Chapter Text
”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 top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly.
Harry turned to Ron and Hermione; beyond them, he saw the long Gryffindor table all watching him, open-mouthed. “I didn’t put my name in,” Harry said blankly. “You know I didn’t.” Both of them stared just as blankly back. At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.
“Harry Potter!” he called again. “Harry! Up here, if you please!”
“Go on,” Hermione whispered, giving Harry a slight push. Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. He set off up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. It felt like an immensely long walk; the top 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. Hagrid was seated right at the end. He did not wink at Harry, or wave, or give any of his usual signs of greeting. He looked completely astonished and stared at Harry as he passed like everyone else. 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 moustache. 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.
Harry didn’t know how to explain what had just happened. He just stood there, looking at the three champions. It struck him how very tall all of them were. 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 was still looking politely bewildered. 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 Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. 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.”
“It’s no one’s fault but Potter’s, Karkaroff,” said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. “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 firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair. Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry, who looked right back at him, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. “Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” he asked calmly.
“No,” said Harry. He was very aware of everybody watching him closely. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows.
“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?” said Professor Dumbledore, ignoring Snape.
“No,” said Harry vehemently.
“Ah, but of course ’e is lying!” cried Madame Maxime. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling.
“He could not have crossed the Age Line,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “I am sure we are all agreed on that —”
“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! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I’m sure that should be good enough for everybody else!” She shot a very angry look at Professor Snape.
“Mr. Crouch … Mr. Bagman,” said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, “you are our — er — objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?”
Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half-darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice. “We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly 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 and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.
The matter was, however, not closed. Not in the least.
“Excuse me!” Harry’s voice thundered with surprising strength through the room. “Entering the Triwizard Tournament ought to be my choice, not yours!” He said, feeling sick of having decisions pushed onto him, without any say in the matter.
The teachers looked momentarily stunned and Snape hissed angrily at him as if he was the source of all evil on this earth.
“Forgive me Harry, but there is not much of a choi-…” Dumbledore started, but was quickly interrupted by Harry himself.
“NO! I’ve had enough of this! I have no intention of entering this tournament.”
“Eensolent ‘ittle boy!” Madame Maxime sneered, clearly offended that he dared voice his thoughts, young as he was.
“This is not something you can choose – glory aside, once the Goblet of Fire recognizes you as its champion, the contract cannot be broken.” Bagman warned.
“And if it is?”
“It could take your life, your soul, your magic, who knows… no one is dumb enough to try their luck with it.” He said, a shiver running over his body.
“My boy, I know you must be feeling angry – but please, think this over, this is not something to decide lightly.” Dumbledore implored, his bright blue eyes shimmering with wisdom.
“I just-… I need to be alone.” Harry whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat as he did perhaps the most cowardly thing he could think of and stuck his tail between his legs and ran out of the room. The Great Hall was empty, thank Godric, so Harry continued to the Gryffindor common room, needing the support of his friends as he felt anxiety and fear threatening to crush him whole.
Harry barely managed to spit out the password before the Fat Lady swung open and Harry was exposed to a sea of red. Whistling, applause, words of encouragement and worst of all – a whirlwind of touching. Harry squirmed, hating the feeling of being put under the spotlight. Everyone around him seemed blind to his obvious discomfort as he received dozens of overly dramatic praises. He tried to explain what had happened, but no one seemed willing to listen. They all kept on teasing him and congratulating on sneaking through the Age Line, and Harry was simmering in despair. He wanted to leave, to flee the scene, but so many hands kept him in place. Merlin he hated it. It was uncomfortable, like being a stuffed animal for display-only. He felt oddly objectified as he was passed around and doused in Gryffindor memorabilia as they sang his praises. It was all fake, all a lie. He hated it. He had seen how quickly people could turn on you, he had seen what happened in his second year when everyone found out he was a Parseltongue and everyone hated him and isolated him. He knew this would be the same, once they found out he truly had no interest in this dumb competition their attentions would vane and he would be left alone, only with Hermione and Ron. Speaking of, where were they? It seemed like every other Gryffindor no matter the age had gathered in the common room, but his two best friends, the ones he needed the most, were nowhere to be found.
Fred and George were hanging off his shoulders and as much as he loved the twins, he couldn’t bear anymore of this.
“Where are you going Harry?” Fred asked, catching his arm before he could sneak away.
“Not now.” Harry urged, feeling restless and hollow.
“Aww don’t become all modest on us now.” George teased, poking his cheek.
