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AFiF 4, Chapter 8: At Long Last
🕑 Added 2024-02-22 00:52:01 +0000 UTCVIII. At Long Last
“Class dismissed!” Professor Flitwick shouted cheerfully, balancing perfectly atop a stack of textbooks, “Stay back, Mr. Potter, if you please!”
Harry watched as the rest of the class departed, making his way up to Flitwick.
“Excited for the tournament, Professor?”
“Oh, very!” Flitwick clapped his hands together, “Rumour has it that you’ll be entering.”
“Maybe,” Harry admitted, the blurred form of Bellatrix Lestrange dancing merrily in his mind, “I’m still not quite sure.”
I suppose I’ll leave this one up to chance . . .
“Forgive me for intruding upon your impending decision,” said Professor Flitwick, “But I imagine it’d be quite the shame if you didn’t. I’m sure you’d perform quite admirably.”
“So I’ve been told,” Harry said, “It’d be nice, I reckon. I can’t help but think it’d be nice to face danger on my own free will.”
“Oh, I doubt you’ll ever have to truly worry for your safety,” Flitwick waved a hand, “Hundreds of talented witches and wizards have been working meticulously to ensure everything stays safe -”
“I don’t doubt that,” Harry admitted, “But it’d still be of little comfort if I found myself stuck in a cage with a dragon.”
Let’s hope that particular Trelawney prediction doesn’t come true.
Harry paused, his eyes widening.
She also said I’d face an army of dementors. She said that Christmas of second year -
“Something wrong, Harry?” Professor Flitwick asked worriedly.
Harry slowly shook his head.
“I just realised that one of Professor Trelawney’s predictions came true,” he said, frowning, “And I’m really hoping the others won’t.”
Professor Flitwick chuckled merrily.
“She’s bound to get something right eventually, isn’t she?” said Flitwick, his eyes shining, “If I were you, I’d be much more worried about your next lesson!”
“Er - what?”
“Just something I heard from your peers,” there was a knowing look in Professor Flitwick’s eyes, “Now, why not hurry along to your Defense Class and find out?”
-(xXx)-
The desks were cleared to the side once more. Harry watched as Moody stalked along the length of the classroom, his peg leg clattering against the wooden floor.
“I do a lot of talking in this class,” Moody muttered, “An awful lot of it. For good reason, to be fair. I’ve got a lot to teach.”
He stopped walking.
“Experience, though? She’s a far better teacher than I’ll ever be.”
No one said a word as Moody glanced around the room expectantly.
“We’ll be fighting today,” Moody said “Not dueling - fighting. No rules. No nothing. Just keep going until someone taps out or can’t keep going. If you’re not interested, then get out.”
The ex-auror turned to Hermione. The bushy-haired girl stood determinedly still. Moody smiled.
“One round at a time, naturally,” said Moody quietly, “And I’ve got a prize for the winner, though I imagine some of you might not like it . . .”
“A prize? Ron asked eagerly from the front, “What do we win?”
Moody smiled wickedly.
“A match against me.”
Harry perked up.
Bella said he was about as good as she was. He hasn't spent more than a decade in Azkaban, either . . .
He subconsciously straightened up.
“Granger, let’s have you go first,” Moody decided. Hermione nervously stepped forward, “Who’d you like to face?”
“Whomever you choose, Professor,” said Hermione uncertainly.
Moody grinned, his magically eye flickering across the room. Suddenly, it latched onto him.
Perfect.
“You look eager, Potter,” Professor Moody noticed, “Why not take a crack at it?”
Harry stepped forward. The colour drained from Hermione’s face. Behind her, Moody was waving his wand wildly. Golden magic spewed from the tip of his wand, encircling all but the edges of the room. Magic sprung up from it, encircling him and Hermione in an almost transparent half-dome -
“If you aren’t fighting, you’re to stay outside of the ring,” Moody said plainly, “I can’t promise you won’t get hurt otherwise . . .”
Hermione finally managed to straighten up. She pointed her wand between Harry’s eyes. Harry just barely noticed the nervous shaking of her wand.
“Ready?”
Harry and Hermione both nodded.
“Then begin.”
“Percutiens!”
Harry stepped aside, watching as the jet of light blue magic slipped past him. He frowned slightly as a few more spells whizzed beyond him.
