They Shook Hands: Year Four (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Four

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Eleven - We Are The Champions

All day long, rumours circulated through the school over the various consequences of attempting to cross Dumbledore's Age Line. The twin Weasley brothers had apparently sprouted long white beards. Sarah Fawcett, a Ravenclaw fifth year, acquired a fine collection of wrinkles. Marcus Summers, a fifth year from Hufflepuff, went bald and spotty.

Plenty of eligible Hogwarts students also dared to put their names in the Goblet. Slytherin House was well represented by Charles Warrington the Third, Terence Higgs, Ivan Bole, Matthew Derrick, Heather Chandler, Lila Murdock, and the new Head Girl, Margaret Rosier. Gryffindors, ever brave, put their names in en masse. Loads of Ravenclaws felt themselves smart enough as well, and it was with great cheering on the part of Hufflepuff that Cedric Diggory, a sixth year who played Seeker on the house team, sauntered up and casually tossed a folded bit of parchment into the blue flames.

All of the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons naturally entered. It wouldn't make much sense to bring any who would not attempt to compete.

When Harry and his friends entered the candlelit Great Hall for the Halloween feast, it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved from the entrance hall; it was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the High Table.

The feast itself seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, Harry didn't seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as he would have normally. Everyone else in the Hall was likewise showing signs of impatience, and many people spent the whole meal fidgeting, craning their necks, and standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet. Harry simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions. He hoped it was a Slytherin.

At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch was nowhere to be seen, and his place had been filled by Percy Weasley.

Harry nudged Draco. "Blimey, it's old Percy."

"What's he doing here? He's barely finished with school, but he's that high up in the Department of International Magical Cooperation?"

"He must have gotten a promotion or three. Last time I spoke to him, he'd only just joined. He must be filling in for Mister Crouch."

"Didn't I tell you he'd be going far?"

"Well, the Goblet of Fire is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. 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" - he indicated the door behind the staff table - "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness.

The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting. A few people kept checking their watches.

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it, and the whole room gasped.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

A storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

The girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Pansy said smugly over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. "Disappointed" was a bit of an understatement, Harry thought. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion was next.

And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

The uproar from the Hufflepuff table was deafening. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping and hugging each other, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "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 suddenly stopped speaking. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out - "Harry Potter."

Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He was stunned. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming. He had not heard correctly.

There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat. Up at the High Table, Snape had risen to his feet, an unreadable expression on his face.

Harry couldn't think. The whole table was staring at him. "How?" Tim whispered furiously.

"I didn't," Harry said blankly. "I didn't do it."

At the High Table, Professors Dumbledore and Snape were holding a whispered conversation. Now Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor Snape.

"Harry Potter!" he called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"

Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. He set off up the gap between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. It felt like an immensely long walk; the High Table didn't seem to be getting any nearer at all, and he could feel hundreds and hundreds of eyes upon him, as though each were a searchlight. The buzzing grew louder and louder. After what seemed like an hour, he was right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers upon him.

"Well, through the door, Harry," said Dumbledore. He wasn't smiling. Harry moved off along the teachers' table.

Harry went through the door out of the Great Hall and found himself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him. The faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered. He saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus mustache. The wizened witch started whispering in his ear.

Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire.

Fleur Delacour looked around when Harry walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair.

"What is it?" she said. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"

She thought he had come to deliver a message.

"No, it's-" How did he go about explaining this. "You see, there's been a snag. Something -- unexpected."

Before he could elaborate, there was a sound of scurrying feet behind him, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Harry by the arm and led him forward.

"Extraordinary!" he muttered, squeezing Harry's arm. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen, lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce, incredible though it may seem, the fourth Triwizard champion?"

Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Harry. Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to Harry and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, "Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."

"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"

Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric raised one of his, inquiring without speaking. Fleur frowned.

"But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. "E cannot compete. 'E is too young."

"Well, it is amazing," said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Harry. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name's come out of the goblet, I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage. It's down in the rules; you're obliged. Harry will just have to do the best he -"

The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Percy Weasley. Harry heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before Professor McGonagall closed the door.

"Madame Maxime!" said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"

Somewhere under Harry's numb disbelief he felt a ripple of anger. Little boy? Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she said imperiously.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Professor Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. "Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions. Or have I not read the rules carefully enough?" He gave a short and nasty laugh.

"C'est impossible," said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting upon Fleur's shoulder. "'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most injust."

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"That will do, Karkaroff," Snape said quietly, in the same tone he used to quiet an unruly classroom. "Before we start throwing accusations around, perhaps we had better ascertain a few facts." He looked at Harry. "Mister Potter, it is very important you be honest with us now. Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"

"No, sir."

"Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?"

"No, sir!" said Harry vehemently.

"Ah, but of course 'e is lying!" cried Madame Maxime.

