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Harry stared at the young woman who had just introduced herself as Auror Tonks, taking in several details that didn't quite add up in his mind. The most obvious was her hair—bright pink strands that seemed to be shifting to a more subdued brown even as he watched. He frowned slightly, certain he hadn't seen her pull out a wand or mutter an incantation.
Why would someone change their hair color in the middle of a conversation? Harry wondered. And how is she doing it without magic? Unless... is this some kind of advanced charm I've never heard of?
The second thing that struck him was her age. When Harry pictured Aurors, he imagined people like Mad-Eye Moody—grizzled, battle-scarred veterans with years of experience hunting dark wizards. This woman looked barely older than Percy, maybe eighteen or nineteen at most. Her nervous energy and the way she seemed to be fighting with her own words made her seem even younger.
She looks like she should still be at Hogwarts, not catching dark wizards, Harry thought, though he supposed he was hardly one to talk about age and dangerous situations.
"Hello," Harry said aloud, offering what he hoped was a friendly smile despite his wariness. "I'm Harry Potter, though I suppose you already knew that. What can I do for you?"
Tonks opened her mouth, then closed it again, her hair cycling through another color change—this time to an anxious shade of muddy brown. She seemed to be struggling with how to begin the conversation.
Harry remembered seeing the group of Aurors walking through the castle gates yesterday morning when he'd been with Hermione. Dumbledore had mentioned that the Ministry would be sending someone to examine the Goblet of Fire, though he'd been quick to warn Harry not to get his hopes up about them finding evidence of tampering.
"Are you here to question me?" Harry asked directly, deciding there was no point in dancing around the obvious. "About the tournament, I mean. The Goblet of Fire situation."
"Yes and no," Tonks replied, then immediately winced at her own words. "I mean, sort of, but not exactly—oh, bollocks, I'm making a right mess of this, aren't I?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised by her casual swearing and obvious discomfort. Most adults who wanted to question him put on an official, intimidating facade. This woman seemed more nervous than he was.
Tonks took a step closer to him, clearly trying to regain her composure, but somehow managed to trip over absolutely nothing. Her arms windmilled wildly as she fought to keep her balance, and Harry automatically reached out to steady her.
"Smooth," Harry said dryly, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. "Do they teach that maneuver at Auror training, or is that natural talent?"
Tonks straightened up, her cheeks flushing pink to match her hair. "Ha, very funny," she said, though her laugh sounded forced. "I'll have you know that my clumsiness is a highly developed skill. Takes years to perfect this level of graceful falling."
"Right then," Tonks said, seeming to find her footing both literally and figuratively. "I do need to have a word with you, if that's all right. Official Ministry business and all that."
Harry nodded, already mentally cataloging potential locations for their conversation. "We could find an empty classroom, or maybe head out to the grounds if you prefer. Plenty of places to talk privately around here."
"The grounds sound good," Tonks said quickly, and Harry understood her reasoning immediately. A young woman disappearing into an empty classroom with a fourteen-year-old student would certainly raise eyebrows, regardless of how official her business might be.
As they began walking through the corridors toward the main entrance, Harry became acutely aware of the attention they were drawing. Students turned to stare, whisper, and point—not unusual behavior where Harry was concerned, but today it felt particularly hostile.
"Potter!" came a sneering voice from a group of Hufflepuff third-years. "Where's your crown, Your Majesty?"
A Ravenclaw fourth-year made an exaggerated bowing motion as they passed, while several others snickered behind their hands. But it was the badges that really drove the point home—those damned "Potter Stinks" badges that seemed to have multiplied overnight. Every few steps brought another flash of green and silver, another reminder that most of the school had already decided he was a lying, attention-seeking fraud.
Harry kept his expression carefully neutral, a skill he'd perfected during his years with the Dursleys. Let them think what they wanted—he had bigger problems to worry about than teenage opinions.
"Why are they doing that?" Tonks asked quietly, her voice genuinely confused as she watched a group of Slytherin second-years make rude gestures in Harry's direction.
"Don't mind them," Harry said with a shrug that was more casual than he felt. "Hogwarts students are like this. Quick to judge, quicker to follow the crowd. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last."
