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Harry surveyed the large empty classroom. The number of students in his classes had grown, much to his surprise.
"Alright, everyone," Harry called. "Today we'll be working on a variety of useful spells—the Trip Jinx, Tongue-Tying Curse, Deprimo, and Aqua Eructo—along with their counter-curses."
He noticed Fleur and Hermione watching from a comfortable seating area to the side. Fleur gave him an encouraging smile that made his heart skip, while Hermione had that familiar look of academic interest mixed with pride.
"Let's begin with the Trip Jinx," Harry continued. "Simple but effective in a duel. The wand movement is a sharp downward flick followed by a horizontal slash, like so." He demonstrated, causing a nearby training dummy to stumble and fall. "The incantation is Cadere Impedio."
Students paired off to practice, and Harry began his rounds of the room, offering guidance and corrections. He'd barely made it to the first group when Daphne Greengrass raised her hand.
"Professor," she called, her voice carrying a sweetness she never used in regular classes, "I'm having trouble with the wand movement. Could you show me personally?"
Harry suppressed a sigh. He knew exactly what Daphne was doing—the same thing she'd been doing since these sessions began. Still, he couldn't just ignore a student asking for help, even if her motives were suspect.
"Of course," he replied neutrally, moving to her side. "The motion is like this—"
Before he could complete the demonstration, Daphne pressed herself against his side, her perfume enveloping him in a cloud of jasmine and vanilla.
"Like this?" she asked, deliberately fumbling the motion despite being one of the more skilled students in the group.
"Almost," Harry said, taking a small step back to create distance. "Try to make the horizontal slash more decisive." He demonstrated again, keeping his posture professional and his tone instructional.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Fleur's gaze hardening. A shimmer seemed to dance across her silvery hair, and he recognized the signs of her Veela nature responding to perceived competition. Hermione, meanwhile, was unsuccessfully trying to hide her eye-roll behind a textbook.
This is getting ridiculous, Harry thought. I need to set clearer boundaries, but I can't embarrass anyone publicly.
He moved away from Daphne as soon as was politely possible, only to find Susan Bones waiting for him near the practice dummies.
"Professor Potter," she began, her cheeks slightly pink, "I was wondering if I could schedule a private session sometime? There are a few defensive spells I'd like to master before the first Hogsmeade weekend."
"I think we can cover most variations in our regular sessions," Harry replied diplomatically. "But if you have specific questions, you can always ask me after class when everyone else is leaving."
Not quite a rejection, not quite an acceptance, he thought. Best I can do without being rude.
Susan seemed satisfied with this compromise, but before Harry could continue his rounds, Cho Chang intercepted him.
"That was brilliant how you explained the counter-curse," she gushed. "You make everything sound so simple and logical. You're a natural teacher, Harry."
"Thanks, Cho," he replied, genuinely appreciating the compliment even while recognizing the flirtatious undertone. "The key is understanding the principle behind the spell, not just memorizing the words."
As Harry circulated the room, he became increasingly aware of the female attention following him.
Focus on the teaching, he reminded himself. That's why everyone's here.
"For Deprimo," he announced to the class, "the key is controlled power. Too little, and you'll barely create a breeze. Too much, and you risk causing serious damage." He pointed his wand at a specially reinforced target. "Deprimo!"
A powerful blast of wind shot from his wand, creating a visible distortion in the air that slammed into the target with enough force to crack it down the middle.
"Oops," Harry said, genuinely embarrassed. "That was actually a bit too much power. Remember to moderate your intent based on your target."
"Show-off," Ron called from where he was practicing with Neville.
Harry grinned. "Just demonstrating what not to do."
The class laughed, and the tension he'd been feeling eased somewhat. This was what he loved about teaching—the moments of connection, of shared learning and improvement. Not the uncomfortable flirting or the politics of it all.
After working through the remaining spells, Harry noticed that Daphne had once again maneuvered herself into his path. Before she could ask for another "demonstration," Harry made a decision.
"Actually, I think it would be valuable for everyone to see some advanced dueling techniques," he announced. "Fleur, would you mind giving a demonstration? I've heard you're Beauxbatons' champion duelist."
