The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual.
Maybe it was the second feast in as many days, or maybe it was the tension pressing over the Great Hall like a heavy charm. Either way, Harry found himself picking at the extravagant food, pushing roasted lamb and spiced pumpkin aside without much interest.
Normally, he would have been eager to enjoy it, but tonight his appetite felt like it had gone into hiding.
Halloween, for him, had never brought anything but trouble.
In first year, it had been a troll. In second, a wall soaked in blood. Third year, a murderous fugitive had slashed the Fat Lady's portrait on this exact night. Now, here he was again, waiting for something to go wrong. The pattern had become too clear to ignore.
Around him, it seemed he wasn't the only one with a loss of appetite. Students fidgeted in their seats, craned their necks toward the staff table, muttered beneath their breath. All of them were watching Dumbledore, waiting to see when he would rise. The Goblet of Fire sat atop its pedestal, burning with pale, flickering flames that pulsed with something almost alive.
Every eye returned to it again and again.
Finally, the golden plates vanished from the tables in a sweep of invisible magic. A rush of noise followed as students clattered their chairs, whispered to each other, and shifted in their seats. It faded almost at once when Dumbledore stood.
Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime flanked him, their faces taut with anticipation. Ludo Bagman was beaming, casting winks toward the students with the giddy energy of a game show host. Mr. Crouch looked detached, his attention half-fogged, like a man who had already moved on to the next item on his schedule.
"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore said, voice strong and level. "I estimate that it requires one more minute."
He gestured toward the chamber behind the staff table. "Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber. There they will be receiving their first instructions."
He took out his wand and gave it a wide, sweeping motion. All at once, the candles hanging above the tables went dark. Only the light inside the carved pumpkins remained, casting long shadows across the hall. The Goblet of Fire, bathed now in near-total darkness, became the brightest thing in the room. Its flames glowed an icy, searing blue-white, too vivid to stare at for long.
Everyone watched.
The stillness of the Hall was absolute, broken only by the occasional creak of benches or the shuffling of feet. Several students kept glancing at their watches. Others sat frozen, waiting.
"Any second," Lee Jordan whispered two seats away from Harry.
The Goblet's flames turned red.
Sparks flew. A jet of fire burst high into the air, and from its tip fluttered a small, blackened piece of parchment.
Gasps echoed across the room.
Dumbledore caught the parchment as it drifted down and held it at arm's length to read by the Goblet's light, now burning a deep blue-white once more.
"The champion for Durmstrang," Dumbledore read aloud, "will be Viktor Krum."
"No surprises there!" Ron shouted, as applause and cheering exploded through the Hall.
Harry watched Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and make his way forward. His gait was slow, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes unreadable. He turned to the right, walked along the staff table, and vanished through the chamber door without a single glance toward the crowd.
"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff bellowed, loud enough to carry over the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"
The clapping began to fade. All attention shifted once more to the Goblet, which, after only a few seconds, flared red again. Sparks hissed and danced as another piece of parchment shot out.
Dumbledore caught it cleanly.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," he announced, "is Fleur Delacour."
"It's her, Ron," Harry said, watching as the girl who resembled a veela stood from the Ravenclaw table. She shook back her silvery hair, posture fluid and proud, and began walking forward between the tables. Her every movement shimmered with grace, light catching on her skin like frost.
"Oh, look, they're all disappointed," Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the rest of the Beauxbatons students.
Disappointed was putting it mildly. Two of the unchosen girls had already collapsed onto the table, crying with their heads buried in their arms.
When Fleur passed into the side chamber and disappeared, the Hall fell quiet again. But it wasn't the same kind of silence. This one buzzed with a raw, waiting tension that made Harry's stomach coil. It felt like the moment before lightning strikes.
The Goblet turned red for a third time.
Sparks flew again. Another tongue of flame soared upward, and a third piece of parchment was released into the air.
"The Hogwarts champion," Dumbledore declared, "is Cedric Diggory."
"No!" Ron said loudly, but no one heard him over the roar from the Hufflepuff table.
Every single Hufflepuff had leapt to their feet, shouting and stamping as Cedric stood, a broad grin stretching across his face. He made his way to the front, nodding at people along the way, soaking in the celebration.
