Halloween night had always been a strange night for Harry.
Ron was excited and babbling on about the Goblet of Fire and whose name would be selected for Champions. He had decided that Krum was a given - anyone else from the Durmstrang lot would be shocking - but was torn between a tall girl named Dominique and a heavy set lad called Leonardo that were rumored to be the top picks of Beauxbatons. The Hogwarts champion had him flummoxed, though.
"I mean, I know I want Angelina to be picked, she'd be brilliant. But Warrington and Diggory both put their names in as well. It can't be a Slytherin we have for champion, it just can't! Who else do we know put their names in?" Ron was saying excitedly in the dormitory.
"I heard Roger Davies was thinkin' on it, but dunno if he actually's done it," Seamus answered from his desk, where he sat, distracted from writing his paper for History of Magic. He rubbed his chin with his quill. "Dunno who else has put their names forth."
"It's got to be Johnson," said Ron, "It just has to be!"
"Diggory wouldn't be horrible to have as ours," spoke up Neville Longbottom, who was watering a row of plants he'd dug up from the grounds and put into an extra pot he'd gotten from Professor Sprout at one of their last lessons. "He's at least nice and if it can't be Angelina, then I hope it's him."
"Certainly over Warrington any day," Dean Thomas said, "Harry, what do you think?"
"Harry?" Ron asked, when Harry didn't answer Dean.
But Harry was laying on his back, staring up at the canopy of his four poster, absently running his fingers over a spot where someone had carved into the wood of the bed frame.
"Harry?" Ron tried again.
"Sorry?" Harry said, stirring from the thoughts stirring about in his mind.
"Angelina or Cedric? Who d'you reckon?"
"Angelina," Harry said automatically, since he knew her well from Quidditch.
"Well that settles it, then," Seamus said, "It ought to be Angelina!"
Harry tried to pay attention to the rest of the conversation as Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville went on, listing off reasons why Angelina was better than Diggory, Warrington, or Davies (if he'd ended up entering), but Harry had a hard go of it.
After all, it was the anniversary of when his parents had died.
Halloween night had always been a strange night for Harry. Even when he was small it had been a night of mixed frustration and excitement. He would go trick-or-treating 'round Privet Drive and the other roads 'round Magnolia Crescent each year, carrying a plastic pumpkin alongside Dudley Dursley. Harry rarely had ever had anything better for a costume than an old pillowcase he cut holes into make himself a ghost unless Dudley needed him to play the part of a side kick to his own costume. Then whenever they got home, Dudley got to go through both pumpkins and take out the candies he wanted and sort the ones he didn't into Harry's bucket so that Harry ended up mostly with packs of sour love hearts, everton mints, flying saucers, fried egg gummies, and any other candies Dudley deemed unworthy. Harry was grateful even for those sorts of candies during times when Aunt Petunia had chosen to put Dudley on a diet of some sort or another, however, like in Summer when they'd gone through ages of nothing but the grapefruit that Harry had turned out to be allergic to...
Before his eleventh birthday, he hadn't been sure why Halloween felt heavy and dark to him.
It wasn't until after - after he had found out his parents hadn't died in a car crash but that they'd been murdered on Halloween - that the depression he felt on Halloween made sense. He'd never had a date before Hagrid told him the whole story. But he'd somehow known - as though the memory of his parents' death had solidified itself in Harry so many years ago, and he'd felt the loss of them even before it had been realized.
This was the fourth Halloween he would be spending at Hogwarts, the fourth one he had known the truth for, and while he really wanted to forget what he knew about the holiday and enjoy the decorations and the feast and all the fun and excitement surrounding the Triwizard Tournament like the other kids, Harry couldn't shake the echo in his head that today was a day celebrated, not only because of the ancient tradition of Halloween, but also had always been doubly celebrated many witches and wizards because his parents were dead - the defeat and death of Lord Voldemort.
There was a tradition to shoot of sparks on the morning of November 1, Harry had learned from Hermione, to commemorate the news that Voldemort was done for...