Fleur's expression transformed from irritation to delight in an instant. She rose gracefully from her seat, drawing all eyes in the room.
"I would be 'appy to, Professor," she replied, her accent more pronounced when addressing him formally. There was a sparkle in her eye that suggested she knew exactly what he was doing. "Perhaps against one of your more... enthusiastic students?"
Harry pretended to consider this. "Daphne," he called, "you've been working hard today. Would you like to demonstrate with Fleur?"
"Of course, Professor Potter," Daphne said confidently, moving to the center of the room.
The other students quickly cleared space, forming a circle around the impromptu dueling area. Harry noticed Hermione's knowing smirk as she realized what he was orchestrating.
"Standard dueling rules," Harry announced. "No permanently damaging spells. Bow to your opponent and begin on my signal."
Fleur and Daphne faced each other, Daphne's expression carefully neutral while Fleur's held a hint of predatory focus. They bowed formally, wands at the ready.
"Begin!" Harry called.
Daphne moved first, launching a quick Stunner that Fleur deflected with casual elegance. The French witch's wand movements were fluid.
"Confringo!" Daphne called, sending a blasting curse that should have been beyond the skill of most sixth-years.
But Fleur was ready. "Protego Maxima," she countered, her shield expanding in a brilliant blue dome that absorbed the blasting curse completely. Without pause, she transitioned into an offensive sequence that left the spectators breathless.
"Ventus Spiralis!" Fleur called, conjuring a spiraling wind that whipped around Daphne, constricting her movement. "Lumos Maxima Fragmentum!"
A blinding light erupted from her wand, shattering into dozens of dazzling fragments that orbited the trapped Slytherin, disorienting her further. With Daphne struggling to counter these unconventional attacks, Fleur pressed her advantage.
"Glacius Totalum!" The air around Daphne crystallized, forming a delicate lattice of ice that restricted her movements.
The demonstration had clearly become one-sided, but Harry was too impressed to intervene. Fleur's spellwork was not just powerful but creative.
Then something unexpected happened. As Daphne attempted a fire spell to melt the ice, Fleur's eyes flashed with competitive intensity. For just a moment, her hair seemed to dance with ethereal flames, her features sharpening subtly. It wasn't a full Veela transformation, but enough to show that beneath her poised exterior lay something wild and powerful.
"Aqua Eructo Maxima!" Water erupted from Fleur's wand in a massive controlled torrent, dousing Daphne's fire spell and sending her sprawling backward. Before the Slytherin could recover, Fleur completed her victory with a silent Expelliarmus that sent Daphne's wand flying into her waiting hand.
The room fell silent, every student staring in awe. Even Harry hadn't expected quite such a dominant display. He quickly moved forward, helping a soaking wet and visibly humbled Daphne to her feet.
"Excellent demonstration from both of you," he said diplomatically. "Daphne showed great courage, and Fleur demonstrated the kind of creative spellwork that makes a true dueling champion."
Fleur handed Daphne's wand back.
"You 'ave potential," Fleur told Daphne, loud enough for the surrounding students to hear. "Perhaps focus on your spellwork rather than... other distractions?"
Daphne's cheeks colored, but she accepted her wand with as much dignity as she could muster. "Thank you for the lesson," she replied stiffly.
"That was brilliant," Harry told her quietly as the students began filing out. "Though maybe a touch excessive with the water spell at the end?"
Fleur's lips curved in a mischievous smile. "She needed cooling off, non? Besides, I thought it was an excellent demonstration of Aqua Eructo."
Hermione joined them, shaking her head with amusement. "Subtle, both of you. Very subtle."
"I have no idea what you mean," Harry replied innocently, though he couldn't hide his smile. "It was purely educational."
"Of course," Hermione agreed dryly. "And I'm sure all your admirers learned a very educational lesson about who they're dealing with."
Fleur slipped her arm through Harry's, her body language making her claim clear to anyone still watching. "I think they did," she said sweetly. "Though they are welcome to keep trying if they wish to get... how do you say... soaked again?"
As they left the Room of Requirement together, Harry couldn't help but feel a swell of affection for the fierce, brilliant witch beside him.
.
.
Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Fleur made their way toward the Great Hall. Torches illuminated the stone corridors, casting long shadows that danced along the walls.
Harry walked beside Fleur, her hand casually intertwined with his. After her impressive display in the defense class earlier, he'd noticed a marked decrease in the not-so-subtle advances from his female students. Even now, as they passed groups of Hogwarts students, he caught several glances of newfound respect—and perhaps a touch of fear—directed at Fleur.
"So," Harry said, breaking the comfortable silence, "are you nervous about tonight?"
Fleur gave a delicate shrug that somehow managed to be both elegant and dismissive. "A little, perhaps. But I have trained for competitions since I was thirteen. I believe I will be chosen." There was no arrogance in her tone, just quiet confidence. "My headmistress would not have brought me otherwise."
"I bet you'll be brilliant," Harry replied, squeezing her hand. "Just try not to soak any more of my students."
Fleur's musical laughter echoed down the corridor. "I make no promises, mon cher."
Ron, walking a few steps behind with Hermione, was making a visible effort to maintain normal conversation rather than stare at Fleur. Harry had noticed his friend's determined focus on the floor, the walls, the ceiling—anywhere but directly at the French witch.
"You doing alright there, Ron?" Harry asked, slowing his pace to allow his friends to catch up.
"Fine!" Ron replied, his voice slightly higher than usual. "Just thinking about the tournament. Bit exciting, isn't it? Champions being chosen and all that."
Hermione gave him an approving smile. "You're doing much better with the allure, Ron. Lavender would be proud."
Ron's ears turned pink with pleasure at the compliment. "Well, you know... practicing and all that. Helps that I'm mad about Lavender, doesn't it?"
Fleur nodded appreciatively. "It does help, yes. Strong feelings for another can provide... how do you say... anchoring? Harry is immune to my allure, but I think for him, there are multiple reasons."
"I'm just grateful I'm not eligible for this tournament," Harry said, changing the subject slightly. "For once, I can enjoy watching from the sidelines instead of being in the thick of danger."
"A normal year at Hogwarts?" Hermione raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I'll believe it when I see it, Harry."
"'Arry!" A high-pitched voice called from behind them. They turned to see Gabrielle Delacour rushing toward them, her silvery hair bouncing with each step. "'Arry, Fleur! Wait for me!"
Harry smiled as the younger Delacour sister caught up, slightly out of breath. "Hello, Gabrielle. Coming to watch the selection?"
"Oui!" Gabrielle nodded enthusiastically. "I want to see my sister become champion! She is ze best witch at Beauxbatons, you know." She stated this as an indisputable fact, her chin lifting proudly.
"So I've heard," Harry replied, remembering Fleur's impressive dueling skills. "And after today's demonstration, I believe it."
Fleur gave her sister an affectionate look. "You should not be running through ze halls, petit. What would Maman say?"
"She would say I should stay close to you and 'Arry because you will protect me," Gabrielle answered promptly, slipping her small hand into Harry's free one with unabashed confidence.
Harry found himself escorting both Delacour sisters, an arrangement that drew curious glances from passing students. He couldn't help but chuckle at the situation.
As they rounded the corner toward the Great Hall, they came face to face with a group of Durmstrang students. Viktor Krum led the pack, his heavy brows drawn together in his habitual scowl. The Bulgarian Seeker's eyes narrowed slightly as he recognized Harry.
"Potter," he acknowledged with a curt nod. His gaze shifted to Fleur, and a flicker of recognition crossed his face. "Delacour. From ze dueling circuit, yes?"
"Oui," Fleur replied coolly. "And you are Krum. Ze Quidditch player."
There was a subtle emphasis on "player" that suggested she found the sport somewhat beneath serious magical pursuits. Harry bit back a smile as Ron made a strangled noise behind him.
Krum turned his attention to Harry. "You vere at ze World Cup, yes? In ze Top Box?"
"Y-yeah," Ron stammered. "Brilliant flying, that was. That Wronski Feint—"
"Game vas lost," Krum cut him off brusquely. "Feint means nothing without victory."
Ron's expression fell, and Harry felt a flash of annoyance at Krum's dismissive tone. Before he could say anything, however, a familiar voice called out from behind them.