It’s like she’s casting in slow motion.
“Petrificus Totalus,” Harry whispered. His spell hit her square in the chest, and with a loud ‘thunk’, Hermione fell to the floor. Harry stared at her unmoving form, thoroughly unsatisfied.
“Not bad, Potter,” Moody called, unfreezing Hermione with a subtle flick of his wand, “Granger, you’re out. Weasley, Malfoy, replace Potter and Granger.”
Harry stepped out of the ring, watching as Malfoy strode confidently forward.
“You know, I don’t think there’s a bad outcome here,” Nott whispered as Draco and Ron pointed their wands at each other.
“I’d rather Weasley won,” Harry admitted.
But I’ve got a bad feeling that he won’t.
Sure enough, Weasley was soon Irish dancing wildly about the room. The boy cursed furiously as his face went as red as a tomato.
“Out, Weasley,” Moody barked, “Nott, Longbottom, replace them.”
Harry frowned, watching as his friend stepped cautiously into the ring.
Longbottom didn’t seem half bad when he chased after Bella last term.
Harry studied the boy’s grip. Longbottom’s wand was held tight within his palm, his arms relaxed and fluid.
“Begin!”
There was a flourish of magic. Nott summoned a desk with a loud shout, hiding behind it as Neville sent spell after spell his way. Harry felt some of the hunger rebuild in his chest.
He’s good.
“Nott, you’re out,” Moody said a few moments later. Harry watched the ex-auror help his friend up from the floor, “Patil, Parkinson, you’re up -”
“That was rough,” Nott said dryly.
“You did well,” Harry assured him, “Neville’s just got a bit more motivation than you.”
A lot more, actually.
“Yeah, I know,” the boy panted, “On the bright side, you’ve definitely got more than him. Voldemort outclasses Lestrange any day of the week.”
Harry snorted.
The remaining duels blurred past. Harry felt the disappointment slowly grow in his chest with each match -
Neville. Pair me with Neville -
Moody, however, seemed much more interested in keeping the two of them apart until the very end.
“Longbottom, forward,” Moody said eventually, glancing around the room. Only one other remained, “You’re against Potter.”
Finally.
Magic slipped beneath his skin, arcing through his veins and down to his finger tips. Harry smiled as the excitement built up in his chest.
“Ready?”
The two nodded.
“Then begin.”
No one moved at first. Harry stilled, watching as Neville’s eyes combed across his stance. After several moments, the boy’s wand brightened.
“Stupefy!”
Harry stepped out of the way, but Neville had sent a spell in that direction, too. Harry just barely managed to shield it with a haphazard slash of his wand.
Dueling tactics. Someone’s been practicing . . .
He pointed his wand at the floorboards. The wood shattered, coalescing into the wooden serpent Bella had conjured in the Forbidden Forest. Neville scowled.
“Incendio!”
The serpent lunged at the flickering heat. Neville’s eyes widened as the wood turned to water, bracing himself -
“Glacius.”
The water hardened. Harry watched as Neville toppled to the floor, encased in ice.
“Different gravy, eh Potter?” Professor Moody examined Neville, nodding along in approval, “Combat’s more than trading hexes . . . everything’s a weapon when you want it to be . . .”
He brushed his wand against his coat, watching curiously as the ice thawed. Neville clambered back up with a loud, confused groan.
“Easy, lad,” Moody patted him on the back, “You did good.”
Neville slowly hobbled to the side. Moody turned back to Harry, his magical eye flicking between him and Neville. The entire class seemed to hold their breath.
“What’re you looking for, Potter? Another light spar -”
“I want to fight,” the words slipped from his lips before he could stop them. Harry straightened up, “I - I want something real.”
Moody flashed a wicked grin.
“That’s more like it.”
A golden dome encased them once more, and Moody’s arm arced upwards.
“Begin!”
The floor exploded. Harry paled as Moody banished the shards toward him -
Harry twisted. The wood chips careened around the room, turning into a flock of birds. They dived towards Moody, who pointed his wand at them with a crooked smile. Harry watched, horrified yet fascinated, as the birds spun back towards him -
“Pyrmurus!” Harry roared. A shield of fire separated him from the birds. Harry could almost feel as they crumbled to ash -
Focus.
