Minerva McGonagall had sat at the staff table, watching as Dumbledore called off the names of the champions who would take part in the Triwizard Tournament. She had been one of the only staff members who had fiercely fought against the reinstatement of the tournament. But the vote of McGongall, Pomfrey, and Trelawney was simply not enough to change the result. She struggled to keep herself composed as the names were called and one by one the champions got up from their tables and went into the next room.

It was hard enough when it was Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour, who she didn't even know.

But it was heart breaking to watch Cedric Diggory get up and walk into the side room - to watch his friend stand on the bench at Hufflepuff table and shout with joy and excitement, not knowing what sort of tasks awaited Cedric. Minnie could remember when Cedric had been small, a first year among the cluster of them in that stairwell coming up from the tiny boats, looking up at her with wide eyes and quite a lot of bushy hair and a grin as wide as the sun. She'd watched Cedric Diggory grow up into the strapping boy he was now - just as she'd done with so many of her students - and she couldn't help but compare him in her mind to Derek Bell.

They were so much alike... and this tournament reminded her so much of Derek's desire to be in the Resistance, the danger of it, the excitement in the boy's face... She wanted to scream at Cedric Diggory to sit down right that instant young man and to stop thinking of signing up for something so dangerous as this Triwizard Tournament, which shouldn't be played - it was too dangerous - too ---

And that was when the Goblet had flashed again.

That was when Minerva McGonagall watched Dumbledore's hand flash out, instinctive, and catch hold of the fourth paper spit forth from the Goblet.

She half stood --

Somehow, she knew in her gut before Dumbledore had even got the paper in his hand exactly whose name would be on it.

How did she know? she wondered later, when it was all over and settled and she was back in her office pacing - how did she know?

Because it was precisely her worst fear.

"Harry Potter?" Dumbledore said, the name tilting into a question on his voice.

McGonagall let out a strangled breath, her hands covering her mouth. 

She watched in a daze as Harry got to his feet - looking so very much like his father as he stumbled on his robe, as he made his way up to the top of the Hall, wobbly, his green eyes wide with fear as he looked at Dumbledore for direction.

Dumbledore stared at Harry, but offered no words, no gesture of reassurance...

McGonagall started to move but Dumbledore shook his head as Harry walked, wobbly on his feet, and disappeared through the door.

"Absolutely not Albus!" McGonagall shouted the moment the door had closed. "Absolutely not!" But there was an explosive amount of noise happening then, too. The Gryffindors had just reacted - all screaming with joy and excitement - all except for Ron and Hermione, who looked dumbfounded and lost as they stared after Harry, that is. And there was Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, shouting in anger and Severus Snape had launched to his feet, eyes darting about the room, his jaw set as he slammed his hands onto the table... But McGonagall rounded the table as quickly as her feet could carry her, rushing to Dumbledore. "Yeh cannae let this happen, Albus!" she shouted as she reached Dumbledore. She felt Snape coming right at her heels, "Yeh cannae expect him --"

"Absolutely... absurd..." Severus was hissing, "That boy is not equipped to be in the Tournament, we both know that he is not quick enough with his wand and his skills are not what they would need to be to even begin to compete against --"

"-- only a BOY Albus --"

"-- always breaking the rules, arrogant like his father, he should be disqualified based purely on that alone --"

"-- I won't stand by and watch him be killed!" they both shouted at the same time, and they both looked at one another in surprise.

Dumbledore's face was benign. "Let us go and speak to the boy ourselves, Minerva... Severus..." he said, by way of answering them, "Let us go and see what he has to say for himself."

"He'll deny putting his name into the Goblet, of course," Snape said.

"But no doubt, Severus, you'll be able to use your old skill to see to it that the boy is not lying when we question him?"

Severus's face burned. "Not on Harry Potter," he said coldly.

"Albus, it doesn't matter who put the boy's name in the Goblet, it matters only that it came out of it and he cannae possibly be expected to compete! He's but only in his fourth year!" McGonagall cut across.