"Wotcher, everyone! Quite the international gathering we've got here."
Tonks sauntered up, her hair a vivid purple today. She wore her Auror robes, though she'd somehow managed to make the official uniform look casual and slightly rumpled.
"Tonks!" Harry greeted her. "I thought you were only here for the arrival of Beauxbatons and Drumstrang."
"Official Auror business," she replied, winking at Harry. "Ministry's got us stationed here throughout the tournament. Security detail and all that." She glanced pointedly at the Durmstrang students. "Evening, gentlemen. Heading to the Great Hall?"
Krum gave Tonks an appraising look, seemed to register her official status, and nodded. "Ve vere just leaving." With a final glance at Harry and Fleur, he led his fellow students away.
Once they were out of earshot, Ron let out a long breath. "Blimey. Viktor Krum. Actual Viktor Krum. And he remembered me from the World Cup!"
"Only to be rude to you," Hermione pointed out with a frown.
"Yeah, but still... Viktor Krum!" Ron seemed unable to get past the celebrity encounter despite its less-than-friendly nature.
Harry turned to Tonks. "So why are Aurors really here? Is the Ministry expecting trouble?"
Tonks shrugged, her expression becoming more serious. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure myself. We've been ordered to guard the school, especially during the trials, but details have been surprisingly scarce. Lady Bones just says it's a 'necessary precaution'."
"You don't even know what the trials will be?" Hermione asked, surprise evident in her voice.
"Nope. Everything's being kept very hush-hush." Tonks lowered her voice. "Between us, I think something's got the higher-ups spooked. Maybe after what happened at the World Cup..."
"Well, whatever the trials are, I'm sure they'll be perfectly safe," Harry said, not believing it for a moment but wanting to reassure Fleur.
Fleur gave him a knowing look. "You do not believe zat any more than I do, 'Arry."
Gabrielle, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent of concern, tugged on Harry's hand. "We should hurry! I want good seats to see Fleur be chosen!"
"Your sister's right," Hermione agreed, checking her watch. "The selection ceremony will start soon."
As they continued toward the Great Hall, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that his hope for a normal year was already slipping away. The presence of Aurors, the secrecy around the tournament, the lingering shadow of the Death Eater attack at the World Cup—it all pointed to something more ominous than a friendly international competition.
Yet with Fleur's hand warm in his, and surrounded by friends, he pushed the worries aside for now. Tonight was Fleur's moment, and he intended to support her fully.
"Ready to become a champion?" he asked Fleur as they reached the Great Hall doors.
She lifted her chin with characteristic confidence. "I was born ready, mon cher." Then, with a mischievous smile that made his heart race, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips—brief but undeniably possessive, as if making a statement to anyone watching. "For luck," she whispered against his mouth.
With that, they entered the Great Hall.
The Great Hall had outdone itself for Halloween. Live bats fluttered near the enchanted ceiling, which displayed a velvety black sky scattered with stars. Massive carved pumpkins floated above the tables, their flickering candlelight casting an ethereal glow throughout the room. The Goblet of Fire stood at the front, its blue-white flames dancing hypnotically, drawing all eyes toward it.
Harry settled at the Gryffindor table between Hermione and Ron, with Fleur reluctantly joining her Beauxbatons classmates at the Ravenclaw table after a lingering kiss that prompted several whistles and a disapproving look from Professor McGonagall.
"Nervous for her?" Hermione asked, nodding toward Fleur.
"A bit," Harry admitted. "Though after seeing her duel today, I'd be more worried for whatever tasks they'll set."
Ron laughed, helping himself to a generous portion of treacle tart. "Bet you're glad it's not you up there for once. First Halloween at Hogwarts without something trying to kill you."
"Don't jinx it," Harry warned, though he couldn't help smiling. The weight of not being eligible for the tournament had lifted a burden he hadn't fully appreciated until now. For once, he could just be a spectator.
The feast progressed with a buzz of excitement permeating the air. Harry occasionally caught Fleur's eye across the hall. Gabrielle sat beside her sister, practically vibrating with anticipation.
Finally, Dumbledore rose from his seat at the High Table. The hall fell instantly silent.
