Simone Martiane and the Goblet of Fire

I watched the stage as the caretaker, Argus Filch, brought out the goblet. The lights were dimmed so that the only light came from the goblet itself. I poised my quill over a parchment, ready to write down the champions' names. Beside me, Fleur was practically bouncing out of her seat with anticipation, though she was probably trying to keep her poise and dignity.

The flames from the goblet suddenly turned red. Sparks began to fly from it. A tongue of flame shot into the air, and a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it. There was a collective gasp, but I was trying to get down every last detail and didn't join in.

Albus Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it out so he could read it by the light of the flames. They were blue-white again. On my own parchment was written First name--champion for...And there I had stopped. My quill was poised, quivering with anticipation.

"The champion for Durmstrang," Albus Dumbledore read in a strong, clear voice, as I scribbled Durmstrang next to what I had already written, "will be Viktor Krum."

The hall seemed to explode. I wrote his name down, along with a quote from Karkaroff (shouted over all the applause--"Bravo, Viktor! Knew you had it in you!") and Krum's actions--he slouched up along the staff table and disappeared into the chamber next.

The tumultuous applause died down. Everyone focused on the goblet as I scribbled Second name--champion for...

A second later, the goblet turned red again and emitted a second piece of parchment.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, (Excited, I scribbled Beauxbatons, knowing this is what many readers were looking for) "is Fleur Delacour!"

"Oh, no," I muttered under my breath as I wrote the name down. There was quite a bit of applause (and a few catcalls too) but among my fellow students there was not much applause. In fact, Mae and Maria were so unhappy at not being selected that they burst into tears. I probably looked about as happy as anyone else, but that was because my already conceited best friend had been selected...

Fleur left the room, and silence reigned. You could actually taste the excitement and feel the tension. Next was the Hogwarts champion. I fully expected Angelina Johnson--after all, she was the favourite, and the favourite had won the last two schools--but...

"The Hogwarts champion," called Albus Dumbledore, and I could've sworn he was drawing it out to tease his students, make them hunger for it, "is Cedric Diggory!"

I was surprised. I scribbled notes about the reactions evident on student's faces (Cho was glowing, Ron Weasley looked annoyed, the Hufflepuffs were on their feet screaming) and the length of the applause (five minutes--I timed). Finally, Dumbledore was able to speak again.

"Excellent!" said Dumbledore happily, and I suddenly regretted not asking the teachers who their favourite was. "Well, we now have our three champions."

Something at that moment made me shiver. Perhaps it was the wind, perhaps the way he said it, perhaps the darkness. I think, however, it was a thrill of foreboding. I knew that something was about to happen that would affect the number of champions, and I didn't think it was good.

"I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang," continued Dumbledore (and I am sure that he was looking at our table, for Mae and Maria stopped sniffling and hung their heads, ashamed), "to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real--"

I had been copying down his speech to include, and I looked up only when he stopped suddenly. It was clearly apparent why.

Cho's eyes were as big as the moon. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. A long flame shot into the air, bearing a fourth piece of parchment. I was sure my quill would catch on fire from scribbling so fast. I wondered if this would be Angelina, if the goblet had decided to send out the top two choices just to make Slytherin look bad--

Dumbledore reached out and caught the parchment almost as if he was used to this by now. He held it out and stared at the name written on it. He was absolutely silent for a long time, and sweat started to pop out on my forehead. I knew that this was not good--probably some student had hoodwinked the goblet to include this student as well--

Then Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat, and I was suddenly struck with an incredible sense of age. He read out--

"Harry Potter."

I scribbled his name down, student's reactions (they were all staring at Harry), Harry's own reaction (he looked as if he'd just been asked for a lightly grilled weasel with a side of chips), and the teachers' reactions (just as stunned as everyone else).

Dumbledore straightened up (he'd been talking to another teacher) and called again, "Harry Potter! Harry! Up here, if you please!"

Harry stood up and stumbled. He walked the whole way to the front table, looking as though he'd been sent to his own execution. I was struck suddenly by how young he was--he couldn't have been much more than fourteen years old, and he was so small and scrawny-looking. I bit my lip, feeling sorry for the poor boy. Cho simply looked angry.

"What's wrong?" I whispered to her.

Cho looked over at me. "He's going to take away Cedric's glory again!" she hissed. "He does this every time! Hufflepuff rarely gets any glory, and Cedric is the only person anyone at Hogwarts can remember ever giving them any. Now Harry's going to take it away. That's why he did it."

I shook my head. "I don't think he entered himself," I whispered softly. "Look at his face."

"It's called a poker face," hissed Cho, and refused to hear any more about it.

Harry walked slowly through the other room. When the door had closed behind him, Dumbledore turned back to the hall. No longer beaming, he said, "As I was saying before, by supporting your champion--or, in the case of Hogwarts, champions"--Karkaroff and Madame Maxime did not seem pleased by this at all--"you will contribute in a very real way. You will not be told what the first task is going to be, because we want it to be a surprise. It will take place on the twenty-fourth of November on the grounds just inside the forest. Now, it's been a long day. I suggest you all go to bed."