“Absondere,” he whispered. His body faded from view, matching his surroundings.
“Clever, Potter,” Moody called as the fire dissipated, “If it was someone else, it might've even worked -”
Harry flinched as a spell whizzed past his ear -
“Not me, though . . .”
Harry stepped across the room, frowning slightly at the lack of reaction.
Either he’s an incredible actor, or he’s bluffing.
Suddenly, Moody turned. Harry just barely managed to get up a shield in time.
“Serpensortia!” Harry shouted furiously, rolling to the side. A number of serpents spewed from his wand, “Pin him down.”
The snakes writhed. Moody grit his teeth as one of them coiled around his peg leg, pulling him to the floor. Harry laughed, sending spell after spell at the Auror, who struggled to deal with both him and the snakes -
“Stupefy!” Harry shouted, his wand pointed at Moody’s chest.
There was a whirl of light as the curse rebounded. The world faded behind glowing crimson magic, and everything went black.
-(xXx)-
“You did well,” Daphne assured, her fingers wrapping around his own as they often did, “You did really, really well -”
“If I did do well, you wouldn’t have to fucking tell me,” Harry snapped irritably. A stream of guilt slid down his chest. Harry’s eyes lowered, “I - sorry. I didn’t - didn’t mean to be so -”
“Snappy?” said Daphne pointedly. Her eyes softened, “It’s okay. I get it.”
“It just - it felt so one-sided -”
“- it wasn’t -”
“- I know it wasn’t, but it felt that way,” Harry groaned, “I don’t even know how he managed that shit at the end -”
“He said he reflected your spell,” Daphne noted. She smiled slightly, “Strong spell, too. He couldn’t undo it the first time.”
“I know. He was telling me about it after class,” Harry frowned, “Said it was a bad thing. That I was wasting magic.”
The smile slipped off Daphne’s face.
“He was going easy, too,” Harry whispered, “He didn’t use any of the questionable spells he definitely knows . . .”
Although to be fair, I didn’t, either.
“Astoria was impressed,” Daphne told him, “Come to think of it, anyone worth listening to was impressed -”
“Astoria saw?” Harry asked quickly, turning to the girl. They watched as Astoria waddled around the grounds before them, doing her very best to roll a base for her snow witch, “Did anyone else -”
“No. Just some of the younger Slytherins,” Daphne whispered, “They got the memory off Millicent. One of them had a pensieve.”
“Had?”
“Professor Snape confiscated it.”
Harry nodded tiredly, pointing his wand at the snow. It curved into a perfect, oversized sphere. Astoria pouted at him from afar.
“She got detention because of it, you know?”
“What?” Harry turned to her, “Who?”
“Astoria,” Daphne frowned, “Some girl was making fun of you during Transfiguration. Astoria tried turning her hair into snakes -”
Harry fought back a snort. Daphne stared pointedly at him.
“I don’t know what you’ve done to get her wrapped around your finger like this, but whatever it is, she isn’t telling.”
“Why do I have to have done anything?” Harry argued.
“Are you going to tell me or not?”
“Er - ask Astoria.”
“Like she’d say,” They both turned back to the girl, watching as she piled a second snow ball onto the first, “It’s still weird, seeing her at Hogwarts. She’s almost a third year now.”
“Makes you wonder what electives she’ll take,” Harry paused, grinning, “Divination, probably.”
Daphne frowned.
“Mother’s going to kill Luna for teaching Astoria about destiny,” she noted, “Astoria does seem to actually like it, though -”
“Good,” Harry said firmly, “She can tell me what she learns.”
I could use it. I still need to figure out these prophetic dreams.
“But that’s a year from now,” Daphne’s lips thinned, “One whole year . . .”
Harry shifted uncomfortably.
“She’ll be at Hogwarts for the third task,” he whispered, “The breaks as well. I reckon I could find a way to sneak her back, too -”
“You’re not Champion yet, Harry -”
“Yet,” Harry grinned. Daphne’s lips quivered.
“That’s the thing,” she murmured, “If you are champion, you’re gone, too.”
Harry paused.
“I’ll have to learn how to Apparate, then,” he decided.
“Theo says you can’t Apparate on Hogwarts grounds -”
“Then I’ll apparate into Hogsmeade,” Harry promised, “If there’s a will, there’s a way.”