As he followed Ron and Hermione downstairs, Harry wondered what Sirius and Remus were doing for Halloween, if they were thinking about Lily and James, too, or if they were celebrating like the others. He wondered where Sirius was hiding now that he was back in the country, too, and wished he could talk to his godfather right then instead of going to the feast.
It was, after all, the second feast in as many days and he wasn't really all that hungry because he'd eaten a great deal at lunch when they'd sat down and found corned beef sandwiches. Ron hated corned beef sandwiches - it was one of the things Molly Weasley made most often at home, but Harry, who had always loved Molly's sandwiches because she made them with love. If he had any way to talk with Sirius, he would've skipped the feast altogether. After all, surely Ron and the other boys would fill him in on whose names came out of the Goblet if he skivved off... But there wasn't any way and so there he was, taking his seat at Gryffindor table.
Harry took a deep breath, cleared his thoughts, and forced himself to focus on the excitement at hand.
Despite the nagging of the anniversary, Harry found himself easily caught up once he paid attention to everything going on. The energy in the room was near to tangible it was so thick with anticipation and excitement. Especially as the dinner neared it's end and the students in the room started getting antsy. Fred and George took it in turns to stand up to try and see if Dumbledore had finished eating, and there was a buzz of conversation that slowly picked up more and more as everyone finished their eating and turned to look at the old wooden Goblet with it's strange blue-white light.
When at last Albus Dumbledore stood up, the room went completely, eerily silent, every eye on the headmaster.
At Hufflepuff, Herbert Fleet elbowed Cedric Diggory, who had been excitedly talking to Michael McManus, Malcolm Pearce, and Ernie McMillan about training with Oliver Kent.
At the Ravenclaw table, the cluster of Beauxbatons students sat at attention.
At Slytherin, Aleksander glanced at Viktor with an expression of worry that Viktor did not see for he stared blankly at the golden place setting before himself, trying to curb the frustration that sourced through his veins. Under the table, Viktor's hands clenched-and-released in and out of fists against his knees and he barely touched the dinner on the plate.
"Well the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore announced, glancing into the fire and walking 'round the short table that the cup stood upon. He smiled about the Great Hall at the expectant faces that were turned toward him. "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, where they shall receive their first instructions." Dumbledore waved his palm to the door behind the staff that led to the small room where McGonagall usually took the first years before entering for the Sorting at the start of term.
Viktor Krum looked up to see where Dumbledore was indicating so he knew where he would be going in a moment, and immediately looked back down before he could see any of the stares and glares of the other Durmstrang students.
At the staff table, Professor Moody took out his flask and took a long swig of whatever was inside, keeping a sharp eye on the Goblet of Fire as the light within it glowed brighter.
Dumbledore waved his wand, dimming the candle lights that floated over the tables, the garish grins of the carved pumpkins going dark. The whole Hall was plunged into semi darkness so that the Goblet's glow seemed to fill the room, turning it pale blue-white as tendrils of the blue flames grew, the burning getting more and more intense.... until suddenly.... the blue-white light turned gold and red and there was a hissing, a pop and a crackle and with a great flash of light, a tongue of the flame had shot out, high into the air above the Goblet, and a charred bit of parchment fluttered out of it, shivering as it fell through the air and landed gracefully in Dumbledore's outstretched hand.
It seemed as though nobody in the room could breathe for a moment and Hermione fidgeted in her seat, biting her lower lip nervously.
Dumbledore's voice was strong and clear as he read out, "The champion for Durmstrang will be... Viktor Krum."
Viktor was on his feet before Dumbledore had even finished the sentence. It read like a sentence, too, a death sentence, and he slouched slowly forward. He could feel every single eye in the room had turned to look at him. There was no sound of shock or surprise, though a good deal of the Hogwarts lot cheered, Viktor could see as he walked the length of the Slytherin table that none of the Durmstrang boys were clapping.
