As the champions proceeded toward the chamber off the Great Hall, I followed behind alongside Sirius.
Beneath all his cheering and whistling for Harry's selection, I could still see the trace of worry in his eyes.
"Do you think he'll be fine?" Sirius asked quietly as we walked through the corridor.
"We can only do our jobs as his professors and ensure he receives the best teaching possible," I replied. "You should increase the practical lessons in Defence. As for me, I'll see what I can do while remaining within the tournament's rules."
Sirius glanced at me.
"The first task usually involves magical creatures," I continued. "Which means I may be able to help without technically breaking the rules, if I play my cards correctly."
That seemed to ease him slightly.
"You're right," he said. "He won't be alone in this."
We reached the side chamber and stepped inside.
The three champions were spread around the room in entirely different states.
Ivan Karkaroff leaned lazily against the wall with his arms crossed, looking perfectly relaxed, as though being selected for a deadly international tournament was merely a mild inconvenience to his evening.
Fleur Delacour stood near the centre of the room, smoothing her silver hair repeatedly while trying very hard to appear composed and elegant.
And Harry…
Well.
Harry was pacing nervously from one side of the room to the other, glancing toward the door every few seconds as though expecting someone to burst through and announce there had been some terrible mistake.
The moment he noticed us, however, his entire expression changed.
Relief flashed across his face instantly.
"Sirius! Professor Lockhart!"
He hurried toward us immediately.
"Hey, Prongslet," Sirius said, trying to sound casual. "How're you feeling?"
"Like hell," Harry admitted honestly. "This doesn't make any sense. I didn't even put my name into the Goblet. I'm not even of age!"
"You need to stay calm, Harry," I said. "Unfortunately, I do not believe there is any way to stop this now that your name has been chosen."
Harry looked increasingly pale at that.
I lifted my staff slightly. "Hold still for a moment."
Both Harry and Sirius looked confused as I cast a diagnostic spell over him.
Soft golden magic wrapped briefly around Harry's body before fading.
Yes.
Just as I feared.
Sirius frowned immediately.
"What is it?"
I lowered my staff slowly.
"You are already under the Goblet's magical contract," I said. "At this point, there is nothing we can do to remove you from the tournament."
Harry stared at me in disbelief.
"So that's it?" he asked weakly. "I'm just stuck doing this?"
"For now," I said carefully. "Yes."
Sirius swore quietly under his breath.
Across the room, Ivan continued watching everything calmly, not speaking a single word.
Meanwhile, Fleur pretended not to pay attention, but her ears were very clearly perked toward our conversation.
She even stopped fixing her hair entirely.
Harry ran a hand through his already messy hair anxiously.
"But why would someone do this?"
Ah.
Now there was the important question.
And one I very much intended to find an answer to.
As I pondered that very question, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the corridor outside.
A moment later, the chamber door opened.
A large group entered led by Dumbledore himself, his silver beard swaying gently as he walked inside with calm authority.
Behind him came Professor McGonagall, Madam Maxime, Igor Karkaroff, Ludo Bagman, and Amos Diggory, who had apparently inherited the unpleasant responsibility of supervising the tournament after Crouch's unfortunate demise.
No Snape this time, since he has been doing his best to avoid sharing the same room with Sirius.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Dumbledore began pleasantly, "first of all, congratulations on being chosen as champions."
His blue eyes swept across Fleur, Ivan, Harry, and lingered slightly longer on the latter.
"But before we proceed," he continued, "allow me a moment."
Then he turned toward Harry and asked calmly, truly calmly, not like in that dreadful adaptation where he attempted to shake poor Harry into cardiac arrest.
"Mr Potter," Dumbledore continued smoothly, "did you place your name into the Goblet of Fire yourself? Or perhaps ask an older student to do so on your behalf?"
"That could be done?" Sirius asked immediately, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Yes," Dumbledore replied simply. "There were multiple ways to bypass the age line, but if a younger student was ingenious enough to manage it, and was also chosen by the goblet, I see no reason to prevent their participation."
Harry shook his head at once.
"No, sir," he said worriedly. "I didn't enter at all. I'm only a fourth year, I don't think I'm prepared to compete against people three years older than me."
His voice faltered slightly before he asked quietly,
"Can't you do something? Choose someone else?"
Dumbledore's gaze softened noticeably.
For a brief moment, he looked less like the legendary Headmaster of Hogwarts and more like a tired old man who disliked disappointing children.
"I fear," he said gently, "that this matter is already beyond our control."
"It is exactly as Professor Dumbledore says."
Amos Diggory stepped forward then, holding a thick folder beneath one arm.