Daphne smiled faintly.
“Tracy says that.”
“‘Course she does, it’s a muggle saying,” Harry noted, “Have you seen her recently?”
“I see her every summer. She might visit during Winter break this time.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
“It’d be nice to see her again -”
“It would, wouldn’t it?” Daphne smiled, “She wants to see you, too -”
“Harry!” Astoria called from across the grounds, waving her hands, “Help me with the snow witch!”
“No!”
“Harry!”
Harry shoved his wand at the snow. A massive ball of snow swirled into existence. Harry flung it toward Astoria with a flick of his wrist.
“You’re not funny, Harry!” Astoria shouted through a mouthful of snow. Harry grinned as she spat it out, “Just come here!”
“Fine,” Harry turned to Daphne, who hid her laughter behind her gloved palm, “Give me a second -”
Harry stalked along the grounds and down to where Astoria was building her snow witch.
“What?”
Astoria moved her hand. A thin trail of blood was streaming down her bottom lip.
“Don’t tell Daphne,” she whispered quietly, “She’ll send me to Madam Pomfrey again -”
“Is it bad?”
“What - no!” Astoria squeaked, “But you know how Daphne gets, and I want to see you your name come out of the goblet. Please?”
Harry sighed, vanishing the blood with a flick of his wrist. Astoria froze.
“What now?” Harry snapped.
“You didn’t use a wand.”
Harry stared at her.
“And?”
“Nothing,” Astoria grinned conspicuously, leaning closer, “I knew I was right about you -”
“Oh, shut up,” Harry barked, dragging her along.
“Where are we going?”
“In.”
“In?”
“In,” Harry repeated, “I’m already doing you a favour by not ratting on you. I can’t let you stay out in the cold, too.”
“Leaving so soon?” Daphne laughed as they approached, “What happened to not being scared of a bit of cold?”
“She realised she was more scared than she thought,” Harry yawned, “Right, Astoria?”
Astoria glared at him.
“I’m not agreeing with you -”
“Don’t need you to,” Harry said, taking her hand in his and Daphne’s in the other. He couldn’t help but smile, “Now hurry up. I want to get back to the castle.”
It’s about time I saw my name come out of that blasted Goblet.
-(xXx)-
The Slytherins all crowded around the Common Room once more. Harry watched as Daphne nervously fiddled with the edges of Astoria’s robes.
“It doesn’t matter, Daphne!”
“We’ll be seen all across the globe,” Daphne snapped, “You’re going to look your best, or mother would have me killed.”
Astoria sulked. Harry watched on with a similar expression.
“Not a fan of the spheres, I take it?” Nott asked from beside him.
Harry shrugged.
“Not a fan of people knowing what I look like,” he whispered, “Even if the scar does give it away -”
“Potter!” a loud voice called from the front. Harry turned.
Grace Weitts stood just before the common room door, surrounded by a number of sixth and seventh years. With her braided blonde hair and pale skin, she looked as though she were Daphne and Astoria’s older sister -
Except for the eyes. Grey eyes.
“I won’t call again, Potter.”
Frowning, Harry strode over. The eyes of the older students prickled against his skin.
“Yes?”
“Professor Snape requests that you not wear your glasses to the Champion’s Feast.”
Harry blinked.
“Er - what?”
“Your glasses,” Weitts repeated, frowning, “You can’t wear them. Snape thinks they’re unsightly.”
Some of the sixth years sniggered. Harry stared at them, bewildered. His fingers traced the outline of his spectacles.
“How am I supposed to see then?”
Grace shrugged.
“That’s up to you, I imagine,” she said, “But I’d think fast. Professor Snape won’t let you into the hall if you’ve got them on -”
Harry snorted irritably, shaking his head as he stalked back along the room.
“What’d they want?” asked Nott. Daphne listened closely as she fixed the fastening of Astoria’s robes.
“I’m not allowed to wear my glasses, apparently,” Harry muttered, pulling his spectacles from his face, “Snape’s being a git again . . .”
He turned the glasses in his palm. The frame was thin and wiry. The wiring between the two lenses was wrapped tight with tape - Harry’s pitiful attempt at fixing it after Dudley had purposely sat on them.
“They’re not the prettiest glasses in the world, to be fair,” Nott frowned.
