Harry, Hermione, and the Goblet

Had to do it. Had to write a GoF story. Managed to avoid the words Krum, Cho, and Yule Ball as promised.

As always, don't own anything, won't likely ever. Thanks Ms. Rowling.

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Harry sat, panicked, in a chair in the corner of the common room. Hallowe'en. Why was it always Hallowe'en? Nothing good, and most everything bad, happened to him on Hallowe'en, and he was sure this year was going to be the same. The goblet was going to pick him, somehow, and he was going to die. Isn't that why they stopped the tournament hundreds of years ago? Too many people died? How was he going to compete against the best seventh years of three different schools?

He looked around the common room. Everyone was studying, or chatting quietly, except for Ron who was working through a chess problem, as no one would play against him any more. He didn't want to die. He would miss this.

As a child, Riddle had killed his parents on Hallowe'en, and given him his effin scar, and got him sent to the effin Dursleys, and life went downhill from there. Hogwart's was no better. First year was the Troll in the bathroom. Harry still didn't know how he survived that. Ron could hardly cast anything at all, much less a wingardium on a massive club. And jumping on a troll was hardly the smartest of ideas. The three of them were lucky to be alive. All because Quirrell needed a diversion.

He looked around the common room again seeing Hermione deeply engrossed in a rather thick book, and Neville pruning one of his many potted plants. Good thing he had his friends to help him through the protections…guarding…the…stone.

The connection in his head made an almost audible 'clunk.' He was suddenly slightly nauseous and clammy. The complete improbability of the whole stone episode hit him. While still sure that Fate hated him and used Hallowe'en to show it, he suddenly wondered if Fate had mortal assistance. Or assistants. His name was coming out of that goblet for sure. He needed help again. He walked quietly around the edge of the room to Hermione.

"Hermione," he said quietly.

She looked up, her smile dying quickly as she saw his face. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"I need your help."

"Of course, Harry, anything."

"Come with me." He led her back around the room to his chair. Fortunately no one had commandeered it. He grabbed the toss pillow off it and sat, putting the pillow down on the ground in front of him.

"Sit."

She frowned at his rudeness, but sat. Leaning back against his legs and twisting a bit to look up at him, she asked, "So what do you need help with?"

"I need you to listen to me for a minute, then I need you to keep me out of the tournament."

"What? Harry, you can't get into the tournament, so why do you need me to get you out?"

"Just listen. Don't think, don't argue, just listen."

"Fine," she huffed.

"Do you remember first year?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with—?"

"Just listen. So pretend you're Dumbledore. You know Riddle is after the stone. Do you send Hagrid to get it out of Gringott's, with a first year student in tow no less, or do you get it yourself? And since when does Hagrid introduce students to the magical world? Do you hide it in your office, the most secure room in Hogwarts, or maybe wear it in a pouch around your neck, or do you announce to the whole bloody school where it is?"

He leaned down and put his head next to hers. "Do you guard it with a plant?" he pointed over Hermione's shoulder at Neville; "flying keys?" he tapped his chest audibly; "a magical chess set?" he pointed to Ron; "and a logic puzzle?" he tapped her on her head. "And then hide the stone inside a magical mirror? Good thing he had seen me sitting in front of it night after night over the holidays, isn't it?"

Hermione's face had gone from irritated to thoughtful to horrified. "Are you saying we were supposed to stop Riddle from getting the stone?"

"Yep."

"But Harry, there's no way the professors would do that."

"Then why were the 'protections' custom-designed for us to get through?"

"Well, well, what about Fluffy?"

"Fortunately the harp was already there. In all the rush, I forgot the flute Hagrid gave me for Christmas."

"Hagrid gave you a flute?" she asked, nearly shouting.

"Shhhh. Yep. How else was I to put Fluffy to sleep?"

Hermione thought furiously for a moment. "Neville didn't help us with the Devil's Snare, you reminded me how to take care of it."

"Only because you petrified him before we could persuade him to come along. He was supposed to be with us, I think. Again, we were in a hurry. I wonder why of all nights that was the one that he was awake that late?"

"Humph. And the troll?"

"What Hogwarts students, in the history of the school, do you know of that have defeated a troll? Besides, Quirrell went through first."

"Harry, I can see why you're suspicious about this, but I can't believe the professors would ever put us in danger like that."

"Given the last few years, I would argue with that, but in this case I don't have to. What if we weren't really in any danger?"

"What?"

"We decided that was the night to go because Dumbledore was out of the castle. Who's the first person you bump into when we decide we need help?"

"Dumbledore," she said, defeated.

"I rest my case. Either it was a set up because they wanted us to stop Riddle and get the stone, or it was a set up because they wanted us just to try to stop Riddle and get the stone and they would step in when needed."

"I… I…." She thought for a minute, looking at Ron and Neville. "Damn. You're right. There's really no other explanation. We need to tell—"

"Who, Hermione? Who're we going to tell? McGonagall? She had to have been in on it. Dumbledore? He seems to be the one who planned the whole thing. Fudge? He's ignored everything we've said and still has a kiss-on-sight order out for Sirius. I don't know why every adult out there seems to have some sort of secret plan with me in the middle of it, but the last thing I want to do is let them know I'm suspicious."

"The goblet is making its decision on Hallowe'en. I hate Hallowe'en, and Hallowe'en hates me. Nothing good happens to me on that day. My parents killed by Voldemort, the troll in the bathroom, the Chamber being opened, Sirius breaking into the castle, now the tournament. The adults in charge around here at the very least can't seem to protect me. At the worst, they're putting me, and frequently you, in danger every year. So my name is coming out of the goblet, and I need you to either stop it or make sure I don't have to compete, because I don't want to die. I swear I'll never ask you for help on anything else ever again, and I don't care if you believe me or not, but I need you to do this for me."