Students buzzed as they swept out of the hall. No one was really stunned anymore. Gryffindors were excited, mostly, though Ron Weasley's face was hard to read. All the other students were angry. Some were afraid--of going in the forest, it seemed. Cho said a cold goodnight to me and swept off. I started to follow my classmates, but suddenly thought of something.

Professor Dumbledore was up at the top table, conversing with the teacher who had been talking to him earlier. She nodded and walked off. I approached Professor Dumbledore nervously.

"Excuse me, Sir," I said in my best English (I think I caught him off-guard). "I'm a reporter for my school newspaper, and I was wondering if I could attend the briefing to give the students at my school an idea of what's going on...maybe get a quote from the champions..."

Professor Dumbledore thought for a moment, then nodded. "I believe that would be fine. I would, however, ask you not to include anything that might be considered hearsay in your report."

I shook my head. "I wouldn't anyway, Sir. This reporter knows when to keep her eyes open and her mouth shut."

Professor Dumbledore nodded again, and I detected a twinkle in his eye for the first time since Harry Potter's name had come out of the goblet. It quickly faded, and I followed the large group of teachers into the small room. Students were still buzzing and filing out of the room. One teacher shut the door.

Fleur strode over to our headmistress. "Madame Maxime!" she cried. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"

Aha, I thought. Harry already told them. Then I noticed Bagman. Oh.

Madame Maxime was drawn up to her full height, probably meaning to scare people. "What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she demanded.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore." Karkaroff. I noticed that he looked like a greasy clod, very similar to another teacher, presumably from Hogwarts, standing in the room. The Hogwarts teacher looked mean, but compared to Karkaroff, he looked as if he were likely to strew the room with pink-and-purple flowers and start handing out candy. "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.

"C'est impossible (it's impossible)," said Madame Maxime, her hand on Fleur's shoulder. "'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most unjust."

I sighed and decided to give up trying to make my fellow students say their H's properly.

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, a hint of a snarl in his voice. "Otherwise we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

I snorted. I seriously doubt that. Well, Karkaroff, maybe, but not Madame Maxime. She had only let students who would be turning eighteen that year or had already turned eighteen compete. That's why I went as a reporter--I wouldn't be turning eighteen until August. I had turned seventeen just two months before we went (Beauxbatons is a nearly year-round school, though we get a week of vacation every month).

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said the greasy teacher softly. I turned in surprise. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here--"

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore, in a manner that said the matter is now closed, while I giggled inwardly at Severus's (probably) unintended pun. Severus was quiet, though his eyes showed much malice, and I began to fear for Harry's life at the hands of this man.

Dumbledore looked at Harry, and Harry looked straight back at him. "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

"No," said Harry steadily. Severus made a quiet noise of disbelief and I glared at him. He didn't see me, but I know he could feel my gaze because he was suddenly silent.

"Did you ask an older student to put your name in the Goblet of Fire for you?" Professor Dumbledore continued. It was plain to me that he believed Harry and not Severus.

"No," said Harry, so vehemently I was surprised.

Madame Maxime completely failed to not be unimpressed. "Ah, but of course 'e is lying!" Severus seemed to agree with her.

"He could not have crossed the Age Line," said the vehement teacher who had spoken so often very sharply. "I am sure we have all agreed on that--"

I nodded behind all the teachers, but Madame Maxime shrugged. "Dumbly-dorr must 'ave made a mistake wiz ze line."

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

"Dumbledore, you know perfectly well that you did not make a mistake!" said the teacher who had been trying to talk sense into people all afternoon. "Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I'm sure that should be good enough for everybody else!"

She gave Severus a very pointed look. I decided I liked this teacher.

"Mr. Crouch...Mr. Bagman," said Karkaroff in his normal tones, "you are our--er--objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?"

Bagman seemed at a loss. He looked to Barty Crouch, who stood half-hidden in the firelight. The half-darkness made him seem as though he was older than Dumbledore. When he spoke, however, it was in a strong, curt, no-nonsense voice.

"We must follow the rules, and the rules clearly state that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."

"Well, Barty knows the rule book back-to-front," said Bagman, beaming as though the matter was now closed. Unnoticed, I had begun to take notes for my own purpose. I planned to try and solve this mystery--how did Harry get into the goblet?

"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," said Karkaroff. He sounded nothing but ugly now. "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 re-ignite until the start of the next tournament--"

"--in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be participating!" exploded Karkaroff. "After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur!"

"Did anybody?" I muttered.

"I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a voice from behind me. I jumped. "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?"

I had only been at Hogwarts for two days. I had not met very many of the teachers or even seen them all. Yet I wondered how I could have missed this man. Large chunks of his face were missing, as well as a leg, and he seemed to have a false eye. He had at least three new scars since the last time I saw him, but I still recognised him. His name was Alastor Moody, and he was the lead Auror that showed up the day my sister and her friend were murdered.