Harry shrugged.
“They work. You can barely even see the tape.”
“I’ll send an owl to mother for another pair,” Daphne frowned, “Honestly, I should’ve done it sooner -”
“I like them,” Harry defended half-heartedly.
They remind me of what I was. How far I’ve come.
“They don’t even fit you properly,” said Daphne pointedly. She took the pair of spectacles from him, “Can’t you just do what you did on the Hogwarts Express?”
Harry frowned.
“What, enchant my eyes?” Harry asked, “There’s no way I’ll be able to manage that for more than a few minutes -”
“That’s all you need, to be fair,” Nott murmured, “Just in case your name gets called.”
“Fine,” Harry blinked furiously. Without his glasses, the world seemed out of focus, “It’s your job to keep me from looking like an idiot, mind you -”
“I do that already -”
Slam.
Snape swept into the room, adorned in what looked like formal robes. Harry could just barely make out the way his lips thinned with distaste.
“We will be leaving for the Great Hall momentarily,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowed, “I trust I need not remind any of you to be on your best behavior.”
The hook-nosed Potions Professor turned towards him. Harry grit his teeth as Snape’s lips curled into a thin smile.
“You do look good without your glasses, you know,” Astoria whispered from his side, “Professor Snape’s doing you a favour.”
Nott choked. Harry glared at him.
“Grow up, you two,” Daphne hissed. Astoria blushed from her right, “You know what she means. Dumbledore probably wanted to make sure you looked your best tonight.”
“How thoughtful of him,” Harry remarked snarkily.
“It probably was him, to be fair,” Nott noted, “I can’t imagine Professor Snape giving a shit what you looked like.”
They followed the other Slytherins out through the Portrait hole and into the dungeons that lead toward the Great Hall.
“I remembered something earlier, you know,” Harry said quietly, “One of Trelawney’s predictions -”
“She’s the Divination teacher, isn’t she?” Astoria whispered from behind.
“That’s the one,” Harry nodded, turning to Theo, “Do you remember when I told you about her predictions last Christmas?”
Nott snickered.
“What, the stupid prediction about you facing some great hoard of - of -”
Nott mouth hung open.
“Fuck.”
“Hoard of what?” Astoria asked curiously. Daphne glared at her, though she couldn’t quite hide the curiosity that shone in her eyes.
“Dementors,” Harry whispered. Astoria stilled.
“That was in the forest, wasn’t it?” Daphne murmured, “The same night that Fiendfyre was cast?”
“Yeah.” Harry agreed. Astoria looked pointedly at the floor, “But that’s not the important part. Trelawney mentioned something about a dragon, too.”
“Magical creatures are usually a part of the first task,” Nott said thoughtfully, “But dragons are a bit much.”
The Slytherins stepped into the Great Hall. Harry’s eyes drifted to the blurry sphere at the end of the hall. It floated just above the staff table, shining like the stars above it.
“It’s probably nothing,” Harry decided at last, “Might not even be this year.”
Daphne nodded in agreement, leading Astoria down the table toward the other second year Slytherins. She joined them a moment later, helping Harry into his seat (which he could barely see.
“Just fix your eyes, you donut,” Nott hissed.
“I’m saving my energy for later,” Harry snapped back.
For when my name comes out of that stupid goblet.
“Aren’t you humble,” Daphne murmured, watching him carefully, “So convinced it’ll be you?”
“Dumbledore definitely is,” Harry said. He nodded toward the headmaster, who sent a quick wink his way.
“That’s favoritism. that is,” Nott whispered, “I reckon he’s got money on you.”
Astoria and Luna’s pale features swam across his mind. Harry fought to keep a grin off his face.
He wouldn’t be the only one.
“Welcome, all, to the Champion’s Feast!” Dumbledore called from the front of the hall. There was a roar of thunderous applause, “The spheres will soon be activated, and by the end of the hour we shall have our three champions. Until then, let us dine to our heart’s content!”
The Headmaster waved his hands, and the empty gilded plates filled. Harry watched as the others piled food onto their plates, unable to do the same. He waited anxiously for the feast to end, his eyes combing over the others all the while.
Who’s going to be the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons Champions . . .
His eyes slipped along the Ravenclaw table, landing on pupils as blue as the morning sky -
The silver-haired girl looked away. Harry felt a flicker of annoyance well up within his chest.