Snape shook his head, his lip curling. "How could he have crossed the Age Line, Madame?" he asked bitingly.

"Dumbly-dorr must 'ave made a mistake wiz ze line," said Madame Maxime, shrugging.

"It is possible, of course," said Dumbledore politely.

"Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!" said Professor McGonagall angrily. "Really, what nonsense!"

"The Age Line kept out multiple underage students," Snape said with disdain, his dark eyes flashing at Madame Maxime. "Including two of your girls, Madame. I brewed the potion to correct their condition."

Madame Maxime flushed darkly.

"Mister Bagman," said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, "you are one of our, er, objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular? Where is Mister Crouch? I am sure he would concur."

Percy cleared his throat. "Mister Crouch has come down with a slight illness and will indisposed for several days. As his attaché, I am empowered to speak for him. I have reviewed the rules most thoroughly, and it is stated quite clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament. Short of cancelling it-"

"Cancel?" Karkaroff snapped. "Impossible."

"Well, that settles it then," said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. "Rules are rules."

"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," said Karkaroff. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. "You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."

"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," said Bagman. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out. It won't reignite until the start of the next tournament."

"In which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" exploded Karkaroff. "After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a voice from near the door. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"

Professor Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk.

"Convenient?" said Karkaroff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody." Harry could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists.

"Don't you?" said Moody quietly. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's name in that goblet knowing he'd have to compete if it came out."

"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" said Madame Maxime.

"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," said Karkaroff, bowing to her. "I shall be lodging complaints with your Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards -"

"If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter," growled Moody, "but, funny thing, I don't hear him saying a word."

"Why should 'e complain?" burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot. "E 'as ze chance to compete, 'asn't 'e? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money! Zis is a chance many would die for!"

"Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it, you stupid little girl!" Moody said with supreme scorn. "There's more going on here than just some silly little game. Plenty of former Death Eaters still loose in the world!" He glared around the room sternly, his magic eye whirring dizzyingly.

An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, "Moody, old man. What a thing to say!"

"We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," said Karkaroff loudly. "Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."

"Imagining things, am I?" growled Moody. "Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy's name in that goblet."

"Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?" said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" snapped Moody. "To bamboozle the Goblet of Fire into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament? No student could cast a Confundus Charm that strong. I'm guessing the Death Eater submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category."

"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," said Karkaroff coldly, "and a very ingenious theory it is. Though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously."

"I always think everything could be a trap," Moody retorted in a menacing voice. "It's why I'm still alive. There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage. It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff, as you ought to remember."

"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly. Harry wondered for a moment whom he was speaking to, but then realized "Mad-Eye" could hardly be Moody's real first name. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction. Karkaroff's face was burning red.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do."

"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr -"

"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."

Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak; she merely glared. Karkaroff was also livid. Bagman, however, looked rather excited.

"Well, shall we crack on, then?" he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? The first task is designed to test your daring. So we are not going to be telling you what it is. One of a wizard's most important qualities is courage in the face of the unknown. The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions will be allowed only their wands. You will receive information about the second task if you survive the first. Champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. As recompense for the highly demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."

No help from teachers. Harry thought fast. It said nothing about godfathers or friends. He wouldn't be able to ask Snape, but he ought to do all right. Sirius and Remus would arm him well.

"Best of luck to all of you. Good night."

"Ludo, will you stop up for a nightcap?" said Dumbledore politely.

"Certainly!" said Bagman brightly. "I'm delighted to be back here at Hogwarts where it's all starting to happen now. It's much more exciting here than at the office!"

"Professor Karkaroff? Madame Maxime? Will you join us?" said Dumbledore.

But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur's shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Harry could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.

"Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go down to bed," said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. "I am sure Hufflepuff and Slytherin are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise."

Harry glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and they left together.

The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality.

"So," said Cedric, with a slight smile. "We're playing against each other again!"

Nice of the cheeky fellow to refer to Quidditch when it had been cancelled.

"I s'pose," said Harry. He really couldn't think of anything to say. The inside of his head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though his brain had been ransacked.

"So, tell me," said Cedric as they reached the entrance hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. "How did you get your name in?"

"I didn't," said Harry, staring up at him. "I didn't put it in. I was telling the truth."

"Ah, okay," said Cedric. Harry could tell Cedric didn't believe him. "Well, see you, then."

Instead of going up the marble staircase, Cedric headed for a door to its right. Harry stood listening to him going down the stone steps beyond it, then, slowly, he started to descend to the dungeons.

More than anything, Harry wanted to send an owl to Sirius. But he had neither quill nor ink, and his odds of getting up to the Owlery and back without getting caught were slim to none. Sirius would believe him, at least. His friends wouldn't desert him either. The rest of the school would doubtless allow anti-Slytherin prejudice to contaminate their thinking, but his house would rally around him. House was like family at Hogwarts, that he knew.