He looked somewhat weary already, which was understandable. Organising an international magical tournament sounded only slightly less pleasant than wrestling a manticore.
"The Goblet's magical contract cannot be broken," Amos explained professionally. "Once chosen, a champion is obligated to compete."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Harry.
There was disappointment there, certainly.
He was clearly hoping his son, Cedric, was the one chosen, and no father enjoyed watching another boy take the place their child might have occupied.
Still, to his credit, Amos kept his emotions out of his work.
Professional to the end.
Interestingly enough, unlike what I remembered from the original timeline, neither Madam Maxime nor Karkaroff objected to Harry's participation.
In fact…
They seemed rather pleased.
Which made perfect sense.
A younger, less experienced Hogwarts champion meant better odds for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.
Fleur stood slightly taller now, clearly reassured by Harry's age.
Ivan merely observed quietly with that same unreadable expression.
I disliked that boy more with every passing minute.
"Well!" Ludo Bagman suddenly announced, stepping forward with enough enthusiasm to power a small city. "Now that all of that unpleasantness is settled, allow me to introduce the first task!"
His face was slightly flushed with excitement, and he rubbed his hands together eagerly.
"The first task," he declared dramatically, "will take place on November the twenty-fourth!"
Harry straightened nervously.
Fleur focused immediately.
Even Ivan finally uncrossed his arms.
"It shall," Bagman continued grandly, "be a trial of courage!"
Then he stopped speaking.
Harry blinked.
Fleur frowned faintly.
Several seconds passed.
"That's it?" Harry finally asked.
Bagman beamed.
"That's it!"
Fleur stared at him in disbelief.
"You are not telling us anything else?"
"My dear girl," Bagman said cheerfully, "what better way to demonstrate courage than facing the unknown armed with nothing but your wand?"
Harry looked faintly ill again.
Sirius muttered, "I hate this tournament already."
"Understandable," I murmured back.
Bagman clasped his hands together happily.
"The champions will be tested on resourcefulness, magical ability, and composure under pressure. Preparation is encouraged, naturally, but details regarding the task itself shall remain secret."
"How reassuring," Fleur said dryly.
Igor Karkaroff gave a low chuckle.
"Oh come now," he said smoothly. "Where would be the fun otherwise?"
"Preferably somewhere that does not involve students dying," McGonagall said sharply.
An awkward silence followed that.
Bagman coughed loudly.
"Yes well! Very rare nowadays, student deaths. Practically none at all recently."
"That is not as comforting as you think it is," Sirius informed him.
"Indeed," I said smoothly. "The tournament was originally discontinued for precisely that reason."
All eyes shifted toward me.
"Too many deaths eventually forced the schools to reconsider whether continuing the tradition was truly worthwhile," I continued. "Particularly after the unfortunate cockatrice incident."
Bagman winced immediately.
Ah.
So he did know the details.
Fleur frowned slightly. "Cockatrice incident?"
"Oh yes," I said pleasantly. "Quite tragic, really. The creature escaped containment during one of the tasks and went on a delightful little rampage through the arena."
Harry was already beginning to look alarmed.
I continued anyway.
"It killed several judges before anyone managed to stop it. The three headmasters were also severely injured attempting to contain the beast."
Sirius looked mildly horrified.
"Severely injured?" he repeated.
"One lost an arm," I clarified helpfully. "Another was petrified for nearly six months."
Harry turned visibly paler with every sentence.
Even Fleur's composed expression cracked slightly at the edges.
Ivan, meanwhile…
Still entirely too calm.
Bagman laughed weakly into the silence.
"Well! Modern safety standards are considerably better now, of course."
"Are they?" Sirius asked suspiciously.
Bagman's smile faltered. "…Probably."
"That is not a reassuring answer," Harry said faintly.
"No," Fleur agreed immediately, "et eez not."
Amos Diggory pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.
"Safety precautions have been extensively reviewed," he said, sounding like a man who had repeated that sentence many times already. "Every effort will be made to ensure the champions remain mostly unharmed."
"Mostly unharmed?" Sirius asked.
"Reasonably unharmed," Bagman corrected quickly.
"That somehow sounds worse," Harry muttered.
I patted Harry lightly on the shoulder.
"Look on the bright side, Harry."
He looked at me hopefully.
"If you survive," I said cheerfully, "it will make you famous."
Harry stared at me for a moment.
"…I already am."
I burst out laughing at that.
"Well then," I said proudly, "even more famous. There is no such thing as too much fame."
Sirius snorted loudly while Fleur looked vaguely amused despite herself.
McGonagall, meanwhile, closed her eyes briefly, perhaps reconsidering every career choice that had led her to this exact room.
…