Harry felt small and stupid, being ignored like a little kid and treated like he was being immature and throwing a tantrum. He yanked his arm back with more force than necessary, causing Fred to look momentarily stunned. “Please – I can’t, not now.” He said, his voice halfway breaking.
“Harry, are you alright, what’s going on?” George asked concerned, shielding his view from the wild party.
“Nothing just-… just tired I guess, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Harry sighed, trotting off before they could inquire further.
Harry was almost ready to collapse from relief when he saw his best friend laying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. This is what he needed right now! He needed his best friend, he needed Ron!
“Oh thank heavens, Ron!” Harry said, already on his way sit on the ginger’s bed, but the dirty look he shot Harry made him momentarily stop in his tracks. Harry scrunched his brows up in confusion. “Uhm… something wrong?” Harry asked nervously.
“Something wrong? Something wrong! You bet your ass something is wrong!” Ron fumed, jumping to his feet.
“Did something happen?” Harry asked concerned.
Ron let out a mocking, almost hysterical laughter. “Oh, you bet your ass – how did you do it! Why did you lie to me?”
Realization dawned on Harry as it became apparent Ron hadn’t believed the rushed declaration of his innocence before he was whisked away by the teachers. “Ron, I didn’t put my name in the Goblet of Fire.” He said calmly, more calmly than he felt. He knew Ron was frustrated, thinking Harry had left him out of the loop.
“Don’t take that patronizing tone with me Harry! I’m your best friend! You didn’t even tell me – or Merlin forbid, allow me to do the same – No no no, Harry bloody Potter gets all the fame and glory for himself!” Ron spat nastily. Harry almost retracted like the words had been laced with venom, it sure felt like it as he saw the obvious contempt on Ron’s face.
Harry wasn’t dumb – far from it. He knew Ron struggled with feeling inferior and ’lesser than’ Harry. It was obvious he envied the attention Harry received, the money – everything really, but looking at Ron now, Harry felt for the first time he could really see how deep the jealousy ran beneath his veins.
A sudden surge of anger bubbled underneath his skin. How dare he just throw away their friendship like this, like it was nothing, when it was everything to Harry. He had no one else but his friends. Sure, Sirius was there, but he had only been able to write letters to him since they were reunited, and even those felt somewhat hollow and empty.
“It’s obvious you don’t care what I have to say, you’ve already made up your mind about me.” Harry yelled angrily before storming back out of the room. He ignored the common room that eyed him cautiously as he resembled nothing short of a storm cloud before exiting the room. He was high on emotions, storming through the empty halls.
What had Harry ever done to deserve such treatment? He was either hated or loved, the wizarding world turned at the flip of a coin. It seemed like he could never do anything right. Ever since being thrown into the wizarding world his life had become a rollercoaster of emotions. Sure, he had friends, but were they truly his friends if they treated him like this? He was feeling so tumultuous and angry he hadn’t even noticed he had gone outside and automatically headed for the Dark Forest.
And where was Hermione in all of this? Did she doubt him too? Why hadn’t she been in the common room to see how he was doing. He didn’t dare approach her, scared to receive the same harsh treatment he had gotten from Ron. He just wanted to leave. Get away. There was no place for him here. He felt alone so often, even with his friends. He knew deep down he was different from them. They didn’t truly understand him, and they probably never would. They did not have the entire fate of the world resting on their shoulders in the same way Harry did. They did not have Voldemort hunting them down – sure they had stood by him and helped, but they could always leave at a moment’s notice, as proven by Ron’s behaviour. Harry couldn’t. He was stuck with a fate he did not want, with a name he didn’t care for as it had only brought him pain along the way.
He hadn’t even noticed it had started raining, nor that he was crying helplessly. He was so frustrated and devastated. He felt so alone and tired of everything. He didn’t want to participate in the stupid tournament. He hated being put in the spotlight like that, but no one seemed to care what he thought. Even when he had left after the discussion with Dumbledore regarding his role as a champion he knew they all thought he would come around. It was expected of him.
Darkness had long since enveloped Harry and the coldness of the Dark Forest seeped into his bones. He walked and walked with no place in mind. He just needed to get away from it all.
When his legs started aching and he was only moving on sheer willpower, Harry realized he had been walking for hours on end and exhaustion was finally catching up to him. He was so sore and tired that when he tripped over a root in the forest he didn’t get up. He didn’t care if some creature found him and killed him, perhaps that would finally offer him some peace and quiet from everything.
With his face planted into the dewy grass and body too tired to move on he gave himself over to sleep with only one wish in his mind. I wish I could be truly free. Then he fell asleep on the cold hard forest-floor.