Two years ago they thought I was the heir of Slytherin opening the Chamber of Secrets, Harry added silently. Their opinions change faster than the weather.
Tonks looked troubled by his matter-of-fact acceptance of the hostility, but before she could respond, their path was suddenly blocked by six boys wearing a mixture of Slytherin and Hufflepuff uniforms. Harry recognized most of them—Malfoy's usual cronies along with a few older Hufflepuffs who were probably still bitter about Cedric having to share his champion status.
"Well, well," drawled Draco Malfoy, stepping forward with his characteristic smirk firmly in place. "If it isn't our famous fourth champion. Tell me, Potter, have you figured out how you're going to cheat your way through the first task yet?"
Of course it's Malfoy, Harry thought with tired irritation. He's like a bad rash—always showing up when you least want to deal with him.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his voice flat with boredom. He'd had this conversation in various forms so many times over the past few days that he could probably recite both sides from memory.
Before Malfoy could launch into what was undoubtedly a prepared speech about Harry's supposed cheating and inevitable humiliation, Tonks stepped forward. Her posture had completely changed—gone was the clumsy, nervous young woman, replaced by someone who radiated quiet authority.
"Excuse me," she said politely, pulling aside her robes to reveal the official Auror badge pinned to her chest. "Ministry business."
All six boys went pale, taking several steps backward as if Tonks had just revealed a dangerous magical creature instead of a badge. Even Malfoy's usually perfect composure cracked slightly, though he tried to hide it behind bluster.
"Move along," Tonks continued, her voice still pleasant but carrying an unmistakable edge of command. "Unless you'd like to explain to your Head of House why you were interfering with an official Ministry investigation."
The Hufflepuffs immediately began shuffling away, clearly wanting no part of whatever trouble might come from crossing an Auror. But Malfoy, predictably, couldn't resist one last attempt at maintaining his image.
"You should be arresting him," Malfoy said, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. "Everyone knows he entered himself illegally. He's been breaking rules since his first year."
Harry felt his temper spike, but before he could respond with the cutting remark that was already forming on his tongue, his mouth opened and delivered something even better.
"You're absolutely right, Malfoy," Harry said with mock sincerity. "They should definitely arrest me. Right after they get around to arresting your father for his years of supporting Voldemort, of course. But since he's still free despite everyone knowing what he did, I'd say my chances are pretty good."
The color drained from Malfoy's face entirely, replaced by a mottled purple that clashed horribly with his pale hair. For a moment, Harry thought he might actually try to draw his wand right there in the corridor, Auror or no Auror.
Instead, Malfoy settled for the most venomous glare he could manage before turning on his heel and stalking away, his remaining cronies trailing behind him like confused puppies.
Harry watched them go with satisfaction, then turned to find Tonks staring at him with something that might have been impressed surprise.
"Well," she said after a moment, her hair shifting to what looked like an amused shade of purple. "That was... direct."
"Sometimes direct is the only language Malfoy understands," Harry replied with a slight grin. "Though I probably shouldn't have said that in front of a Ministry official. Are you going to arrest me for insulting a Death Eater's son?"
Tonks snorted with laughter, the sound completely at odds with her official Auror bearing. "I think I'll let that one slide. Besides, from what I hear, you weren't exactly wrong about his father."
They resumed walking toward the grounds, and Harry found himself reassessing his initial impression of the young Auror. There was clearly more to her than nervous clumsiness and color-changing hair. The way she'd handled Malfoy and his friends had been quietly masterful—no unnecessary aggression or showing off, just calm authority that had immediately defused the situation.
Maybe she's not as inexperienced as she looks, Harry thought. Or maybe dealing with bullying teenagers is just good practice for handling dark wizards.
"So," Harry said as they pushed through the main doors and stepped out into the crisp October air, "what exactly did you want to talk to me about? I'm assuming it's not just to watch me verbally spar with Draco Malfoy, entertaining as that might be."
Tonks was quiet for a moment, seeming to wrestle with how to begin, instead the two kept walking.
