Chapter Thirty-One: A Waste of Effort —
The Hallowe'en feast seemed to drag on far longer than usual. Perhaps it was because this was their second banquet in two days, and the students were no longer excited by the mountains of food. They were restless, craning their necks, shifting in their seats, and glancing repeatedly toward the staff table to see whether Dumbledore had finished. Lockhart, like them, simply wanted the meal over with so they could finally hear the names.
At last the golden plates cleared themselves, flashing once before returning to their spotless shine. The noise in the Great Hall only grew louder—until Dumbledore stood. Instantly, silence fell.
Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime stood beside him, both looking tense and expectant. Ludo Bagman, on the other hand, grinned broadly and winked at several students. Rufus Scrimgeour remained impassive.
"Well, the Goblet of Fire is almost ready. We can make our decision now," Dumbledore announced. "It will only be another minute. When your name is called, please come to the front, walk along the staff table, and go through this door—" he gestured to the door behind him, "—where you will receive your first instructions."
Dumbledore raised his wand and swept it downward. Every candle in the hall extinguished at once, save for the single flame inside the carved pumpkin. Darkness fell.
All that remained was the harsh, brilliant blue-white light of the Goblet of Fire, flickering and spitting sparks. Every face in the hall was turned toward it—waiting. Some students kept checking their watches.
Lockhart was without question the most nervous. He already knew the identities of the three champions, but what mattered now was whether a fourth would appear.
"Time's up!"
"The champion for Durmstrang is," Dumbledore called, his voice ringing across the hall, "Viktor Krum."
Applause exploded, slowly dying down as every eye shifted back to the Goblet. A moment later, the blue flame flared red once more, spitting out a second slip of parchment.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore announced, "is Fleur Delacour!"
"Ron, it's her!" Harry said eagerly. Fleur rose gracefully, her silvery-blonde hair rippling behind her as she swept between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.
"And the champion for Hogwarts is," Dumbledore continued, "Cedric Diggory!"
"Excellent!" he beamed, once the cheering had died away. "Now we have our three champions. I trust you will all—students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang alike—support your champions with pride. Cheer for them; it is the very least—"
He stopped speaking.
Lockhart was staring fixedly at the Goblet of Fire. When it flared red for the fourth time, he shot to his feet, heart pounding.
A slip of parchment spat into the air. For a moment, Lockhart's vision went dark. He dropped back into his chair and nearly fainted.
"Gilderoy, are you alright?" McGonagall gasped beside him.
Lockhart, mortified, forced himself upright and strode straight toward Dumbledore at the Goblet.
Dumbledore, seeing him approach, held out the parchment. Lockhart snatched it.
Harry Potter.
All his careful monitoring throughout the day—utterly wasted. Someone had still managed to beat the system, and Lockhart had no idea how or when. Fury shook him.
He plunged into the Gryffindor crowd and grabbed Harry by the arm, startling the surrounding students. Hermione shrieked.
"Gilderoy, calm yourself," Dumbledore said quietly—just enough to snap Lockhart out of his panic.
"Harry, behind that door. Now."
"The Goblet has been Confunded!" Lockhart burst out. "This is a plot—a deliberate attack! Someone is trying to kill Harry Potter! He cannot enter this Tournament!"
"Gilderoy, we will discuss this inside," Dumbledore replied firmly. "Harry—go."
Harry stumbled toward the door, pale and bewildered. Professor Lockhart's worst fear had come true.
Dumbledore pulled Lockhart along, and the adults filed through the door, leaving hundreds of whispering students behind.
"That is impossible," Madame Maxime declared, her enormous, bejewelled hand resting dramatically on her hip. "'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is unfair."
"We assumed, Dumbledore, that the age restriction would deter… younger applicants," Karkaroff said coldly. "Had we known you would be lax, we might have brought a far larger pool of candidates."
"It's Potter's fault, Karkaroff," Snape murmured, eyes glittering maliciously. "Don't blame Dumbledore for Harry's habit of breaking rules. He's been a nuisance since his very first day."
Lockhart nearly exploded.
"Severus! Harry Potter did not enter himself! I watched the Goblet of Fire for twenty-four hours straight. No one—least of all a fourteen-year-old—could have done anything under my nose!"
Snape said nothing, but his eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction beneath his lank black hair.
Dumbledore turned to Lockhart, who could barely contain himself.
"Even if Harry had entered," Lockhart pressed, "he should have been named Hogwarts' champion—not a fourth champion!"
Dumbledore ignored the outburst and looked at Harry.
"Harry, did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"
"No," Harry said firmly. "Professor Lockhart was watching."
Snape snorted softly.
"Did you ask an older student to do it for you?" Dumbledore asked.
"No!" Harry said, more forcefully.
"Hmph. 'E is obviously lying," Madame Maxime muttered.
Lockhart stared around at them, exasperated beyond belief.
"Yes, yes, perhaps it was Harry," he snapped sarcastically. "But regardless, he cannot compete!"
Even Professor McGonagall agreed.
"Mr Scrimgeour, Mr Bagman," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "as judges—your view?"
Scrimgeour replied at once, "Anyone chosen by the Goblet is bound by magical contract. They must compete."
Lockhart's heart dropped. For a moment he wondered if Scrimgeour was under the Imperius Curse—
But Scrimgeour was far stronger than Crouch Junior or Senior. It was impossible.
"Then let Harry enter—and immediately concede," Lockhart insisted. "That fulfils the contract without risking his life."
He turned sharply to Harry. "Harry, if you trust me—concede."
Bagman brightened. "Yes, yes, that's quite a reasonable solution—keeps the contract intact with no danger at all!"
"I will enter again," Madame Maxime insisted.
"That won't work," Bagman said quickly. "The Goblet has gone out. It won't reignite until the next Tournament cycle."
"Then we withdraw," Karkaroff said icily.
"Your student has already entered into the contract," Bagman replied.
"Harry, enter and concede. That's the only safe path," Lockhart pleaded. "Harry—listen to me—you will concede, won't you?"
Harry said nothing—whether from fear or shock, nobody knew.
"No matter what," Lockhart said hoarsely, utterly losing control, "I will not allow Harry to compete. Even if I have to knock him out and carry him home, I mean it!"
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