The cheers lasted so long that Dumbledore had to wait nearly a full minute before he could continue. He didn't seem to mind the delay. His eyes lingered on the Goblet with a quiet interest, and there was a faint curve to his mouth, something that might have been a smile.
"Excellent," he called brightly once the noise began to settle. "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—"
He stopped speaking.
The Goblet flared red again.
Sparks erupted in every direction. A column of flame surged high above the pedestal, brighter and hotter than before. From within the blaze, another piece of parchment emerged, curling gently as it descended.
Dumbledore reached out and caught it with a slow, fluid motion.
His hand stilled.
The Hall fell into complete silence. Every student watched him. The fire cast shifting shadows across his face, but his expression remained unreadable. He studied the name written there for several seconds, longer than seemed necessary.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Harry Potter."
For a second, the words didn't register.
Then everything tilted.
A sharp ripple of murmurs swept through the Hall, low at first, then louder. Chairs scraped. Heads turned. Whispers built like rising wind.
Harry sat there, staring straight ahead.
He was stunned. Completely still.
He had to be dreaming. He hadn't heard that right. It couldn't be.. Not once again.
Every face had turned to look at him. His name was still echoing across the Hall, passed from table to table in tones of disbelief.
"Is this a joke?"
"Bet he used someone else to do it."
"Figures Potter would find a way to steal the spotlight."
There was no applause. Just a strange buzzing sound that seemed to rise from the walls themselves. It sounded like swarming insects. Some students had stood to get a better look. Others were leaning across their tables, eyes wide.
Harry could feel his heartbeat in his throat.
Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had risen. She moved quickly, cutting across the staff table with her lips pressed into a tight line. She leaned close to Dumbledore, who bent his head to listen, frowning just slightly.
Harry turned toward Ron and Hermione. Past them, he could see the entire Gryffindor table watching him.
"I didn't put my name in," he said, voice flat. "You know I didn't."
Both of them stared back at him, unsure. Ron looked frozen. Hermione opened her mouth, but said nothing.
At the front, Dumbledore straightened.
"Harry Potter," he called again. "Harry. Up here, if you please."
He sounded calm. Too calm. Like this was routine. Like he wasn't surprised at all.
Hermione gave him a small push. "Go on."
Harry stood, legs stiff. The hem of his robes caught beneath his foot and he stumbled, catching himself just in time. He didn't look at anyone. Couldn't. His face burned, but his fingers felt cold.
He walked forward down the center of the Hall, between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. It felt endless. Each step was its own trial.
The buzzing was louder now. A sea of whispers trailed in his wake.
Some students laughed under their breath. Some looked confused, others angry. Fred and George sat rigid. Dean shook his head. Ginny's eyes followed him as if searching for a clue, some signal that it wasn't real.
The Goblet sat behind Dumbledore now, quiet and dark. Its flames were gone, spent.
Harry stopped at the top of the Hall. Dumbledore was waiting. The headmaster's hands were folded neatly in front of him. The parchment had disappeared.
"Through the door," he said.
Harry nodded.
He turned and walked the length of the staff table. The noise was fading behind him, but he could still feel the weight of the stares. They pressed against his back, heavy and invasive.
At the far end, Hagrid sat motionless.
Harry glanced at him, hoping for something. Perhaps recognition, support, a flicker of belief or sympathy.
Hagrid didn't move. He stared at Harry like the rest of them did. Like he didn't quite know what he was seeing.
The door to the side chamber opened.
Harry stepped through.
And left the world behind him.
The heavy door closed behind him with a dull click, and the roar of the Great Hall vanished as if swallowed by the stone walls.
Harry stood alone for a moment, eyes adjusting to the low firelight. The room smelled of old tapestries and warmed parchment. Shadows danced across the floor due to crackling fire chamber.
Three figures stood near the hearth. They turned when they heard the door.
Viktor Krum leaned against the mantel, arms crossed, his posture closed off and unreadable. Cedric Diggory stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at Harry like he might be seeing an illusion. Fleur Delacour tossed her silver hair over one shoulder as she looked him up and down.
"What is it?" she asked. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"
Harry didn't answer. He couldn't. His mouth was dry. His throat felt tight. He took a few slow steps inside.