They found a weathered stone bench near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, far enough from the castle to ensure privacy but close enough that they wouldn't freeze to death in the October chill. Harry settled onto one end of the bench, pulling his robes tighter around himself as a particularly sharp gust of wind cut across the grounds.
"Right then," Harry said, turning to face Tonks. "What can I do for you?"
Tonks pulled out a leather-bound notebook that looked official enough to make Harry's stomach clench with familiar anxiety. With a casual wave of her wand, she summoned a quill that floated obediently near her hand before she plucked it from the air.
"Let's start with the basics, shall we?" Tonks said, adopting an exaggerated official tone that was clearly meant to be humorous. "State your full name for the record."
Harry gave her a flat look. "Seriously?"
Tonks chuckled, her hair turning pink and golden, making her look cute. "I know, I know. But I have to include everything in my report. Madam Bones is very particular about proper procedure."
"Right," Harry said dryly. "Do you need my height as well? What about my shoe size? Blood type? Favorite color? We wouldn't want to leave anything out of this comprehensive investigation."
Tonks giggled—an unexpectedly youthful sound that made her seem even younger than her apparent age. "Don't give Lady Amelia any ideas. She's thorough enough as it is." She gestured with her quill. "But seriously, I do need to go through the motions. Official Ministry business and all that."
"Lady Amelia?" Harry repeated, filing the name away.
"Lady Bones, actually," Tonks corrected. "Head of the Magical Law and Enforcment, and currently in charge of this investigation. She wants everything done by the book."
The name Bones did sound familiar to Harry, though he couldn't quite place where he'd heard it before. He filed that mystery away for later consideration and focused on the present.
"Fine," he said with exaggerated resignation. "Harry James Potter, fourteen years old, Gryffindor House, fourth year. There, happy?"
Tonks dutifully scribbled down his response. "Deliriously. Now, let's get to the interesting bit." Her expression became more serious, though she maintained the same conversational tone. "I need you to walk me through everything that happened from the moment Professor Dumbledore revealed the Goblet of Fire in the Great Hall until your name came out of it the following evening. Every detail you can remember."
Harry leaned back against the bench, organizing his thoughts. This was the part he'd been dreading—having to relive those moments when his life had taken yet another sharp turn toward mortal peril.
"Well," he began slowly, "Professor Dumbledore announced the tournament during the feast welcoming the other schools. I was sitting with Hermione..." He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. "And Ron. We were all excited about it at first, especially when Dumbledore explained that it would only be open to students seventeen and older."
Tonks noticed the anger that crept into his voice when he mentioned this Ron's name, but she didn't comment on it. Her quill scratched quietly across the parchment as she took notes.
"After the feast, we went back to Gryffindor Tower," Harry continued. "Spent most of the evening talking about the tournament, speculating about who might enter from our house. Talked with Neville Longbottom about his summer holidays. Pretty normal night, really. Went to bed around eleven."
"And the next day?" Tonks prompted.
Harry shrugged. "Normal day. Attended classes—Transfiguration with McGonagall, Charms with Flitwick. Had a meeting with Hagrid about something for Care of Magical Creatures. Spent some time in the library with Hermione..." Another pause. "And Ron. Working on homework, reading about the historical tournaments."
"Anything unusual happen during the day?" Tonks asked. "Anyone approach you about the tournament? Any strange conversations or incidents?"
"Not really," Harry said, then reconsidered. "Well, Hermione mentioned that the Weasley twins had tried to fool the Age Line with an Aging Potion. Backfired spectacularly—they ended up with long white beards and had to go to the hospital wing."
Tonks snorted with laughter. "Typical Weasley ingenuity. I remember hearing about some of their exploits when I was in my final year. Those two are legends among the younger students."
"They're something, all right," Harry agreed with a smile. "Though I have to admit, seeing them with beards later was pretty satisfying."
"Pride goes before a fall," Tonks said sagely, then gestured for him to continue. "What about that evening? The selection ceremony?"