I really hope I’m right about Bella putting my name into the Goblet.
Harry paused.
She might’ve done something to make sure I’m chosen, too. If that’s even possible.
His frown deepened.
A tongue of flame shot high from the Goblet of Fire. The entire hall quieted as one.
“Ms. Estelle, if you please,” Professor Dumbledore said to a French witch to his right. The woman nodded, hurrying over to a number of foreign witches and wizards all huddled beneath the floating sphere, “If I could have your attention, please!”
The students, already silent, watched as what remained of the food vanished into nothingness. The sphere slowly rose into the air.
“The three champions will be announced monetarily,” Dumbledore announced, “Should I call your name, you are to step forward, shake hands with your respective head of school and Minister of Magic, and exit the hall into the antechamber behind the left end of the staff table. You will then receive further instruction. Is this clear?”
A sea of students nodded, all eager with anticipation. Dumbledore turned to the group huddled beneath the sphere.
“It is ready, Mr. Dumbledore,” the French witch - Ms. Estelle - whispered. Dumbledore nodded gently as the sphere rose higher into the sky.
“Then let the selection begin.”
The Goblet of Fire glowed red as the sphere began to shimmer. Harry watched, his heart beating wildly, as Dumbledore turned to the sphere.
“It is my greatest honor to welcome you all to the one hundred and seventy-ninth Champion’s Selection . . .”
Impatience pressed numbingly against Harry’s skull.
“Who all is seeing this, anyway?” He whispered to Nott. Daphne’s arm tightened around his wrist, though Harry pointedly ignored her, “Aside from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, obviously.”
“All of the big eleven schools, definitely -”
“The what?”
One of the Slytherin prefects glared at him. Harry ignored him, too.
“Eleven most established magical schools,” Nott explained quietly as Dumbledore continued to address the sphere, “Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Ilvermorny, Castelobruxo, Uagadou . . . and the others. Can’t remember their names.”
“Just the schools, then?”
“I know the ministry’s set up places for the public to watch, too,” Nott murmured, “Grandfather told me about it. There are Looking Glasses set up at the Leaky Cauldron and the Three Broomsticks.”
Harry frowned.
“Looking Glass?”
“I think that’s what they’re called,” Nott paused, “The spheres are like eyes - they see whatever happens. Whatever they see appears on the glass.”
“Oh,” Harry nodded, “Like live television, you mean.”
“Er - sure.” Nott agreed uncertainly. Harry rolled his eyes.
“It appears the Goblet is ready to select its first champion!” Dumbledore called from the front of the hall. Harry turned, his eyes widening as the goblet’s flames burnt bright red. There was a burst of light, and suddenly, a thin sheet of ashy parchment burst from the golden chalice.
I want to see. I want see right now -
The world, though far from perfect, was no longer quite as blurry as before.
“The Durmstrang Champion,” Dumbledore called, deftly plucking the parchment from the air, “will be Victor Krum!”
The hall exploded with applause as the surly Durmstrang student slowly rose from his seat. Harry watched as he slouched toward the goblet, clasped hands with Karkaroff and Minister Bjerke, and disappeared into the antechamber at the end of the hall.
Everything was silent again. Harry felt a hunger grow in his stomach, though he wasn’t interested in food in the slightest.
The goblet flickered scarlet once more. Harry turned to the Ravenclaw table, his eyes flickering between Cerise and the silver-haired girl. The latter seemed far less at ease than the former. Harry watched as her fingers wrapped tight around the table’s edge.
“The Beauxbatons Champion,” Dumbledore said strongly, “will be Gabrielle Delacour!”
The silver-haired girl rose to a smattering of applause. Harry watched as she strode confidently toward the goblet, brushing a strand of braided hair past her ear.
Gabrielle Delacour . . .
She bowed deeply to Madame Maxime before turning to the French Minister. Minister Laurent grasped her hand gently, a happy smile on his face.
“Only one more champion remains,” Dumbledore called, smiling faintly. Harry was almost certain the headmaster glanced his way, “One I’m sure you are all most eager to hear -”
The goblet shook. A thin sheet of parchment shot high into the air.
Please, Bella -
“The Hogwarts Champion,” said Dumbledore, his face annoyingly blank, “will be Harry Potter.”