For a fleeting moment, he looked at Aleksander, and Aleksander stared back at him, a grave expression on his face. His heart beat harder at the look that Aleksander was giving him and he held the other boy's gaze as long as he could until he'd passed him and was walking along the staff table.
"Bravo, Viktor! I knew you had it in you!" Igor Karkaroff yelled boldy and Viktor felt like turning and shouting at Karkaroff, felt like asking the headmaster why the big show of it when they all knew Viktor had been the one Karkaroff had chosen from the very start, and the only real contender he'd brought along? Why the big show of surprise and pride as if he'd ever had any doubt who his champion would be?
Viktor stepped through the door of the little room and vanished from sight.
Aleksander turned forward and stared at the gold plate before him, biting back the unexpected nervousness he was now feeling for Viktor.
The Goblet released another bright red tendril of flame and another bit of parchment was ejected, flying through the air and Dumbledore caught it once more and turned it in his grasp, looking over the writing before announcing, "The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!"
A great rush of reaction came from the Ravenclaw table, where Fleur and the other Beauxbatons contenders sat. One girl, the one called Dominique, had burst into tears and lay her head against the table sobbing as Fleur stood up, the white-blonde golden sheet of her hair fluttering behind her as she walked nervously at first, then slowly gaining confidence and boldness as it occurred to her that she'd been chosen. Her chin was held high with pride and confidence as she reached the staff table and Madame Maxime nodded with approval at the girl.
Fleur Delacour pushed her way into the side room to find Viktor Krum standing by the fireplace. He turned to look at her when she came in, quickly wiping what looked like they may have been tears from his eyes. She raised an eyebrow at him and stood on the opposite end of the mantel from him. He looked her over head to foot for a moment, frowned at her, and turned his brooding face away, back toward the fire.
"And why do you look at me like zat?" Fleur asked, "Do you think zat I am weak compared to you because I am a girl?"
"No," Viktor replied, and he didn't elaborate any further.
In the Great Hall, a third tongue of flame had erupted from the Goblet and Dumbledore again caught the parchment. Every voice in the room was silent, every Hogwarts students' breath held with anticipation.
"The Hogwarts champion," Dumbledore said, drawing out the moment, "is... Cedric Diggory."
The Hufflepuff table erupted with noise. Everyone there leaped at Cedric, shouting, cheering, chanting his name, clapping him on the back. Herbert jumped clean up into Cedric's arms and Cedric laughed as his best mate hugged him 'round the neck and Michael and Malcolm climbed up onto their seats, followed by Herbert and the other Quidditch players on the Hufflepuff team. "CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN!" shouted Herbert, "THE SHIP HAS WEATHERE'D EVERY TACK, THE PRIZE WE SOUGHT IS WON!"
Cedric laughed as he half jogged to the front of the room to the sound of thunderous applause from all the tables. He passed Ravenclaw and caught Roger Davies eyes. Davies was one of the few who were only half-heartedly clapping, a look of nervousness on his face. But Cedric was far too excited to let that trouble him much as he went and ducked through the door to the small room.
He didn't feel anything except jubilant until he'd stepped through the door of the little room and Viktor Krum looked up from the fireplace. Krum's eyes landed on Cedric and he stared coldly at him. "Of course it is you," he muttered, shaking his head and cursing under his breath, turning away.
Fleur looked from Cedric to Viktor. "I take it zat you two have met before?" she asked, sensing the tension.
"Just this afternoon on the quidditch pitch," Cedric answered Fleur.
"He has stolen my trainer," Viktor said.
"Stolen your trainer?" Fleur asked, confused. She looked down at Viktor's feet as though expecting him to have only one shoe on or something.
"I haven't stolen your trainer!" Cedric said, defensive. "You'd sacked him! He isn't your trainer anymore. If you wanted him to stay on working with you so badly, maybe you shouldn't have let him go."
"I had no choice. I did not sack him! My father did," Viktor snapped.
