Chapter 298. The Goblet of Fire
Dusk settled, and the Hallowe'en Feast began right on time.
The Goblet of Fire was carried back from the Entrance Hall to the centre of the Great Hall.
The food was as lavish as ever—roast turkey sizzling with fat, pumpkin pie giving off a tempting sweetness—but clearly no one had the heart for eating; everyone wanted to clear their plates as quickly as possible.
Sitting at the staff table, Adrian Wesson sensed a restless, jittery mood hanging over the Hall.
Everyone was waiting for Dumbledore to announce the final list of Champions.
At last, the plates stopped refilling, the clink and clatter of cutlery faded, and the Hall fell completely silent.
With every eye upon him, Dumbledore slowly rose, lifted both hands, and announced:
"Clearly you can't wait. I think the Goblet is about to choose the Champions it favours."
"When the champions' names are announced, please step forward a few paces and then go through that door."
He pointed to a door behind the staff table and went on, "You will receive preliminary instructions there."
Dumbledore had always excelled at setting the mood.
No sooner had he finished speaking than he gave his wand a light flick; most of the lights in the Great Hall went out, leaving only the faint glow from the jack-o'-lanterns on the tables.
Having done this, Dumbledore strolled unhurriedly to the Goblet of Fire.
"One minute," he said.
Every gaze fixed upon the Goblet, and silent counting began.
In that moment, Wesson set the Tree of Wisdom to observing those present.
Just as he expected.
Fleur, Krum, and Cedric all bore the status "Contract: Goblet of Fire."
That made perfect sense.
However, when his sight turned to Harry, Wesson's brow furrowed.
Harry, too, bore the same contract status.
Which meant Harry was on the shortlist of potential Champions.
The problem was, although in the original course of events Harry was also chosen by the Goblet as the fourth Champion, that had only happened thanks to the underhanded work of Bartemius Crouch Jr.
After all this time in close contact, Wesson could now be certain Moody had not been replaced by Bartemius Crouch Jr.
So the question was: who had meddled with it?
As for the idea that Harry had entered purely on his own ability—Wesson had never entertained that from the start.
While Wesson pondered, the minute slipped by.
The flames in the Goblet shifted from blue to red, as though stirred by some invisible force.
Suddenly, the Goblet belched a dazzling tongue of fire, and a charred scrap of parchment shot into the air—"The Durmstrang champion," Dumbledore caught it neatly and read in a ringing voice, "Viktor Krum!"
Thunderous applause erupted. Krum, expressionless, stood and strode towards the staff table under everyone's gaze, disappearing through the door.
It fit everyone's expectations; among Durmstrang's representatives, none was more suitable, whether in reputation or skill.
Next, the Goblet surged again, and a second slip of parchment flew out. "The Beauxbatons champion," Dumbledore unfolded it, "Fleur Delacour!"
The silver-haired girl rose with grace, dipped her head in a proud nod to the hall, and, like Krum, entered the antechamber.
"All within expectations, isn't it?" Roskin murmured to Wesson, a hint of pride on his face.
"Ah, yes," Wesson replied perfunctorily.
He already knew the answers.
The atmosphere in the Hall grew even tauter. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the last name—the Hogwarts champion.
The Goblet's flames suddenly contracted, then swelled fiercely, and a third scrap of parchment was spat out.
"The Hogwarts champion—Cedric Diggory!" Dumbledore proclaimed at the top of his voice.
The Hufflepuff table exploded into deafening cheers. Cedric rose with easy poise, leaning to smile at those around him.
"Well done!" Ernie clapped furiously at his side.
Wesson nodded with a smile as well.
Cedric, as Hogwarts's Champion, was thoroughly deserving.
After Cedric entered the antechamber, the cheering and applause went on for quite some time before dying down.
At the same time, the restless tension in the Hall evaporated at once.
"Excellent," Dumbledore announced cheerfully. "All three champions have been chosen. Let's hope they prepare well for the coming tasks—they are extremely dangerous. As for the rest of us, including the visiting students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, we can contribute greatly to this event by cheering our champions on…"
This was a result everyone could accept.
After all, the three chosen were the outstanding students of their respective schools.
But Wesson knew it wasn't over yet, because the Goblet-of-Fire contract status on Harry had not faded.
Sure enough, almost the moment Dumbledore finished, the Goblet stirred again.
Just like the first three times, the flames began to churn and spewed out a fourth scrap of parchment, drifting down as if borne by an unseen hand to land before Dumbledore.
The Hall fell instantly dead silent; every eye was locked on the slip the Goblet had spat out.
Dumbledore seemed to hesitate for the briefest instant, then, almost reflexively, reached out and caught the parchment, before—
"Harry Potter!"
His voice was not loud, yet it cracked like thunder across the Hall.
In an instant, an uproar broke out.
So it is… Wesson sighed.
Who did it?
Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Harry, upon hearing his own name, looked around blankly.
"Wait!" he said loudly to those beside him. "We already have a champion, don't we?"
The Gryffindor students around him were just as at a loss, staring at Harry, which left him unsure, for a moment, what on earth he should do.
Thankfully, Dumbledore's voice sounded again.
"Harry Potter," he called once more. "Go to the antechamber."
Hearing this, Harry had no choice but to stand up, stiffly.
Before leaving, he whispered to Hermione and Ron beside him, "I didn't put my name in. I don't know what's going on—"
"Off you go," Hermione said with a crinkly-eyed smile. "We'll talk when you get back."
Harry headed for the door behind the staff table, his steps feeling oddly light and unreal.
He knew Hermione had misunderstood—she must think he had managed to fool the Age Line.
But there was no time to explain now.
Harry felt every gaze in the Hall converge on him—shock, suspicion, envy, even anger.
"Interesting," Roskin said in surprise. "Two champions for Hogwarts? That hardly seems fair."
"I agree." Wesson nodded helplessly.
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