His heart whirled. Harry rose, a stupid grin on his face, to a wave of shouts and applause.
“Thanks, Harry!” Astoria called as he passed, showing a fistful of galleons from beneath the table.
Dumbledore stood tall from just before the goblet. He shook Harry’s hand with a knowing smile on his face. To his left, Minister Fudge was grinning eagerly.
“Nicely done, Harry, nicely done!” he said happily, “You’ll do the British Isles well, I’m sure!”
Harry shook his hand before stepping toward the antechamber. Sending one last wink at the sphere, he stepped through the door and out of sight.
A number of witches and wizards were already present. At the front stood Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch, the latter fussing over a tall stack of papers. Krum sulked in one corner of the room, and Gabrielle Delacour stood far too close to the fireplace.
“Ah, well done Harry!” Bagman called as Harry stepped in, “I was betting it’d be you!”
A number of eyes turned his way, performing the familiar flick up toward his scar. Harry ignored them.
“I hope you put a lot of money down, then.”
Crouch turned to Bagman, frowning. Ludo grinned sheepishly.
“Just a figure of speech, Barty,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “‘Course I didn’t actually . . . well, nevermind.”
The ex-beater turned to face the three champions.
“If you could gather around, please!” Bagman said loudly, “Don’t bother waiting for the ministers or your heads of school - not even they know what’s to come. Barty, all yours.”
Mr. Crouch stepped forward, rearranging the spectacle adorning his left eye.
“The first task is to take place on Halloween, giving you a month to prepare,” Mr. Crouch said, “It will take place at Durmstrang Institute. You will each be watched throughout the task by an individual sphere, which will be projecting your actions onto Looking Glasses across the world. Should you perform any illegal actions without justified cause, you will be held responsible.
“Amulets are to be distributed to members of each delegation and their respective champions,” Mr. Crouch continued, “I do believe Mr. Krum and Ms. Delacour already have theirs. Mr. Potter, an amulet will be provided to you before we depart. This amulet will allow you to easily understand and converse with others also wearing amulets, despite any potential language barriers. Is this understood?”
“Yes,” Harry nodded, eying the silver amulet adorning Gabrielle’s wrist with newfound interest. He frowned when the girl positioned her arms behind her back.
“The champions are not permitted to ask for or 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 is over. Performing well during the first and second task will decide the order you perform the third, with whomever captures the Triwizard Cup being the victor. Any time advantage you possess going into the third task may mean the difference between success or failure.
“Due to the magic of the Goblet of Fire, all selected Champions are hereby emancipated, both legally and magically. This is unlikely to have any effect on any of you. Finally, owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from all classes and end-of-year exams. We advise you to make smart choices when it comes to keeping up with your education.”
Mr. Crouch looked up from the stack of parchment.
“Are there any questions?”
Harry glanced at the other champions, his mind spinning. He watched as Gabrielle Delacour frowned, her eyebrows furrowing together.
Ask something, please. Let’s find out if your accent sounds anything like that girl from the forest -
“You did not mention anything about the first task,” noted Gabrielle, her English perfect and unaccented. Harry frowned.
There’s no way -
His eyes slipped down to the girl’s waist. The end of the silver amulet just barely poked out from behind her hips. It was glowing slightly. Harry stifled a curse.
And the mystery continues . . .
“Ah, yes,” Ludo said cheerfully, “Well, the first task is designed to test your daring. As such, you will be walking in with no knowledge whatsoever.”
“Courage in the face of the unknown,” Mr. Crouch agreed, “A very important quality in any witch or wizard . . .”
“Anything else?” Ludo asked eagerly as Crouch returned his gaze to the stack of papers, “Anything at all?”
The three champions all shook their heads. Ludo nodded, taking three sheets of paper from Mr. Crouch.
“A little legal gift for you,” he said cheerfully, “Your performances on each task will be seen through your respective Looking Glasses, obviously. We’ll be turning whatever the spheres pick up into memories that can be viewed through Pensieves. You’ll each be getting a cut from your individual sales - not that any of you need it.”
“Any further legal information is listed down below,” Mr. Crouch added, “You are advised to read through it yourself. Know that these agreements were all approved by your heads of school, and are all in your best interests. You’re to hand them in before the first task.”