Dumbledore led the way across the Great Hall to the door to the little side room, followed by McGongall and Snape alike as he pushed open the door. He could hear Madame Maxime behind him, and Igor Karkaroff as well, bellowing their complaints as the three of them burst through the door.

Dumbledore moved swiftly across the room, directly up to Harry, who stared up at him with wide, worried eyes... eyes that reminded Albus Dumbledore of Halloween night in 1981, standing on Privet Drive in the wee hours of the morning going into the first of November, with McGonagall at his side, just as she was now. Then, though, the eyes that stared up at him had been in the little round face of a baby, a baby whose mum and dad were gone from the earth forever, who stared at Dumbledore with questions that no baby should ever have to ask... Well, now those eyes were in a teenage boy... asking questions that no boy should have to ask, either.

Will you make things okay?

Dumbledore lay his hand on Harry Potter's shoulder.

"Did you put your name in to the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" he asked, calmly.

"No," Harry said, his voice quivered slightly.

Viktor, Cedric, and Fleur looked at the boy, held firm by Dumbledore's stare, the Hogwarts headmaster's hand steady on the fourth year boy's shoulder.

Fleur looked at Madame Maxime, her eyes wide with worry. Harry seemed like a very, very small boy to her at that moment - and she found herself imagining her little sister, Gabrielle, in his place.

Cedric stared at Harry, remembering what it was like to be a fourth year, and how scared he might've been if he was in that position. He was thinking, too, that, despite what a big name Harry Potter was in the wizarding world, it belonged to an actual boy, a boy who was still growing, who was just a kid...

Viktor set his jaw, knowing too well what it meant to be made - quite against your wishes - to be a champion in the Triwizard Tournament because he, too, had watched his name come up out of the Goblet of Fire that night and he, too, had stood in this room and tried not to cry, just as Harry was doing now.

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

"No!" Harry said vehemently. He stared up at Dumbledore with wide, pleading eyes.

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

Severus Snape was shaking his head, lip curling - whether at Harry or at Maxime, it was hard to tell.

"He could not have crossed the Age Line!" said Professor McGonagall defensively, her voice sharp. "I am sure that we are all agreed on that --"

"Dumbly-dorr must 'ave made a mistake wiz ze line."

"It is possible, of course," Dumbledore murmured humbly.

"Dumbledore!" McGonagall rounded on him, "You know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!" Her face was red with anger, "Really! What nonsense!"

"Mr. Crouch... Mr. Bagman," said Karkaroff, "You are our objective judges. Surely you will agree this is most irregular!"

Mr. Crouch frowned. "We must follow the rules," he said, "And the rules clearly state --"

"Rules!" McGonagall hissed, her eyes flashing to Mr. Crouch.

"-- those whose name come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."

"He's not even old enough to have consented!" McGonagall shouted. "His guardians didn't consent - surely if we contacted --"

Dumbledore shook his head at her quickly, cutting her off.

McGonagall's jaw set, her eyes filled with the threat of tears.

"Barty knows the rule book back to front!" said Bagman jovially, as though the matter were settled entirely.

More explosive reactions from Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff echoed about the room. Harry felt like he was drowning in a sea of people who were taller and more impressive than him, and he was cowering away from the shouting and yelling. Harry felt himself slowly growing smaller... and smaller... and smaller... as words like binding magical contract and hoping Potter is going to die for it floating through his ears as the adults argued...

Harry felt like the world was vignetted, closing in to darkness all around him and words came as though he were underwater or else hearing them from very far away.

"The first task is designed to test your daring," Mr. Crouch's voice echoed, "So we are not going to tell you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard... very important... and so the first task will be on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and a 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 only with their wands..."

Harry left the Great Hall, numb, Cedric Diggory by his side, watched by the hollow, black stares of the jagged-mouthed jack-o-lanterns still hanging over the tables. In the entrance hall, they paused at the foot of the marble staircase, Harry reluctant to go on alone through the rest of the castle, half sure that something or someone would jump out at him at any moment.

Cedric looked over at Harry, torches flickering over their faces. "So... tell me..." he said, "How did you get your name in?"

Harry shook his head. "I - I didn't," he stammered. "I didn't put it in... I was telling the truth." His eyes looked at Cedric, begging him to understand... to believe.