He didn't belong here. That fact hung in the air between them. Cedric was tall, composed. Krum looked like he had been carved from stone. Fleur held herself like royalty. They were champions. He was not.
Before he could speak, the door opened again behind him.
Ludo Bagman walked in quickly, his round face glowing with excitement. His eyes sparkled as he reached for Harry's arm and gently guided him forward.
"Extraordinary," Bagman murmured. "Absolutely extraordinary."
He turned toward the others. "Gentlemen, and lady. May I introduce, strange though it may sound, the fourth Triwizard champion."
Fleur blinked. Her brow creased.
"What?" she said, smiling faintly. "Zis is a joke, non?"
"Joke?" Bagman repeated, still beaming. "No, no joke. Harry's name came out of the Goblet just moments ago."
Krum straightened. His frown deepened.
Cedric shifted slightly, glancing between Harry and Bagman as if trying to understand what was happening.
Fleur's smile faded. She gave a sharp little toss of her hair.
"But zere 'as been a mistake," she said. "'E is too young. Zis cannot be allowed."
Bagman rubbed his chin, eyes flicking to Harry. "Well, yes, it is amazing. Unprecedented, in fact. But the Goblet has spoken. The rules are clear. Once a name comes out, the champion is bound to compete."
Before anyone could respond, the door opened again.
The door slammed open.
Dumbledore burst into the chamber with none of his usual calm. His footsteps were quick, deliberate. His robes flared behind him as he crossed the stone floor with an urgency Harry had never seen in him before.
Professor McGonagall was close behind, her face pale and tight-lipped. Karkaroff and Madame Maxime swept in next, followed by Mr. Crouch and Bagman. Snape trailed at the rear, his eyes already narrowed on Harry with suspicion glinting behind them.
Before Harry could even speak, Dumbledore was in front of him. He seized Harry by the shoulders.
"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?" he asked, advancing on Harry
His voice was sharp and demanding. No grandfatherly calm. There was no trace of belief or sympathy in his eyes. His fingers pressed just a little too tightly.
Harry flinched.
"No," he said, startled by the heat behind the words.
"Did you ask another student to do it for you?" Dumbledore snapped.
"No," Harry said again, louder this time. "I didn't."
Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment, eyes hard behind the glint of his glasses.
Harry stood his ground. His chest was rising and falling faster now.
The others crowded in behind them. Karkaroff crossed his arms, his mouth twisted into something close to a sneer. Madame Maxime loomed beside him like a stone monument. Mr. Crouch stood slightly outside the circle, half-shadowed.
"Madame Maxime," Fleur said, her voice ringing with disbelief. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"
The words echoed too loudly in the small room.
Harry's jaw tensed.
Maxime's chest swelled as she drew herself up. The chandelier above trembled slightly as she moved beneath it.
"What is ze meaning of zis?" she demanded, her voice clipped and cold. "'Ow can zis be allowed?"
"I'd very much like to know that myself," said Karkaroff, stepping forward. His voice was laced with false politeness. "Is this the kind of oversight we should expect from Hogwarts? Two champions from the host school, while the rest of us follow the rules?"
He gave a short, bitter laugh.
"This is absurd," Maxime added. "'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. Zis is against ze spirit of ze tournament."
Karkaroff nodded quickly. "We assumed the Age Line would prevent this. If we had known it was so easily bypassed, we would have brought more candidates."
Snape spoke next, voice low and deliberate. "This is Potter's doing. He has always had a knack for breaking rules and getting away with it."
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore snapped, not looking away from Harry.
Snape fell silent, though the satisfaction didn't leave his face.
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. His chest felt tight, not just with embarrassment but with something heavier. This wasn't a mistake anymore. It was an accusation.
"I didn't ask anyone," Harry said, looking Dumbledore directly in the eyes. "I didn't put my name in. I swear."
Dumbledore said nothing.
McGonagall stepped forward.
"He couldn't have crossed the Age Line," she said. "Not without help."
Maxime gave a sharp shrug. "Zen perhaps Dumbledore made ze mistake. It would not be the first."
Dumbledore finally turned away from Harry.
"It is possible," he said.
McGonagall's face hardened. "You know perfectly well it isn't," she said. "And if you believe Harry didn't ask for help, then that should be the end of it."
