"HARRY DID YOU PUT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE?"
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Dumbledore scans the hall in search of... well, me. Within milliseconds the silent hall fills with hushed tones and the topic of conversation, I can only assume, being myself.
Speaking of myself, I was frozen in place. I couldn't find it in myself to move even if I'd wanted to, though I most definitely did not want to. A sudden nausea comes over me, I might be about to lose my lunch. The undeniable feeling of fear courses through my veins but most of all, I'm confused.
Why, why is it me? Why is it always me?
How was this even possible, I certainly hadn't submitted my name into that goblet, I by no means wanted it in there. Surely they won't make me participate. They won't. Right? No, they can't, there are already three champions all of whom are ready, more importantly willing to partake in this stupid tournament.
I feel a tight grasp on my arm causing me to once again become aware of my surroundings. Immediately conscious of the glares and stares sent in my direction but still, I refuse to move.
"HARRY POTTER!"
The one word to describe Dumbledore's current state, was mad. There was no better word. I'd never seen him so angry. Eyes widened, veins sticking out of his neck, trembling hands.
All the more reason to stay in my place and pretend that I hadn't heard him.
"Go on, Harry," Hermione appears beside me, speaking almost silently. She loses her patience quickly her arms suddenly on my shoulders practically lifting me out of my seat. "Harry, for goodness sake!"
"Go on, Harry," I look beside me trying to read the expression on (y/n)'s face but only for about a second before Hermione really does pull me out of my seat pushing me towards the center of the hall where I slowly make my way towards the steaming headmaster.
There were a few hundred sets of eyes staring into my soul but Dumbledore's stony glare was the worst, his eyes refusing to leave mine as I approach him. Once I do reach him, he shoves the small piece of parchment towards me. I read it. Once, twice, three times. I read and reread it over and over and over again hoping that by doing so my name would disappear. It didn't.
Dumbledore doesn't offer his hand for me to shake but I decide not to wait around any longer. Unsure of what else to do, I turn away from him and head in the direction of where the other champions went.
"He's a cheat!"
"He's not even seventeen yet!"
I take an interest in the floor refusing to meet eyes with anyone as I attempt to pass by the professors. I then feel a hand on my shoulder causing me to stop walking and look up to see professor McGonagal stare down at me sympathetically. As much as I wanted to show my appreciation to her, I couldn't smile back but at least someone knows that I didn't submit my name.
I'm escorted into a room I'd never been in before. The room was protected by two large gates which swung open as I arrive at the entrance and I cautiously enter the room. The sound of ticking clocks and miscellaneous instruments wizzing fills my ears. Large tables trophy cases stacked with trophies, ribbons, all sorts of awards were scattered around the room.
Three figures emerge from around the corner. Fleur, Viktor, and Cedric look at me with a clear confusion but before I was able to explain myself-
"It's wrong I tell you!" A heavily accented female's voice yells from only a few feet away.
I gulp.
The champions look past me curiously. If they'd been in here the whole time, I suppose they don't yet know that I'd been picked as a champion as well.
"You french tart," yells a second voice.
Fleur gasps clearly offended at the insult from the unknown voice.
"Everything is a conspiracy theory with you," argues the french woman.
I turn overwhelmed at the sight of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons professors storming into the room as they continue to yell vile comments at one another. Following behind them was Barty Crouch, Snape, McGonagal, Mad-eye but leading the pack was none other than Dumbledore.
"Harry," he hisses as he rushes down the stairs in my direction. "HARRY DID YOU PUT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE?"
His hands grip my shoulders tightly as he approaches me and pushes me back until I hit a display table roughly, the force of doing so knocking over several trophies all of which making loud clanking noises as they land on the floor.
"No, sir!" I object quickly.
"Did you ask one of the older students to do it for you?"
"No sir!" I respond again struggling under his rough grip.
After what felt like a lifetime he loosens his grip and questions me a third time, less angry now. "You're absolutely sure?"
"Yes. Yes, sir."
The giant headmistress frustratedly throws one of her hands up accidentally smacking one of the ceiling lamps causing it to swing back and fourth. She steps further into the room her narrowed eyes never leaving mine. Just the sight of her has me cowering against the table I was still up against.
"But of course he is lying."
"The hell he is!"I turn my head surprised at the sudden outburst from Moody. "The goblet of fire is an exceptionally powerful magical object. Only an exceptionally powerful Confundus Charm could have hoodwinked it. Magic way beyond the talents of a fourth year."
I was confused; I didn't get the impression that Moody had taken a liking to me. I was not expecting him to stand up for me, I was grateful of course. However, as thankful as I was, I was still pretty pissed at him. He had nearly killed my girlfriend for godric's sake.
"You seem to have given this a fair bit of thought, Mad-Eye," Igor says nearing the large man.
Such bravery and stupidity this man possesses.
"It was once my job to think as dark as dark wizards do, Karkaroff," Moody announces before turning to the man and bringing his voice down before finishing his sentence. "Perhaps you remember."
Karkaroff had nothing to say in response.
Dumbledore pushes past the two irately. "That doesn't help, Alastor. We leave this to you, Barty."
Good. My fate in Barty's hands.
I'm most definitely not one of his favorite people.
"The rules are absolute... The goblet of fire constitutes a binding magical contract." He turns to ace me. "Mr. Potter has no choice. he is, as if tonight... A triwizard champion."
Every person in the room turns to me as if waiting for a reaction.
I almost laughed. As if I thought I could have a normal school year.
✵
[note(s) from the author] -he said calmly DOBBY SOCK SQUAD
