They never did manage to corner Bagman on his own. Every time they got close, the former Beater was engulfed by a swirling cloud of professors, trailing him like a parade of enchanted ducklings.
Defeated but not deterred, Fred and George trudged back up to the Great Hall. The Halloween Feast awaited them, warm and glowing, with floating pumpkins bobbing over groaning platters. Fred perked up considerably when he caught sight of the Goblet of Fire, still flickering mysteriously in its perch.
"Well, if it's not going to be us, I hope Angelina nabs it," he said, nodding towards the Gryffindor table. "She turned seventeen last week."
George grinned, already piling roast potatoes onto his plate. "Yeah. Would be nice to see a Gryffindor show the rest how it's done."
Across the hall, Berenice was staring pointedly at Adrian.
"Did you put your name in the Goblet?" she demanded, not for the first—or even fiftieth—time that day. Eleanor, with a dry expression, had been keeping tally. They were on number sixty-nine.
Adrian took a leisurely sip of pumpkin juice and replied with infuriating cheer. "We'll find out in a tick, won't we?"
"Oh, come on," Berenice huffed, stabbing a bite of tiramisu and glaring at him. "You can tell me, can't you?"
He just gave her a maddening smile. "Patience is a virtue, Bunny."
"Don't call me that," she hissed. Her braid swished with indignation, as if it too took issue with the nickname. "There are people around!"
Eleanor, amused despite herself, glanced up at the staff table. The golden plates were vanishing crumbs as Dumbledore rose to his feet. Seated beside him were the heads of the other schools—Karkaroff in his high-collared black robes, Madame Maxime shimmering in silk and diamonds. Ludo Bagman winked indiscriminately at the students, as though he were at a garden fête. Eleanor found it ghastly. Crouch, meanwhile, sat as rigid as a lamppost.
"The Goblet of Fire is nearly ready to make its decision," Dumbledore announced, gazing toward the flames. "In a moment, it will select the champions who will compete in this year's Triwizard Tournament."
A hush fell over the hall. Dumbledore continued, gesturing to a door tucked behind the staff table. "Once your name is called, please proceed into that room. There, you will receive your instructions."
The lights dimmed. An expectant hush swept through the hall like a draught. The Goblet of Fire pulsed blue and white, its flames dancing higher.
"Any second now," Lee Jordan muttered, leaning across to Fred and George. Fred cast a hopeful glance at Angelina, who sat with her chin up, trying to look nonchalant.
Suddenly, the flames shot crimson. A burst of golden sparks flew into the air, followed by a piece of singed parchment that floated gently downwards.
Dumbledore caught it and unfolded it slowly.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he read aloud, "is Viktor Krum."
A collective intake of breath. Several seats down, the famous Seeker rose from his place. Applause exploded as he walked stiffly past the tables and disappeared behind the staff table door.
The Goblet flared again. Another parchment.
"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour."
The half-Veela rose with elegant poise, long silver hair glinting like moonlight. She, too, swept into the adjoining room, as applause echoed.
Berenice clapped precisely three times before folding her arms.
"Tell me, Pucey."
"Listen to the Headmaster, Bunny," Adrian said serenely.
The Goblet turned red for the third time, its flames leaping higher. The tension in the air was like an overstretched rubber band.
"Please not Warrington," Eleanor muttered under her breath.
"Let it be Angelina," George whispered, fingers crossed under the table.
Dumbledore read the third name.
"The champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory."
The Hufflepuff table erupted. The students stood en masse, cheering wildly as Cedric made his way through the hall, modestly nodding, a bit pink in the ears.
"Not a bad pick," Adrian said to Berenice with a sly grin.
"Shut it, Pucey."
Dumbledore raised his hands again, trying to speak over the applause.
"Well then," he began, "now that we have our three champions, I'd like to ask all of you to rally behind your representative. Encourage them, support—"
But he didn't finish.
The Goblet turned red again.
The flames swelled, ominous and bright. Sparks flew, and with a sizzling hiss, a fourth piece of parchment curled out of the fire and drifted into Dumbledore's waiting hand.