Her eyes burned. Not at Harry but at the others.
Karkaroff stepped further into the light. The brittle smile had left his face.
"Mr. Crouch. Mr. Bagman," he said, spreading his arms like a man on stage. "You are our impartial judges. Surely you see this for what it is. An embarrassment. A farce. The rules were clear. Three champions. Three schools."
Bagman looked from Karkaroff to Dumbledore, then quickly wiped his forehead with a folded handkerchief. "Well, yes, but the Goblet—"
"The Goblet is not infallible," Karkaroff snapped.
"It is a powerful magical artifact," said Dumbledore, calm again. "Its choice is binding."
"Convenient," muttered Snape under his breath. "Very convenient indeed."
Professor McGonagall turned sharply toward him, but before she could speak, Madame Maxime raised her voice again.
"We were told the Age Line would prevent this. Was zat a lie? Or just incompetence?"
Dumbledore gave no reply. His expression was unreadable.
"It's no one's fault but Potter's," Snape said, louder this time. "He must have found a way to trick the Goblet. He has always had a thirst for attention. Always willing to bend the rules."
"He didn't," McGonagall snapped.
Snape ignored her. "He has a history of reckless behavior. This is no different."
"Enough," Dumbledore said, but his tone had cooled again. "There is no proof that Harry submitted his name or asked another to do it for him."
"Which means we're supposed to just accept this?" Karkaroff barked. "This child entering a tournament designed for seventeen-year-olds? This is an insult. I should have brought more of my students. We were told the line could not be crossed."
"The rules are quite clear," said Mr. Crouch, stepping forward now. He spoke without emotion. "The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. Once a name has been chosen, there can be no change. The individual selected is obligated to compete."
His voice was flat and final. Not even Karkaroff interrupted him.
"The rules were set centuries ago," Crouch continued. "To withdraw now would violate the foundation of the tournament itself."
Harry looked at him.
The man's face was partly in shadow, but what little Harry could see looked pale and dry, as though he had been ill for weeks.
"So that's it," Karkaroff said. "We allow this child to enter, and Hogwarts takes two chances at the prize."
"Mr. Karkaroff," Bagman began, sounding nervous, "the Goblet has gone out. Its decision is final."
"Then I demand the names be resubmitted," Karkaroff said. "You will relight the Goblet and allow each school to enter again. If Hogwarts is allowed two champions, so will we."
Bagman shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. The Goblet only ignites for the next tournament. This one is sealed."
"Then Durmstrang will not be returning," Karkaroff said through clenched teeth. "This process has been corrupted."
Harry said nothing. But inside, the silence was spreading.
Not a single person here had stood for him. Not even Dumbledore. Not really.
They were all speaking above him, around him, through him. But not to him.
The room had fallen into a strained silence, thick with frustration and rising tempers. Karkaroff's voice still lingered in the air, sharp and cold. Madame Maxime stood firm beside Fleur, her mouth a hard line. Snape looked pleased with the chaos, and even McGonagall was pressing her lips together so tightly the color had drained from them.
Then the door opened again.
The sound of uneven footsteps echoed across the stone.
Alastor Moody entered, his wooden leg thudding with each step. His magical eye spun in its socket, scanning the room before settling on Harry. His regular eye narrowed.
"Convenient," he muttered.
Karkaroff turned sharply. "What did you say?"
Moody walked closer to the fire, the mechanical clunk of his leg filling the silence.
"I said it's convenient. A binding magical contract, yes, but also quite the situation. Someone puts the boy's name in. He is forced to compete. Everyone starts arguing. Who benefits from this?"
Karkaroff sneered. "I am afraid I don't understand you."
Moody's eye twitched. "You do. You just don't like where I'm going with it."
Harry watched the two men. Karkaroff's hands were clenched now, though his expression stayed carefully controlled.
"I'm suggesting," Moody went on, voice like gravel dragged across stone, "that someone put Potter's name in that Goblet for a reason. And not for his glory."
A ripple passed through the room. Even Maxime turned slightly. Bagman stopped bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"Are you suggesting someone wants the boy harmed?" Karkaroff asked, trying to sound amused. He failed.
