly red in the face. "I don't know what he's talking about."

"A girl smiled at him," Matthew was keen to tell her. "From Beauxbatons. She couldn't have made it any more obvious."

"You should go and speak to her after the feast," Hermione suggested. "You could be taking the first steps in creating that bond of friendship Dumbledore was on about."

"Probably more than friendship if he's lucky."

Harry stopped himself from hitting Matthew on the arm. "Why don't we focus on the feast instead?" He looked at a large serving dish, frowning at the sight. It resembled a stew, though it was filled with shellfish.

"Bouillabaisse," Hermione explained without him having to ask.

"Is that a spell?"

She couldn't hold back the smirk. "It's a French dish. I've had it quite a few times when I've been on holiday with my parents. It looks like Dumbledore wants the menu to reflect a growing acceptance and unison too."

At one point during the feast, Harry's previous curiosity was only increased when two men joined the head table. One was a rather strong looking man, though his rotund belly looked to have been a late addition over the years. His partner wore a much serious expression, a neatly trimmed moustache matching slicked back hair.

"Who do you think they are?" he asked his friends.

Matthew shrugged. "Probably something to do with the Tournament. That moustache-one has the pompous air of a Ministry official."

"Sirius did say that this was a big deal for Fudge and the Ministry."

By the time the plates were removed and the food disappeared, Harry found he was just as curious about what was going to be said as those who were genuinely interested in taking part in the tournament. Once more, Dumbledore walked up to his podium, glancing around at the young faces looking back at him. He seemed to be stalling for dramatic effect.

"I hope that meal was as splendid for Madame Maxine and Professor Karkaroff, along with their students, as it was for me! And now the time has come for the Triwizard Tournament to begin! Some of you may have noticed that we have a couple of extra guests who have joined us for this moment. Mister Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation." The moustache-wearing one nodded his head as a polite round of applause sounded. "And Mister Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

The applause was a bit louder for Bagman. Harry heard the Weasley boys discussing his record as a Beater so he presumed it was down to that slight fame that he received a warmer welcome. Or it was because he simply looked much nicer than his colleague.

"Mister Bagman and Mister Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months to arrange this very special coming together," Dumbledore continued. "And they will be joining me and my two fellow headmasters on the panel that will judge the champions' endeavours." He paused, noting how the students looked even more attentive at the mention of 'champions'. "Mister Filch, if you would be so kind as to bring the casket in…"

Harry looked to Matthew. "Casket?"

"Hopefully it's not for the champions that don't manage to make it through the tournament," Matthew commented grimly.

"Do you really have to be so macabre all the time?" Hermione whispered.

Filch approached Dumbledore, struggling to carry a large wooden chest, encrusted in ornate jewels. Thankfully, it didn't look big enough to house a body, though that didn't dampen the rising excitement spreading through the hall as it was placed down. It appeared fairly old, as if it would collapse if it was accidentally dropped.

Dumbledore nodded his head in gratitude to the caretaker once the task was complete. "The instructions for the tasks that the champions will face have already been examined by our Ministry officials. Arrangements have already been made for their feasibility. Three tasks will take place over the course of the year, and will test the champions in varying manners. As you already know, three students will take part, one representative from each school. With each task, they will be marked on their ability to manage their way through the different obstacles and the one with the highest mark at the end of the third task will be crowned the winner of the Triwizard Cup. I almost make it sound simple. All we need now is an impartial selector to choose our champions."

He delicately waved his wand and the chest began to melt away like water rolling off a surface. In its place now stood a large, stone cup. It would have been completely unremarkable if it hadn't been for the blue flames flickering away on its top. Students, especially those closest to it, leaned further forward in fascination.

Dumbledore appeared to enjoy their rapt attention. "The Goblet of Fire! Anybody wishing to enter the Triwizard Tournament must write their name and their school clearly on a slip of parchment and throw it into the flames. All aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, we shall discover together who has been fortunate enough to have been chosen, three people who are worthy to represent their schools."

"As I have already made clear, there will be a strict limit on which students can enter themselves into consideration. And, for that purpose, an age line will be drawn around the Goblet by myself. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross the line."

"I think that answers your question, Hermione," Matthew noted. "I wouldn't be able to get past that even if I wanted to."

"We're going to do it," one of the Weasley twins butted in. "No age line will stop us."

"I must implore, once again, how important it is that you respect these regulations." Dumbledore seemed to be talking directly to the twins, who had the good grace to look slightly sheepish. "To enter the tournament is something that must not be done lightly. Once a Champion has been selected, they are obliged to see through the tournament until its end. Placing your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. Therefore, be certain that that is a fate you desire."

xxxxxxxxxx

"What if they get injured?" Harry asked.