Harry stared curiously at his own parchment, pocketing it carefully.
“Off to bed, then,” Ludo called, “We’ll be leaving for Durmstrang on the tenth.”
The three nodded, and without another word, they stepped out of the room,
The Great Hall was empty now. Only the Ministers, heads of schools, and a few other adults remained. Harry watched as Krum and Delacour strode over to their respective leaders before stepping toward Dumbledore.
“I did it,” he breathed happily.
“That you did, Harry,” Dumbledore grinned, “I will see to it that either Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape provide you with all you might need for the trip that awaits you. Until then, off to bed you go.”
“Night, Professor,” Harry nodded, “Night, Minister.”
Fudge waved cheerfully back. Taking one last look at the goblet of fire, Harry strode out of the hall and into the dungeons that led toward the Slytherin common room. The cold dungeons looked fuzzy now; whatever he had cast upon his eyes was wearing off.
At long last, Harry arrived before the portrait hole to the Slytherin common room.
“I wouldn’t go, if I were you,” a voice called. Harry froze.
A translucent, silvery form shimmered in the darkness. Harry stared as a woman with long, dark hair and noble features floated toward him.
“Hello, Helena,” said Harry, “It’s been ages.”
The Grey Lady’s form flickered.
“It has indeed,” she whispered, “It will likely be ages more until we meet again, after tonight.”
“One of the downsides of being Hogwarts Champion, I imagine.” Harry smiled, “Anyway, what were you saying?”
Helena Ravenclaw nodded toward the Slytherin common room.
“They’re all in there, waiting for you.”
“In a good way?”
“I don’t know,” Helena admitted, “The blonde-haired boy seems irate.”
Harry snickered.
“Malfoy normally is.”
“I thought you’d want to know,” she whispered, “You look tired. I would not want to deal with them, were I you.”
Harry paused. He could almost feel the excitement draining from his body, replaced instead with fatigue.
“You’re probably right about that,” Harry frowned.
I could spend the night in the Room of Requirement instead.
“Er - could you tell Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott that I’ll be back tomorrow?” he asked uncertainly, “I dunno if you know who they are -”
“I both know and am willing,” said the Grey Lady softly, “Goodnight, Harry Potter,”
“Good night.”
The Grey Lady floated through the wall, and Harry set up back the stairs and toward the Room of Requirement.
-(xXx)-
Soft velvet stretched beneath her pale fingers. She tapped against the armchair, every bone in her childlike body filled with impatience.
The air before her shimmered. Bellatrix Lestrange stepped out from the darkness, pulling a silvery invisibility cloak from her robes.
“Everything is going as planned, my Lady,” Bellatrix whispered, “He was just announced Hogwarts Champion.”
Voldemort frowned.
“You are certain?”
Bellatrix nodded.
“I watched it happen from a pub in magical France,” Bella whispered, “They showed it happening through those odd Looking Glasses the ministry produced.”
“What all was shown?”
“Not much,” Bella admitted, “Dumbledore yapped on for a while, and then the champions were selected. Victor Krum for Durmstrang, Gabrielle Delacour for Beauxbatons, and ickle Harry for the home team -”
Bellatrix frowned.
“He was staring at the Beauxbatons girl a lot, though,” she muttered, “Wonder if they know each other.”
“Delacour?” Voldemort frowned, “A powerful French family. It’s unlikely they would have ever met.”
Bella nodded.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought . . .”
She shrugged, unconcerned.
“Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses, either,” Bellatrix whispered curiously.
Voldemort’s head rose.
“How?”
“The dope beside me said something about contacts - these little glass bits that muggles shove in their eyes. But Harry’s not that stupid. Maybe he got Snivellus to brew a potion for him . . .”
Bellatrix’s voice droned out as Voldemort’s thoughts grew.
Rituals are unlikely. Either that or -
Voldemort’s head rose.
“Instinct,” she whispered to herself, “I wondered . . .”
“Master?”
“You know what you are to do, Bella,” Voldemort whispered, a curious smile making its way onto her face, “See to it that it is done.”
The curly-haired witch flashed her a wicked smile before throwing the silvery cloak over herself once more -
Snap.
Harry’s eyes shot open with cold sweat, the cozy confines of the Room of Requirement surrounding him.