"The moment has arrived," the Headmaster announced, his voice carrying effortlessly through the vast space. "The Goblet is almost ready to make its decision." He gestured toward the flaming cup. "When the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber, where they will receive their first instructions."
With a sweeping wave of his wand, Dumbledore extinguished most of the candles in the Great Hall, leaving the Goblet of Fire's blue-white glow as the primary light source. The effect was dramatic—hundreds of faces illuminated by the eerie light, all fixed on the ancient artifact.
"Any moment now," Hermione whispered, clutching Harry's arm in anticipation.
The flames inside the Goblet suddenly turned red, sparks flying in all directions. A tongue of flame shot into the air, and a charred piece of parchment fluttered down into Dumbledore's waiting hand.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he read in a clear, strong voice, "will be Viktor Krum!"
A storm of applause swept through the Hall. Krum rose from the Slytherin table, his perpetual scowl firmly in place as he marched toward the chamber behind the staff table.
"No surprises there," Ron muttered. "Best seeker in the world and probably the best student they've got too."
The clapping died down as the Goblet's flames turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out, caught expertly by Dumbledore.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," he announced, "is Fleur Delacour!"
Harry found himself on his feet cheering before he'd even realized he'd moved. Fleur's radiant smile as she gracefully stood made his heart skip. She caught his eye across the hall, giving him a small, private wink before gliding toward the chamber, her silvery hair shimmering in the firelight.
"She'll be brilliant," Harry said, sitting back down. "Did you see how pleased she was?"
"I saw how pleased you were," Hermione teased. "You're practically glowing yourself."
The applause for Fleur faded, and tension returned to the hall. The Hogwarts champion was next. Harry found himself holding his breath along with everyone else as the Goblet turned red for a third time.
Dumbledore caught the third piece of parchment. "The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"
Every Hufflepuff jumped to their feet, screaming and stamping as Cedric made his way past, grinning broadly. The celebration was so thunderous that it took several minutes to die down.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily once the tumult had subsided. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—"
But Dumbledore stopped speaking abruptly, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.
The fire in the Goblet had turned again—but not red this time. The flames glowed with an intense, brilliant gold that cast the hall in a light that seemed almost alive. Whispers broke out as students pointed and stared.
"That's not supposed to happen," Hermione breathed, clutching Harry's arm tighter.
A surge of dread washed over Harry. Something in his gut told him exactly what was coming, even before the Goblet ejected a fourth piece of parchment. The golden flames shot higher than before, almost touching the enchanted ceiling before expelling the name.
Dumbledore automatically reached out and caught the parchment. There was a long pause as he stared at the name written upon it. The entire Hall held its breath, the silence absolute.
Finally, Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out—"Harry Potter."
Harry didn't move. He felt as though ice water had been poured down his spine. His initial shock quickly gave way to a blazing anger that threatened to cloud his vision.
Not again, he thought furiously. Not bloody again!
Every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He sat frozen in his seat, acutely aware of the hundreds of eyes boring into him. The whispers started, growing like a swarm of insects.
"I didn't put my name in," he said quietly, but with such intensity that Hermione and Ron both flinched. "Someone else did."
"We know you didn't," Hermione whispered back immediately.
"Course you didn't," Ron agreed without hesitation. "You've been saying all along you didn't want to be in it."
"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"
"Go," Hermione urged, giving him a gentle push. "We'll figure this out later. Just go."
Harry stood slowly, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. He could feel his magic responding to his anger, a warm sensation gathering behind his eyes that he knew meant they were beginning to show flecks of gold. With deliberate effort, he reined in his power, not wanting to display any signs of his Holy Magic in front of the entire school.
As he walked between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, the buzzing grew louder. Some students stood up to get a better look at him, their expressions ranging from awe to suspicion to outright hostility.
"He's a cheat!" "Not even seventeen yet!" "How'd he do it?"
Harry kept his eyes fixed ahead. He caught sight of Fleur's sister Gabrielle looking utterly confused, her eyes wide with worry. He managed a tight smile in her direction, not wanting her to be frightened.
When he reached Dumbledore, the Headmaster's blue eyes lacked their usual twinkle. Instead, they reflected grave concern and what Harry thought might be fear.