Harry's expression grew more serious as he reached the part of the story that had changed everything. "Right. The whole school gathered in the Great Hall after dinner. The Goblet was brought out, and one by one, the champions were selected. Viktor Krum for Durmstrang, Fleur Delacour for Beauxbatons, Cedric Diggory for Hogwarts."
He paused, remembering the electricity in the air as each name had emerged from the blue flames, the cheers and applause that had filled the hall.
"Everyone thought that was it," Harry continued. "Dumbledore was starting to give his speech about the upcoming tournament when the Goblet flared up again. Out came a fourth piece of parchment with my name on it."
Tonks looked up from her notes. "What was your immediate reaction?"
"Shock," Harry said without hesitation. "Complete and utter shock. I didn't move at first—couldn't believe what I was hearing. It wasn't until Hermione pushed me that I actually got up and walked to the front of the hall."
"And then?"
"Chaos," Harry said dryly. "Well, controlled chaos, anyway. I was taken into a side chamber with the other champions and all the important people—Dumbledore, the other headmasters, ministry officials, professors."
He took a breath, remembering the tension in that room, the way everyone had looked at him with expressions ranging from suspicion to concern to outright hostility.
"Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore believed me when I said I hadn't entered myself," Harry said. "But Karkaroff and Madame Maxime were convinced I'd cheated somehow. Karkaroff was particularly vocal about it—kept demanding that I be disqualified."
"Why can't you just...not continue with the Tournament? Is there a way to just decide not to attend any of the Tasks?" Tonks asked, she knew there must be a reason, but she needed to write it down.
Harry's expression darkened. "That's when things got really fun. Professor Dumbledore explained that the Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. Any champion who fails to participate in all three tasks..." He paused, still feeling sick at the memory. "Loses their magic. Permanently."
Tonks gasped, her quill freezing mid-word. "Permanently? That can't be right. Surely there are exceptions for cases like this?"
"Apparently not," Harry said bitterly. "The magic of the Goblet doesn't care how your name got in there—once you're selected, you're bound by the contract whether you like it or not."
"That's..." Tonks struggled for words. "That's barbaric. No wonder they stopped holding these tournaments."
"Tell me about it," Harry muttered. "So here I am, stuck competing in a tournament designed to test the skills of adult wizards, against my will and with no way out except losing the only thing that makes me feel like I belong anywhere."
They sat in silence for a moment, Tonks clearly processing the implications of what she'd just heard. When she finally spoke, her voice was thoughtful.
"Who do you think did it? Who put your name in the Goblet?"
Harry had been dreading this question, partly because he'd been asking himself the same thing constantly and partly because his honest answer wasn't particularly helpful.
"Do you believe me?" he asked instead. "When I say I didn't enter myself?"
"Of course I believe you," Tonks said without hesitation. "You're fourteen years old. The chances of you being able to fool a magical artifact as sophisticated as the Goblet of Fire are essentially zero."
"But what if I asked someone else to do it for me?" Harry pressed, curious to hear her reasoning. "An older student, maybe, or even a professor?"
Tonks shook her head. "Same problem applies, but worse. Based on what I was told about the investigation so far, whoever tampered with the Goblet didn't just add your name to the Hogwarts pool—they convinced it that there was a fourth school competing entirely. That level of magical manipulation..." She whistled softly. "I doubt most of the professors here could pull that off, let alone a student. Maybe Dumbledore could do it, possibly Moody given his experience with dark artifacts, but I can't see any reason why either of them would want to put you in danger."
Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him. It was the first time someone had actually explained why they believed him rather than simply stating that they did.
"Besides," Tonks continued, "if you'd asked an older student to help, they would have had to register you as a Hogwarts competitor. In that case, there would have been a chance that the Goblet might have still chosen someone else, someone like Cedric instead of you, since you'd both be representing the same school. No, whoever did this wanted to guarantee that your name would come out. They made sure you were the only option for this fictional fourth school."
The logic was sound, and it made Harry feel marginally better about his situation. At least there were people who could see the obvious flaws in the accusations being thrown around.
"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "For believing me, I mean. It's been... difficult, having most of the school think I'm lying."
"I can imagine," Tonks said sympathetically. "Though from what I saw in the corridors, they're not exactly being subtle about their opinions."