Fleur looked between the two of them, eyebrows raised.
Suddenly the door opened and a little boy walked in, shaky and nervous, his eyes wide and his face pale.
"What is it?" she asked. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"
"Harry?" said Cedric, recognizing him. Then, seeing the expression of devestated shock that filled Harry's face, Cedric's brows came together with concern - completely forgetting about the argument he'd been in the middle of. "Harry? What's the matter?"
"I --" Harry's voice was a breath, his green eyes bright with fear, "My name --"
Suddenly the door busted open and Ludo Bagman came in, dressed in his bright yellow and black Wasps jumper, his face red with excitement as he reached for Harry's arm, pulling him closer to where the other three stood. "Extraordinary!" he muttered, grinning garishly at Harry. "Gentleman... Lady... May I introduce -- incredible though it may seem -- the fourth Triwizard champion?"
"Quatre champions!" Fleur exclaimed, looking at Harry. Viktor Krum stood upright, the anger at Cedric melting away as apprehension filled him. Cedric Diggory's eyes widened as he looked Harry over. Fleur Delacour laughed, "Oh vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."
"Joke?" Bagman repeated, chuckling jovially, he shook his head, "No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"
Cedric looked bewildered now and Krum's eyes came together with concern. Fleur frowned. "But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously. "'E cannoy compete! 'E is too young!" Her voice was defensive and she took a step toward Harry, as though she were about to shield him herself if she had to.
"Well... it is amazing," said Bagman, smiling at Harry wildly as he rubbed his chin with glee, "But as you know the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure --"
"A well needed one!" Cedric chimed in. "Have you read some of the tragedies of prior tournaments?" The image of that poor boy he'd seen in the pages of the book that Roger Davies had pulled from the library went through Cedric's mind then and he felt his stomach twist as he stared at Harry Potter.
"I don't think there's any ducking out at this stage... It's down to the rules, you're obliged.... Harry will just have to do his best," Bagman was saying.
"Do his best?" Viktor snorted. "What year is he? How old are you?" he demanded.
But before Harry could say anything, the door behind them opened once again and a large group of people came in, but Harry had eyes only for Dumbledore, who hurried across the room, an expression of concern etched into lines of his face as he reached out a hand and took Harry by the shoulder, pulling him away from Ludo Bagman's grip. McGonagall was a flurry of panic and stepped 'round Harry's other side, blocking Bagman off from grabbing hold of him again. Harry was vaguely aware of Severus Snape staring at him, dark eyes wide as well behind the curtain of hair that fell before him... Snape looked 'round the room from one person to the next, his jaw set in a look of wild anger and suspicion.
A lot of shouting was going on, but Dumbledore looked into Harry's eyes as Madame Maxime and Karkaroff shouted and yelled, as Fleur Delacour cried out, "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"
"C'est impossible!" Maxime shouted. "What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?!"
"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore!"
"'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions! It is most injust!"
"Dumbledore explain!" Karkaroff shouted.
"It is no one's fault but Potter's Karkaroff," Snape's voice was sneering and low.
But Dumbledore held up a palm and said firmly, "Thank you, Severus," firmly cutting off the potions master. His eyes never once left Harry's through the entire exchange.
Harry looked up at him, dizzy with nerves, his eyes very, very dangerously close to crying, his breath catching in his throat as he panicked... Dumbledore's expression behind the half moon glasses was one of gentle concern. Harry's breath shook, and he felt Minerva McGonagall's hand clasp his shoulder and gently squeeze him reassuringly as Harry blinked, trying to hold in the fear and confusion that was utterly flooding him.
"Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" Dumbledore asked calmly, his voice low, eyes fixed on Harry's. The tone of his voice was gentle, soothing, and a sort of... ease... fell over the room so that some of the tension seemed to evaporate, and Harry felt like he might just burst into tears right on the spot.
And he now he wished more than ever that he hadn't come downstairs to the feast.
Now he wished more than ever that he could talk to Sirius.