"Through the door, Harry," he said quietly.
As Harry passed, he spoke in a low, tense voice meant only for Dumbledore. "I didn't put my name in that cup."
"I believe you," Dumbledore replied softly. "But I fear that matters little now. The Goblet has spoken, and its magic is binding."
The revelation did nothing to soothe Harry's anger as he marched toward the chamber where the other champions waited. His mind raced with questions: Who had entered him? Why had the Goblet's flames turned gold? What did it mean for him and his secret abilities?
As he opened the door to the antechamber, Harry steeled himself. Whatever came next, he wouldn't be the passive victim of someone else's plotting. This time, he had power of his own.
The three champions turned to look at him as he entered, their expressions curious. Fleur stepped forward first, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"'Arry? Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"
He met her gaze steadily, knowing his next words would change everything.
"No," he said grimly. "It seems there's been a complication."
"What complication?" Krum asked, not looking happy, or maybe that was just his default face.
Before Harry could answer, the door burst open again, and Ludo Bagman bounded in, his boyish face alight with excitement.
"Extraordinary!" he exclaimed, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him forward. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen... lady," he added, nodding to Fleur. "May I introduce—incredible though it may seem—the fourth Triwizard champion!"
Viktor Krum straightened up, his face darkening as he surveyed Harry. Cedric looked nonplussed, glancing between Bagman and Harry as though sure he had misheard.
Fleur, however, tossed her hair and smiled. "Very funny joke, Monsieur Bagman."
"Joke?" Bagman repeated, looking bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"
Fleur's expression shifted from amusement to concern. "But zere must be a mistake," she said firmly. "'E is only fourteen. 'Ow could zis happen?"
"The age restriction was only imposed this year," Bagman explained, rubbing his hands together with excitement. "And the Goblet's decision is binding... there's nothing anyone can do about it."
Cedric still looked confused. "But how did it happen?" he asked, turning to Harry. "Did you actually find a way around the Age Line?"
Harry met Cedric's gaze directly. "No," he said firmly. "I didn't put my name in, and I didn't ask anyone else to do it either. I have no idea how this happened."
The door behind them opened again, and a large group entered: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professors Karkaroff and Snape, Madame Maxime, and Professor McGonagall. Harry could hear the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall before Professor McGonagall closed the door.
"Madame Maxime!" Fleur said at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat 'Arry is to compete also! But zis cannot be—'e is too young! Surely zere must be some way to reverse zis?"
Harry felt a rush of gratitude toward Fleur for her immediate defense. He caught her eye and gave her a small, appreciative nod.
Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, considerable height. "What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she demanded imperiously. "Is zis some attempt to gain additional glory for your school?"
"I assure you, Olympe, this is as much a shock to me as it is to you," Dumbledore replied calmly, though Harry noticed the usual twinkle was absent from his blue eyes. "I placed the Age Line myself."
"Then clearly it was ineffective!" Karkaroff interjected, stepping forward with a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Two Hogwarts champions? How convenient for the host school. Perhaps the famous Harry Potter felt he deserved special treatment yet again?"
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Potter has always considered himself above the rules. Just like his father, strutting around—"
"You know," Harry interrupted, his patience finally snapping, "for someone who claims to hate my father so much, you certainly can't seem to stop talking about him. It's been fourteen years since he died—maybe it's time to move on, Professor? Or is holding schoolboy grudges your only hobby?"
A shocked silence fell over the room. Snape's face contorted with fury, his sallow skin turning an ugly shade of puce. "How dare you—"
"Oho!" Mad-Eye Moody's gravelly laugh cut through the tension as he stumped into the room, his magical eye whirling wildly. "The boy's got you there, Snape! Struck a nerve, did he? Though I suppose holding grudges is your specialty—like that greasy hair of yours, you've been nursing it since childhood and never let it go!"
Snape's head whipped toward Moody, his black eyes flashing dangerously. "I don't recall asking for your opinion, Moody."
"And I don't recall giving a damn what you ask for, Snape," Moody retorted, his magical eye spinning furiously.