"Ah," Cedric murmured, "Okay."

Cedric wasn't sure what to believe. But he knew a few things - first, he knew that Harry was the last person he wanted to compete against in the tournament. Already his father thought highly of Harry, already Cedric had something to live up to against Harry, but how was he, Cedric, supposed to battle against Harry Potter in good conscience?

Harry was just a boy - a child thrown, supposedly unwillingly, into a ring with adults, with fully trained wizards... It wasn't fair. Whoever won the Triwizard Tournament now would have to do so knowing they'd triumphed over... a child?

So much for glory.

Cedric felt suddenly exhausted.

"Well... see you, then," he murmured.

Harry nodded.

Cedric turned and walked away, heading down the stone stairs that led into the halls below. The other Hufflepuffs were sure to be waiting for him, sure to be ready to celebrate and Cedric wasn't as sure that he should be celebrating anymore.

Harry stood silent at the foot of the stairs for several seconds.

His eyes travelled to the window high over the wood doors that led out to the grounds of the school and, though the glass, he could see the waning moon, and his heart ached.

Ron sat in the dormitory, picking at the quilt on his bed, his legs crossed and tucked against himself so his chin rested on his knees. He heard it when Harry came back to the dormitory, there was a loud shout of excitement - even louder than the Gryffindor common room had been before Harry's return - and he frowned all the harder as the sounds of celebration carried from the room below. He pictured Harry sitting on the shoulders of the other Gryffindors, being touted about like a grand tzar, a big hurrah, the glimmering hope of Gryffindor tower that Harry always, always, always got to be. He scowled. 

Ron didn't know what, exactly, it was that he was feeling. He didn't like it, but he also couldn't stop it. It was like a dragon gnawing on his stomach and making him angry and hurt at the same time. 

Charlie would probably tell him what sort of dragon would chew on a boy's stomach if he asked him. And Ron was willing to bet that if he told Percy about how he felt, Percy would give him a thesaurus worth of descriptors and synonyms for how to describe what he felt because Percy knew a hundred billion words. Ginny would just listen and reassure him that what he felt was normal and everyone felt that way sometimes. If he told Bill, Bill would tell him very pragmatically how to get over what he was feeling and the twins - well, Fred and George would nudge him and crack jokes 'til whatever he felt went away.

All his siblings were good at something, stood out in some way. What did he, Ron, have that was different? Nothing, that's what. He was always in the shadow, always the side kick - even to his own best mates. Even to Hermione who thought he was stupid and ate too much and Harry who just was good at bloody EVERYTHING and always getting to do stuff, always getting to be the hero. Like in first year when it was Harry who saved the Philosopher's stone from Professor Vol-Quirrel-mort, or in second year when it was Harry who saved Ginny from the Basilisk. It was Harry who had the coolest godfather in the world, who had famous parents who did amazing things like make up magical maps and play legendary pranks that were still talked about with hushed voices in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. And now it was Harry who would get to play in the Triwizard Tournament - Harry, who had loads of riches in Gringott's already - who would win the thousand galleon prize money and get all the glory and even more fame than he already had. It was Harry who would have all the girls chasing after him, who got to skive off end of term exams and have a great lark of a year. Harry who was being carried about downstairs on the shoulders of all their friends and classmates, who was being celebrated, who ---

The dormitory door opened and Ron looked up from his quilt, his stomach and attitude sour.

Harry was stumbling in, his hair tousled. He slammed the door behind him and fought to get a Gryffindor banner that had been knotted about his neck like a cape. 

"Where've you been?" Harry asked, attitude in his voice, as though he was the one who had been betrayed, as though he was the one that wasn't in on the secret.

Ron wanted to say sitting right here, being forgotten about as usual, but he bit back the words. Instead, Ron forced a grin because he knew that's what he was supposed to do. Knew that's what Harry expected him to do - to be happy for him, to be glad that Harry had somehow found some way to slip his name into that stupid Goblet.

"Oh hello," Ron said. "So." He paused, the word bitter in his mouth. "Congratulations."