"Subtlety has never been Hogwarts students' strong suit," Harry replied with dark humor. "Two years ago they thought I was the heir of Slytherin opening the Chamber of Secrets. Their opinions change with a drop of a hat"
Tonks looked surprised. "You were here during the Chamber of Secrets incidents? I remember hearing about the attacks—I was in my seventh year then, but the news was all over the castle. There were rumors flying about what had actually happened, but the official story was pretty vague."
"I was here," Harry confirmed. "Front row seat to the whole mess. Not exactly my favorite year at Hogwarts."
"What really happened?" Tonks asked, leaning forward with obvious curiosity. "The official reports mentioned a basilisk, but the details were classified. Some people said a professor dealt with it, others claimed it was Dumbledore himself. There were even rumors that a student had done the killing blow."
Harry hesitated, unsure how much he should reveal. The truth about Tom Riddle's diary and Ginny's possession wasn't exactly public knowledge, and he wasn't sure if sharing those details with a Ministry official was wise.
"It was a basilisk," he said carefully. "Sixty feet long, could kill with a glance or petrify people if they saw its reflection. It was controlled by the heir of Slytherin, who turned out to be..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Let's just say it wasn't who anyone expected."
"But how was it stopped?" Tonks pressed. "A basilisk isn't exactly something you can reason with or subdue with standard spells."
"Someone managed to kill it," Harry said evasively. "Though I'd rather not get into the details. It's not exactly a pleasant memory."
Tonks studied his face for a moment, clearly sensing there was more to the story, but she didn't push. "Fair enough. I imagine dealing with a basilisk would be traumatic for anyone, especially a student."
For a moment, Harry wondered if he should tell her the truth—that he'd been the one to kill the basilisk, that he'd nearly died from its venom before Fawkes had healed him. But something held him back. Maybe it was habit, or maybe it was the knowledge that the full truth would only lead to more questions he wasn't ready to answer.
"Anyway," Harry said, steering the conversation back to safer ground, "to answer your original question—I honestly don't know who put my name in the Goblet. I've been wracking my brain trying to figure it out, but I can't think of anyone with both the skill and the motivation to do it."
"Any enemies you can think of?" Tonks asked. "I know it sounds paranoid, but given your... unique position in the wizarding world, it's not unreasonable to think someone might want to hurt you."
Harry almost laughed at the understatement. "You could say that. But most of my enemies are either dead, in Azkaban, or keeping their heads down since Voldemort's fall. There's Snape, I suppose—he hates me enough—but I can't see him trying something this elaborate with Dumbledore breathing down his neck."
Tonks finished writing and looked up from her notebook. "Right, well, I'll report back to Lady Bones with your statement. The other Aurors will want to interview the people you were with that day—Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, Professor Flitwick, and everyone else who you talked with personally. I assume—just to corroborate your story."
She added quickly, "Not that I think you're lying, of course. It's just standard procedure."
Harry stood up, assuming the interview was over, but Tonks remained seated, studying him with an expression he couldn't quite read.
"Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly. "Are you prepared for this? The tournament, I mean?"
Harry frowned, surprised by the question. Her job was to investigate the Goblet tampering, not assess his readiness for competition. But something in her tone suggested the question was more personal than professional.
"I'm preparing," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Reading everything I can get my hands on, practicing spells. Hermione's helping me research historical tournaments and strategies."
It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't entirely the truth either. He was preparing, but he was also terrifyingly aware of how inadequate his current skills were compared to what he'd likely face in the tournament tasks.
Tonks seemed to sense his uncertainty. "Harry," she said quietly, "I know this isn't exactly part of my official duties, but... if you need help, real help with your preparation, I might be able to offer some assistance."
Harry stared at her, unsure if he'd heard correctly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Tonks said, standing up and facing him directly, "that you're fourteen years old and you've been thrown into a competition that could kill you. The rules might prevent your professors from helping you directly, but I'm not a professor. I'm just a Ministry official who happened to meet a young wizard in need of some guidance."
For the first time since his name had come out of the Goblet, Harry felt a spark of genuine hope.
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