"That will do, Alastor," Dumbledore said firmly. He turned to Harry, his expression serious once more. "Harry, did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"
"No, Professor," Harry replied, meeting Dumbledore's gaze steadily. "And I didn't ask anyone else to do it for me either."
"Of course he would say that," Madame Maxime scoffed, waving one massive bejeweled hand. "What else would 'e claim?"
"He is telling the truth!" Fleur stepped forward defiantly. "I 'ave come to know 'Arry, and 'e is not ze type to seek glory zis way. 'E has repeatedly told me 'ow much 'e was looking forward to a normal year without danger."
"My dear girl," Madame Maxime said, her tone softening slightly as she addressed her student, "you may believe you know him because he assisted you at the Quidditch Cup, but that hardly makes you an expert on his character."
"I know him better zan you think," Fleur replied, her chin lifting. "And I know zat 'e has no need to enter zis tournament for fame or glory—'e already 'as more zan 'e wants."
"How touching," Karkaroff sneered. "The young mademoiselle defends her... friend." The way he emphasized the word made its implication clear, causing Fleur to flush with anger. "But this situation remains completely unacceptable. I demand a solution!"
"Perhaps we should listen to what the boy has to say," Mr. Crouch interjected, his voice oddly flat as he stared at Harry with an unnerving intensity. "Potter, do you have any idea how your name might have entered the Goblet?"
Harry shook his head. "No, sir. But I do know I didn't want this. I've had enough life-threatening situations to last me a lifetime."
"Convenient words now that you've been caught," Karkaroff spat. "I insist on resubmitting names for my students until Durmstrang has two champions as well!"
"That's not possible, Igor," Bagman said, wringing his hands nervously. "The Goblet won't reignite until the next tournament."
"Then perhaps Durmstrang should withdraw entirely!" Karkaroff threatened, his face mottled with rage. "This is an outrage! An insult to—"
"To what?" Harry interrupted again, his temper flaring. "Your pride? Because that seems to be all you care about—not fairness, not your students' well-being, just your own ego."
Karkaroff's eyes bulged. "You insolent little—"
"Tell me, Headmaster Karkaroff," Harry continued, his voice deceptively calm despite the anger coursing through him, "did you tell your students about your time as a Death Eater? About how you sold out your fellow followers to save your own skin? I wonder what they'd think of their headmaster's honor then."
The room fell utterly silent. Karkaroff had gone white as a sheet, his hand twitching toward his wand before thinking better of it. Snape looked as though he'd been force-fed a particularly bitter potion, while Moody was grinning broadly, his scarred face twisted into an expression of malicious delight.
"I will not be spoken to this way!"
"And yet here we are," Moody said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not so brave without your mask and friends, are you? At least Snape here had the decency to stand trial properly instead of bargaining like a common street rat."
Snape looked torn between being offended at being included in Moody's tirade and pleased that Karkaroff was getting the brunt of it.
"As for you, Snape," Moody continued, his magical eye fixing on the Potions Master, "still playing both sides? Must be exhausting, keeping track of all those lies. Tell me, which master are you really serving these days?"
Snape's face had gone completely rigid. "I serve Hogwarts, as you well know, Moody."
"Do I know that?" Moody asked with exaggerated thoughtfulness, tapping his wooden leg against the floor. "Because I seem to recall a certain mark that doesn't just wash off with soap and good intentions. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater—isn't that right, Karkaroff?"
"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore's voice cut through the room like a whip crack. "We are here to discuss the tournament, not to rehash the past."
"Indeed," Moody said, his magical eye still fixed on Karkaroff. "And maybe we should be asking who would have the skill to confound a powerful magical object like the Goblet of Fire. Takes a powerful witch or wizard, that does—no offense to you, Potter, but I doubt you'd have the magical knowledge or power."
"None taken," Harry replied dryly.
"Moody's right," Crouch said, his voice oddly mechanical. "The Goblet is an ancient magical artifact. Whoever tampered with it would need considerable magical ability."
"Yet somehow," Snape drawled, "Potter always manages to find himself at the center of these... unusual occurrences."
"Perhaps because someone keeps putting me there," Harry shot back. "It's almost like someone wants me dead, Professor. Any theories on who that might be?"
Snape's black eyes glittered dangerously. "Your arrogance will be your undoing, Potter."