It was the day after, with fever pitch rising across the school. As early as they had woken up for breakfast, other students had seemingly been there all night, wanting a look for themselves at the Goblet of Fire. Mumurings were like wildfire with rumours spreading of which students would be brave enough to enter. The entirety of the Durmstrang collective had already done so, with Beauxbaton contingent not far behind. The mystery remained over who would represent Hogwarts. It certainly wouldn't be the Weasley twins, who the trio had spotted heading towards the Hospital Wing with spectacular white hair and beards.

They'd decided to visit Hagrid instead of getting swept up in the giddy excitement. Harry always felt guilty about not seeing the half giant enough throughout the school year so was hoping that the distraction of the tournament wouldn't deter them further. However, judging from his appearance, Hagrid was getting very into it. His mountain of hair had been tamed as much as possible (from the smell of it, axle grease had been used as a gel) and he was sporting a horrid brown suit with a tie that clashed hideously. It seemed that he'd wanted to dress up for the occasion.

"What do you mean, injured?" Hagrid asked, pouring them each a cup of tea.

"The champions. Dumbledore said that they have to make it to the end. But what if they get injured and can't physically compete? Surely then they have to be let off the hook."

"A contract is a contract. Especially a magically binding one."

"But what happens if they break the contract? Do they get fined? Dumbledore was making it sound much worse than that."

"Because it is," Hagrid said darkly. "The terms are in the name. It binds your magic to the contract. If you break the deal, then your magic is forfeit."

That took Harry completely by surprise. "They shouldn't be allowed to do that!"

"I suppose that's the price you pay for glory. And, let me tell you, with what's in store, they'll have definitely earned that glory. The First Task…well it's nothing that most students will ever see in their lifetime. It's going to be spectacular. Though I shouldn't be telling you this, mind."

Hagrid seemed to pause as he looked out the window, before he brushed a hand through his thick hair. "One second, I just realised that I…uh…left something in the…pumpkin patch…and I don't want the Skrewts getting to…it."

He bumped into the table in his rush to get out of the hut, slamming the door closed. The three of them, perturbed by his erratic behaviour, got up to look out of the window. They spotted the carriage the Beauxbatons entourage had used. Madame Maxine and her students were spilling out, and Hagrid was rushing over to catch up to them. They watched as he spoke animatedly with the tall woman, before he began to walk with them.

"That swine is leaving us behind!" Matthew pointed out. "He's found better company for the grand reveal it seems."

"He's got a crush," Hermione said with a smile.

Harry looked at her. "He has? On Maxine?"

"I think it's adorable."

"I think he needs to remember his allegiances to who came first," Matthew said, though there was no actual bitterness to his voice. "This is how he treats his friends…he looks after his weird pets better."

By the time they made it to the Great Hall (on their own, thanks to Hagrid), it was already full. The candle-lit arena seemed even grander than normal, as if the castle knew that a big occasion was afoot. The actual feast itself seemed to take forever and, from the way people kept looking at the goblet instead of their plates, Harry could tell that pretty much everyone was just as eager to get to the main event. When Dumbledore stood up, the entire room turned silent, all eyes on the old headmaster.

"I reckon it is almost time," he said. "If I read out your name, please make your way to the front of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the preceding chamber. You will receive your next instructions once there."

The theatrics were turned up a notch as the Goblet's flames turned wild all of a sudden. The fire burned brighter, before turning a deep red in colour. A single piece of parchment was shot out, falling gracefully into Dumbledore's outstretched hand. Viktor Krum was declared the Champion of Durmstrang ("No surprises there!" chimed Ron), with Beauxbatons being represented by a slender girl by the name of Fleur Delacour. When Cedric Diggory's name was last to be read out, most of the Hogwarts population erupted into cheers, especially the Hufflepuff table.

Dumbledore was about to start speaking again when his face was unexpectedly lit up in red once more. People stared with open mouths as the Goblet produced another fragment of paper. Harry suddenly had a sinking feeling from the look on the old man's face as he read it.

"Harry Potter," he said in a whisper at first, so quiet that Harry wanted to believe he'd misheard. But then Dumbledore was saying it again, almost a shout, and everyone was looking at him. He would have stood up if it hadn't been for the Goblet acting up again, flames now more recognisable in their crimson hue than the blue they should have been. Another floating piece of parchment, another look of growing dread on Dumbledore's face. Something had gone awfully wrong.

"Hermione Granger."