"What d'you mean congratulations?" Harry demanded.

"Well... no one else got across the Age Line," said Ron, shrugging, "Not even Fred and George. And if anyone was going to solve that bit, it was them." They'd tried so hard at it, he was genuinely surprised that the twins hadn't figured it out. So Harry must've done something that even those two hadn't thought up or couldn't achieve on their own. "What did you use -- the Invisibility Cloak?"

"The Invisibility Cloak wouldn't have got me over that line," Harry said slowly, as though talking to a stupid person. Because of course he thought Ron was stupid, too. Because he, Harry, was sooo bloody smart for having come up with how to outsmart Dumbledore's stupid Age Line spell. Of course that was it. Ron was too thick to understand how Harry had done it, that was it.

"Oh, right," said Ron. "I mean, I thought you might've told me if it was the Cloak... because it would've covered both of us, wouldn't it? We could've both put our names in? But you found another way did you? Well... good for you."

Harry stared at Ron. "Listen, I didn't put my name in that goblet. Someone else must've done it."

Ron scoffed and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah? And what would they have done that for?" he asked.

"I dunno!" Harry said in a frustrated tone.

Dunno because he couldn't think of anything, more like. Dunno because he couldn't come up with a single reason that would make sense. Everyone in that school had been just dying to put their own name in, to be the one chosen, so of course someone who could actually get over the line would waste their chances by putting in Harry's name, of course, made perfect sense, that did. Ron rolled his eyes.

"It's okay, you know," he said, "You can tell me the truth, Harry."

"I didn't --"

Ron shook his head, "Even if you didn't want everyone else to know, fine, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie. Especially to me. I mean, you didn't get in trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady's, that Violet, she's already told us all Dumbledore's letting you enter --"

"Letting me?" Harry exclaimed.

"A thousand galleons prize money, eh?  And you don't have to do your end-of-year tests either..."

"I didn't put my name in that goblet!" Harry yelled.

"Yeah, okay," Ron said and he stared at Harry; his eyes were cold. He couldn't believe Harry was so blatantly lying to him - to him, Ron, his supposed best friend! Clearly he wasn't even worth telling the truth to, even without any consequences. It wasn't like Ron was going to go 'round and tattle on him and what was done was done, wasn't it? Not like Ron would be another contender for Harry to go against if he told him how he'd done it now. The champions were chosen, Ron couldn't exactly go put his name in the Cup anymore, even if he did know how to do it. "I'm not stupid, you know!" 

"You're doing a really good impression of it!" Harry snapped meanly.

Ron felt sick. He felt like every nasty thing he'd ever thought about himself was confirmed in that moment as Harry glared at him. 

"Oh. Yeah?" Ron said, and he could hear the shake in his voice. He thought of a thousand horrible things he could say about Harry - all the secret, awful things that Harry had ever told him about the things he felt most insecure about. He thought about how he could break Harry's heart into a million pieces if he wanted to, lob him off right at the knees if he wanted to... but Ron found he didn't really want to hurt Harry. 

He just wanted Harry to go away. 

Ron reached for the curtains 'round his bed posts. "You want to get to bed, Harry," he said edgily, "I expect you'll need to be up early tomorrow for a photo-call or - or something."

Quickly, he wrenched the curtains shut, leaving Harry out and closing himself in, where he could be dumb and alone.

Harry got into bed, too, climbed up and closed the curtains. He lay on his stomach, his arm hung over the side of the bed, his fingers pressing into the carving on the frame of the bed.

He could imagine they were his father's etchings, even if they weren't.

He closed his eyes, imagining his father.

"Dad?" he whispered into his pillow, too quiet to be heard by anyone else in the room, his eyes were full of tears and he stared at the curtain through the blur of unshed tears. "Dad I'm scared, I dunno what to do, I wish you were here." His stomach ached and he hugged his knees to his chest, his fingers leaving the etchings to try desperately to hold himself together before he fell apart. "Daddy?" he begged the universe, "I - I'm scared - I wish you were here..." and the levee holding back his tears shattered to a million pieces and he buried his face into the pillow and cried himself to sleep.