"Stop it, all of you," McGonagall interjected, speaking for the first time. "This bickering solves nothing. The fact remains that Mr. Potter's name came out of the Goblet, and according to magical law—"
"He must compete," Crouch finished for her. "The magical contract is binding. Those whose names come out of the Goblet must participate in the Tournament or risk losing their magic entirely."
Harry felt as though ice water had been poured down his spine. "Lose my magic?" he repeated, horrified.
"Yes, Potter," Crouch confirmed, his voice emotionless. "The Goblet creates a binding magical contract. Breaking it would mean forfeiting your magical abilities permanently."
A hush fell over the room as everyone absorbed this information. Harry's mind raced. Losing his magic would mean losing not just his place at Hogwarts, but his entire identity in the wizarding world. Worse, it would mean losing his Holy Magic—the one advantage he had against Voldemort.
"So I have no choice," Harry said flatly. "I have to compete."
"Afraid so, my boy," Bagman said, though he looked inappropriately cheerful about it. "Though it's not all bad—think of the glory if you win!"
"Glory," Harry repeated with a hollow laugh. "Brilliant. Just what I always wanted—more fame, more danger, more people trying to kill me. It's like a dream come true."
Moody let out a bark of laughter. "At least the boy's got a sense of humor about it," he growled. "Which is more than I can say for the rest of you. Everyone's complaining about Potter's participation, but notice he's the only one who hasn't actually complained about having to risk his neck?"
"Why would he complain?" Karkaroff sneered, having recovered some of his composure. "He's gotten exactly what he wanted."
"For Merlin's sake, Karkaroff, that 'Boy Who Lived' nonsense happened when he was a baby," Moody snapped. "He didn't ask for his parents to be murdered, did he? Or are you suggesting he orchestrated that too, from his crib? Perhaps he sent a coded message to Voldemort."
Karkaroff flinched at Voldemort's name. "You go too far, Moody!"
"And you don't go far enough—in using that lump three feet above your arse that passes for a brain," Moody retorted. "The parchment that came out of the Goblet had Potter's name on it, but the school was listed as 'The School of Survival'—never heard of it myself. Have you?"
Everyone looked surprised at this detail. Harry frowned, not having heard this information before.
"That's right," Moody continued, his magical eye swiveling to fix on Harry. "Whoever put your name in didn't just confound the Goblet to accept a fourth school—they made up an entire fictional institution. If Potter here has the magical chops to pull that off at fourteen, then by all means, hand him the Tournament cup now and be done with it."
"The School of Survival," Harry repeated thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose that's fitting, considering my history."
"This is all beside the point," Crouch cut in, rubbing his temple as though fighting a headache. "The decision is made, the contract binding. All four champions must compete."
"Perhaps we should explain the nature of the first task, then," Dumbledore suggested, clearly trying to move the discussion forward.
"Yes, yes," Crouch said, his manner suddenly brisk and official. "The first task is designed to test your courage and will in the face of the unknown. It will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and a panel of judges."
"What exactly will we be facing?" Cedric asked, speaking up for the first time in a while.
"That would defeat the purpose of testing your courage against the unknown, wouldn't it, Mr. Diggory?" Crouch replied with a thin smile. "You will be permitted only your wands. No other assistance, no preparation. You will face the challenge as it comes."
"How reassuring," Harry muttered.
"You wish to withdraw already, Potter?" Karkaroff taunted.
Harry straightened, meeting the Durmstrang Headmaster's gaze coolly. "Not a chance. I didn't ask for this, but since I'm forced to compete, I'm going to win."
Fleur moved to Harry's side, her expression determined. "We will see about that," she said with a competitive smile that took the sting from her words. "I intend to give you a proper challenge, 'Arry Potter."
Despite everything, Harry found himself smiling back at her. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
"Well then," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together, "if there's nothing else, I suggest our champions get some rest. The Tournament has officially begun, and they'll need all their strength in the days ahead."
As the group began to disperse, Fleur caught Harry's hand briefly, squeezing it in support. "Do not worry," she whispered. "Whatever 'appens, you are not alone. We will face zis together."
"Thank You, Fleur."
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