How could anyone think he'd put himself in for the tournament? He was facing competitors who'd had three years' more magical education than he had. He was now facing tasks that not only sounded very dangerous, but which were to be performed in front of hundreds of people. Yes, he'd thought about it; he'd fantasized about it along with everyone else, but it had been a joke, really, an idle sort of dream. He'd never really, seriously considered entering. He wouldn't have even known how to start getting past that Age Line.

Surely Moody had the right of it. Some Dark wizard or witch had fooled the Goblet of Fire. There was only one reason for this to have happened. He saw in his mind's eye the Dark Mark floating above the World Cup. Death Eaters. The dream came back to him at once. Voldemort. If there was someone who wanted him dead, Harry could think of no other. He didn't know the names of the Death Eaters, but they would do their master's bidding.

* * *

As he entered the common room, a great cheer went up. The place was bedecked with green and silver streamers, and firecrackers were going off in the fireplace. His teammates had strung up a wall hanging with a picture of Harry holding up the Snitch while laying on the ground with a clearly broken leg. It was a scene from second year, and Harry rolled his eyes. Those gits couldn't have found a more inspiring pose?

"Well done, Potter!" Bole said, clapping him mightily on the shoulder. Harry rocked, nearly losing his balance. The Beater was very enthusiastic, Harry thought.

"Here, have a drink!" Derrick said, thrusting a mug in his hand before raising his own in the air. "To Harry! Pride of Slytherin House! Maker of History! And I predict, the winner of the Tournament With Four Champions! Up Slytherin!"

"Up Slytherin!" they roared.

Nobody asked Harry how he'd managed to get past the Age Line. Nobody asked him if someone had done it for him. That person would have been seeking their own glory as Harry's accomplice. It was merely accepted as a given that Harry had trickied his way into the Tournament somehow.

Despite the inevitability of classes the next morning, nobody wanted to cease carrousing and go to sleep. The seventh year girls finally drew wands on them all, though, and shooed everyone off to bed. Harry yawned hugely as he walked through the door.

Tim grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. Harry's head bounced off the hard stone and stars swam in his vision.

"How? You sodding egomaniac, don't you know how hard I tried to get past that Age Line? I needed to get in the Tournament, you prat!"

"Why?" Harry asked, taken aback by Tim's rage.

"Shut up! How dare you not share the secret with me? Aren't we supposed to be friends?"

"We are friends, Tim!"

"Tim, let him go!" Draco shouted.

"Shut up, Draco! I'd expect you not to tell me, but I thought Harry was better than that."

"He didn't tell you because there was nothing to tell!" Harry railed at Tim, shoving him away.

"Well now you've got what you wanted," Tim said, ignoring every word. "I hope you're happy, champion," he sneered. "And if you're expecting me to help save your cheating hide, think again."

Tim shoved past Crabbe and Goyle and went to his bed. He threw himself down and yanked the curtains shut. Harry glared at the folds of green velvet.

"I don't need your help," Harry snarled. Tim's angry words had raised his own temper. The slamming against the wall hadn't helped either. "I can write to a former Defence teacher. I've got a godfather who fought in the last war. What the hell do you know?"

Harry rubbed the back of his head and sat down. As if he hadn't had enough trouble today. Tim's rage was inexcusable. He hadn't bothered to explain why he was so upset. Harry undressed for bed and lay down, wishing his head would stop hurting.

Tim would get over his snit or not. If he apologized enough, Harry would forgive him. Although, come to think of it, Tim still hadn't cleaned up his mouth.

There was a trememdous bang. Harry jumped out of his skin. He'd been right on the edge of sleep, just starting to dream.

"Master Harry, Kreacher has come with a message for you," the old elf said in his croaking voice as he bowed low, sticking his nose into the rug.

"From Sirius?"

"Noble Master is being very upset when he takes a firecall from the Muggle-loving headmaster of filth. Compassionate Master is breaking many things while searching for something. Then Clever Master is finding it and writing you a letter. Kreacher is being delivering the letter, for it is a pleasure to once again see the beautiful Slytherin dungeons. Old Kreacher had not thought to ever come again."

Harry took the proffered letter with an impatient "Thanks" and broke the wax seal. The envelope was heavy, much more than parchment warranted. Harry was intrigued by the small hand mirror he found.

Harry, the letter said, Dumbledore's just informed me. I'll be in Hogsmeade by morning, but I've sent Kreacher ahead with something to help now. I have another mirror, identical to the one you now hold. They are magically linked, and by speaking my name, you will be able to speak to me through the mirror. These mirrors are tied to you and me. Nobody else can use them. Try as soon as you get this message. Kreacher has orders to stay with you until we confirm that the mirrors work. I'll be waiting up.

Love,

Sirius