"Convenient?" said Karkaroff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you.'

I was afraid I did. I understood all to well.

"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."

"Someone who--" I began, but Madame Maxime cut me off. Nobody seemed to have noticed that I was there.

"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" she snapped.

"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," said Karkaroff, bowing to her. (I rolled my eyes.) "I shall be lodging complaints with the 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 here him saying a word..."

"Probably can't get a word in edgewise," I muttered.

"Why should 'e complain?" blurted Fleur, stamping her foot as would an impatient child. "'E 'as ze chance to compete, 'asn't 'e? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honour 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," said Moody, growling far less than before.

The silence was even more tense than the one in the Great Hall before Cedric was chosen. Ludo Bagman looked very anxious. "Moody, old man...what a thing to say!" he said nervously.

"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 too. An odd quality in a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."

"Imagining thins, 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?" snapped Madame Maxime, throwing up her hands in exasperation.

"They hoodwinked a very powerful magical object," I spoke up. People turned to look at me, startled at seeing me there. "The only way his name could've come out of the goblet was if the goblet was tricked into thinking four schools were competing, requiring a very strong Confundus Charm."

"Exactly," nodded Moody. "I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category..."

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

I stared at Karkaroff in disgust. "Whoever told you that is an idiot--and so are you, no offence meant, if you believe him. There is no such thing as a basilisk egg."

"There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage," Moody retorted in a menacing voice. I shrank back against the wall. "It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff--as you ought to remember..."

"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly. Moody was silent, but Karkaroff looked embarrassed.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore, giving me a small glance that told me that it was all right to begin taking notes now. I switched back to my tournament notes. "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," said Dumbledore, and I alone could detect a hint of sarcasm, "if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."

Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime merely glared. So did Karkaroff and Severus. Bagman, however, looked like he was enjoying this.

"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? Barty, want to do the honours?"

Mr. Crouch, whom I also remembered from my sister's death--he had been absolutely livid--seemed to come out of a deep reverie. "Yes," he said, "instructions. Yes...the first task..."

He moved forward. I noticed that he seemed ill. I also noticed that he was not ill. I could tell that he was under great stress from some family matter. I remembered Hermione Granger saying some time ago that he had dismissed his house-elf...

"The first task is designed to test your daring," he told the champions, as I scribbled notes, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard...very important..."

I could tell from Madame Maxime and Karkaroff's faces that their champions would not be facing the unknown. They'd find some way to find out what the task was.

"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.

"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 with only their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."

Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore.

"I think that's all, is it, Albus?"

"I think so," said Dumbledore. He seemed mildly concerned about Crouch, and I realised that he thought Crouch was ill. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?"

"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," said Mr. Crouch. "It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment...I've left young Weatherby in charge...very enthusiastic...a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told..."

I giggled.

"You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?" said Dumbledore.

"Come on, Barty, I'm staying!" cajoled Bagman. "It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!"

"I think not, Ludo," said Crouch with a touch of impatience.

Dumbledore extended the invitation to the other two heads of school, but they swept out with their champions. I went with Madame Maxime and Fleur.

"Madame Maxime, it is most unjust!" Fleur was saying, in very fast French. "He is only a small boy--how could he possibly compete?"

"I cannot do anything about it," said Madame Maxime. "Unless...Simóne, did you get anything helpful?"

I flipped to my personal notes. "Nothing about what you could do."

"He will make a mockery of me!" Fleur ranted, outraged. "He cannot possibly hope to beat me, a veela!"

"How could he have got his name in that goblet?" asked Madame Maxime.

I checked my notes. "I've got four possibilities."

"Name them," said Fleur, interested.

"One: Bagman."

"Bagman?"

I shrugged. "He seemed awfully pleased."

"Next?"

"Karkaroff."

"He is as upset about this as I am," said Madame Maxime.

"Third: Mad-Eye Moody."

Fleur laughed. "Moody? He was an Auror, Simóne."

"You think I didn't know that?" I retorted. "He was there the day my sister--" I choked slightly. I'd never told Fleur about my sister and wasn't likely to. She wouldn't understand--her sister is still alive. "Anyway, that's the only thing. I remember what he was like, and he seems awfully different. Karkaroff is right, he is afraid he'll be killed at every turn, but he's never been one to take something that lightly. In fact, my wand is in my back pocket, and he saw it. The real Moody would probably have said something about blowing off a buttock or the like..."

Fleur shrugged. "And the fourth?"

"Fourth: It's somebody we don't even know about yet, some other bizarre character that hasn't been introduced into this crazy farce of a pageant we call life. I mean, he's alive, but we haven't met him or her. It's somebody we've never met but is also trying to kill Harry."

Fleur shrugged again. "Most likely the last one."

Madame Maxime escorted us back to the carriage. "I will be right back," she said. "I have to talk to someone."

As our headmistress left, I looked back at Hogwarts and shivered.

"What's wrong, Simóne?" Fleur asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know. I just have a feeling we're in for some rough times--like we're about to walk through the heart of a fire."