"I'm suggesting," Moody growled, "that someone wants Potter dead."
The words dropped like a stone. The fire cracked.
Harry's skin prickled. The room suddenly felt smaller.
"Oh, come now," said Bagman, trying to laugh. "Moody, old friend, you always were a little... intense."
Karkaroff's mouth curled into a sneer. "Paranoid, you mean. He used to see assassination plots in his morning toast. And now he's teaching children. Tell me, Albus, was no one else available?"
Moody turned to him, very slowly. "You ought to know how Death Eaters think, Karkaroff."
Karkaroff's face went pale.
"I was cleared," he said stiffly.
Moody's eye spun once in its socket before settling again on Harry.
Harry couldn't move. He felt the fire at his back and the cold in his chest.
Someone wanted him dead.
He had known that for years. He had lived with it since he was old enough to remember. But this was different. This was planned. This was inside the walls of Hogwarts.
Fleur broke the silence. "Why would anyone do zis? Why would someone want 'im dead now?"
No one answered her.
The silence held. No one seemed willing to speak after Moody's words.
Harry could feel the weight of them still pressing against his chest.
A chill ran up his spine, though the fire burned bright at his back.
Fleur shook her head, her voice sharp and disbelieving.
"But zis is madness. 'E is only a boy. 'E cannot be chosen."
Madame Maxime gave a firm nod, as if to reinforce her student's words. She turned toward the Ministry officials.
"Zis must be undone."
Karkaroff stepped forward again, lips thin, shoulders tight.
Crouch stepped forward, his shoes echoing against the flagstones.
"Yes," he said slowly, his eyes shadowed, his tone clipped. "Instructions. The first task."
He moved closer to the firelight, and Harry saw how ill he looked up close. His skin had a paper-thin quality, drawn and pale. The lines in his face had deepened since the Quidditch World Cup, and his eyes looked sunken.
"The first task is designed to test your daring," Crouch said, facing all four champions. "So we will not be telling you what it is."
Cedric turned toward him. Even Fleur and Krum gave him their full attention.
"Courage in the face of the unknown is essential in a wizard," Crouch continued. "Very important."
Harry didn't move. He just listened, his thoughts slow and distant.
"The first task will take place on November twenty-fourth," Crouch said. "It will occur in front of the other students and the panel of judges."
Fleur shifted beside Madame Maxime. Krum didn't react at all.
"The champions are not permitted to ask for help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks," Crouch added. "You will face the first challenge with nothing but your wand. The second task will be revealed only after the first is complete."
Harry stared at the carpet. The pattern blurred slightly.
"Owing to the time-consuming and demanding nature of the tournament," Crouch went on, "champions are exempt from end-of-year exams."
Bagman gave a little chuckle, as if expecting someone to be pleased.
No one laughed.
Crouch looked to Dumbledore. "I believe that's everything, Headmaster."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Thank you, Barty."
He was still watching Harry, but the intensity had faded from his gaze. It was quiet now. Watchful. As if the headmaster were waiting to see what Harry would do next.
Harry looked away.
"No need to worry tonight," Bagman said, trying to recapture the room's energy. "Get a good sleep. Enjoy the feast. The tasks will be difficult, but I have every confidence you'll make us proud."
He smiled broadly. No one returned it.
"I suggest you return to your common rooms now," Dumbledore said. "I expect your houses are eager to celebrate with you."
His tone was lighter, but Harry heard the weight behind it.
Celebrate.
He didn't want to go back to Gryffindor. He didn't want the questions. He didn't want to see the eyes watching him like he'd cheated them out of something. But he nodded anyway.
Professor McGonagall gave him a sharp look. "Come along," she said to him and Cedric.
They followed her out of the chamber. The thick stone door closed behind them, cutting off the firelight.
Outside, the castle felt colder.
Neither of them spoke until they reached the corridor that branched toward the marble staircase.
Cedric turned to him.
"So," he said, trying to smile. "We're competing again."
Harry gave a small nod. "Yeah."
But he wasn't thinking about Cedric. Or Gryffindor. Or the tournament.
He was thinking about the Goblet. And the name it had chosen.
And the voice in the back of his mind, quiet but steady, asking a question no one else seemed brave enough to say aloud.
Why me?