There was a strange, leaden silence. Dumbledore read the parchment as though it had personally betrayed him.
"Harry Potter."
It hung in the air like smoke.
No one moved. All eyes turned to the Gryffindor table, where Harry was staring at his friends, wide-eyed and stunned.
"Harry Potter," Dumbledore repeated, more firmly. "Harry, come forward, if you please."
Harry's mate with the unruly hair gave him a shove. Shakily, as though in a trance, Harry rose and began the slow walk toward the door.
The moment it clicked shut behind him, the silence shattered. Voices broke out all over the hall.
"How on earth did he get past the Age Line?" Berenice said, incredulous.
"No idea," Adrian murmured, frowning.
McGonagall's lips were a razor-thin line as she addressed the students.
"Back to your Common Rooms. At once."
Malfoy was loudly declaring that it was all a mistake, that there was no way Potter could've done it. Eleanor resisted the temptation to slap him. The world would thank her.
"I mean, he's not even clever," Malfoy was saying. "If anyone could have pulled it off, it would've been Granger."
"They're not going to let him compete, are they?" Berenice asked, turning to Adrian. "He's underage."
"There'll be blood, I'll wager," Eleanor heard Warrington grumble behind them. "Potter won't last a minute."
"Still," said Lucy Vane, gliding past, "luck's usually on his side. That's half the battle."
"The Gryffindors are probably loving this," Berenice said with disdain.
"Oh, but when aren't they?" Adrian replied.
In the weeks that followed, the school buzzed with speculation. Eleanor grew weary of the endless gossip, the madcap theories. Malfoy was hawking buttons to stir up rivalry between Diggory and Potter, clearly relishing the drama. Eleanor began to seriously question his obsession with Harry Potter.
At least the mountain of homework kept her anchored. Most evenings, she vanished into the library until it closed.
One late night, after a marathon session on Ancient Runes, she remembered she still needed to send her mother's letter with Pegasus. She tucked it into her cloak and headed toward the Owlery.
She'd just reached the second floor when she froze.
"Now, lads, it's late. I've got another appointment with Barty."
Bagman.
"But Mr Bagman—our money—"
"No, no, we'll talk later. You're still young."
"Not too young to place a bet."
Eleanor winced. Of course. The twins had wagered at the World Cup.
"Well, you've only yourselves to blame."
"But—"
"Really must dash now. Good evening, gentlemen."
Quick footsteps scuttled off.
"Can youbelievethis?" she heard George fume.
Eleanor stepped out from behind a pillar, arms folded.
"Have you two completely lost your marbles? Who in their right mind gives money toBagman? He's up to his eyeballs in debt to the goblins!"
The twins stared at her.
Fred turned slowly to George, eyes narrowed. "Youtoldher?"
"What? I didn't say anything! She's making it up!"
"Oh, you—!"
"Iheardyou," Eleanor interrupted icily. "I was also at the World Cup, remember? And unlike you lot, I'm capable of basic deduction."
A pause. Fred stared at her calculatingly. She raised an eyebrow.
"Face it, Weasley. I'm your best shot at seeing that money again. Now. How much did you put in?"
George hesitated. "Thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, and three Knuts. Ireland to win, but Krum to catch the Snitch."
Eleanor let out a low whistle. "Your whole savings, I bet. Not bad odds—just unlucky with the bookmaker."
"He paid us in leprechaun gold," George muttered.
"And then vanished," Fred added bitterly. "We even sent him a letter. Polite, mind you. No response."
"You've been trying to becivil?" Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Typical Gryffindors."
"What do you suggest?" George asked cautiously.
Eleanor's grin turned foxlike. "Is a Gryffindor asking a Slytherin for help? Be still my heart."
Fred folded his arms. "Why should we trust you?"
She gave him a look. "I think George already knows why." She turned to leave.
"Wait!" Fred called out.
She turned back with exaggerated innocence.
"Sayplease," she said sweetly.
Fred grimaced as though chewing nettles. George was already suppressing a grin.
"Will youpleasehelp us out?" Fred said through gritted teeth.
"Oh, Weasley," Eleanor said with a gleam in her eye. "I thought you'd never ask."