Hermione remained silent, obviously thinking hard.

"Hermione?"

"Hermione?"

"Hermione?" he asked again, shaking her shoulder.

"I heard you. And I'll help you. I even believe you."

She stood, and grabbed his hand to pull him up as well. "We need to hurry. I need a copy of the rules for the Tournament and you're going to need an alibi. But Harry, there's no way I can break the enchantments on the Goblet. I don't know what they are or even how to find out by tomorrow."

"Hermione, you're not listening. You don't have to break the enchantments to get me into the tournament. Someone else is, if they haven't already. I just need you to figure out how to take advantage of it once they do to get me out. Magicals haven't a lick of logic, you said so yourself. If anyone can figure out the loopholes, you can."

Hermione thought for a minute more. "Right. I'm probably going to need your map and cloak for later tonight. C'mon." She led the way up the stairs to Harry's dorm.

"Don't you mean we're going to need my map and cloak?" he asked, pulling them out of his trunk.

"Not this time, Harry. You need a rock solid alibi, and even being able to be out and about under your cloak isn't an option. That leaves me." She stuffed them into her robes.

"Let's go," she said.

"Where're we going?"

"Harry, do you trust me?"

He turned at the top of the stairs. "Of course. More than anyone else. Who else would I ask?"

"Then I need your wand for a second, too."

He pulled it out slowly. "Okay. Why?"

"I don't want it to get broken." She gently took his wand. "I'm really, really sorry about this Harry. Just go with it."

Before he could ask "What?" she pushed him, hard, down the stairs. She tucked his wand in her robes with the cloak and map, then screamed "Harry!" and ran down after him.

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Harry glared at Hermione as she sat beside his infirmary bed. "I still can't believe you shoved me down the stairs."

"I'm sorry, Harry. But now you have an unimpeachable alibi. The whole common room saw you come tumbling out the bottom of the stairs, and Professor McGonagall herself levitated you here. And thanks for remembering to say that you tripped. Whatever you do, keep complaining of a headache and don't let Madam Pomfrey discharge you until after the goblet is done tomorrow night. Your broken arm should be fully healed before then, so you need to fake a concussion until it's safe."

"Who needs to fake it?" Harry grumbled.

"Hush. I said I was sorry. Besides, you hurt yourself worse nearly every quidditch match."

"Maybe I should just let the tournament kill me instead."

"I said hush. It's only an hour to curfew, so I don't have much time. Oh, right, here's your wand back. Anyway, while you were unconscious—"

Harry grumbled again.

"While you were unconscious," she said, louder, "I got a copy of the rules from the Ministry representatives. There's nothing in the library on the goblet, and the only information on the tournament itself is about the previous tasks and who did or didn't die and the winners."

She held out a standard-sized piece of parchment.

"That's it? I thought a several-hundred-year-old tournament would have a full scroll of rules."

"Well, the details of the tasks themselves are a secret, but yes, this is it. It's maddeningly brief and vague. I don't even know if that makes it easier or harder for us."

"So what's actually there?"

"Well, the goblet chooses the champions. Each school gets one champion. There are three schools. If your name is picked, you have to compete or… ."

"What?"

"You have to compete or you lose your magic."

"What? That can happen? Hermione, you have got to get me out of this."

"I'm trying, Harry, and panicking isn't helping. Besides, I got you an alibi already."

"The rules say that'll work?" He frantically scanned the parchment for acceptable reasons to be excused from competing.

"Well, no, but it's what I could come up with in the first five minutes."

"What about the age requirement?"

"Nothing about it in the rules. Dumbledore's age line is the only thing keeping people out."

"So my name's still coming out, and I still have to compete. I could be missing all the bones in my arms and legs, and I'd still have to. And don't get any ideas."

"I'd do it if it would help more than what we've done already."

"So what do we have to work with?"

"Not much, Harry. Just what I told you already."

"Well then, that's what we got. How is whoever it is going to screw me over?"

"Well, to get you in to the tournament, it has to be either the number of schools or the number of champions per school." She looked around the infirmary at the several students with long white beards already present, waiting for Madam Pomfrey's attention. "And I don't think we're short on champions per school. If they just command it to pick you outright, I can't stop it. Other than the alibi, I'm still not sure how to get you out for sure."

Harry frowned in thought. "So if it's just me, I'm doomed."

Hermione jumped up. "Harry, you're a genius. I can't guarantee this'll work, but I think it's our best shot."

"What, what'd I say?"

"You'll see. Keep working on your headache. And blurry vision would be a good addition. I'll see you in the morning." And with that she ran off.

"Wait! What?" Harry groaned and fell back into bed. He wouldn't have to fake the headache.

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Harry only slept because of the potions Madam Pomfrey made him choke down. He actually felt better in the morning, but made sure to complain about a headache and double vision when she came to check on him. He tried to play ill and not get restless, but it was hard. He was very relieved when Hermione finally arrived at the end of breakfast.

"Morning, Harry."

"How did whatever it was go?"

Hermione yawned and rubbed her chin. "No white beard, so very well."

"So what exactly did you do?"

"If your name comes out as the only, or an extra, Hogwarts champion, no one will believe that you didn't do it and you might have to compete, despite your alibi. But if it's totally obvious that someone sabotaged the goblet, then they'll have to do something, and that something will include getting you out of it."

"So…?"

"So, you'll just have to see at dinner. But your map and cloak were very handy."

"Hermione—"

"Don't worry Harry. Either your name isn't coming out of the goblet, or it is and so many people will be upset that you won't have to compete."

"If you're sure, Hermione. And I thought I was staying here until after it was all said and done."

"I think if Madam Pomfrey escorts you down when there's lots of witnesses it'll be fine."

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After lunch, Madam Pomfrey came to check on him. She waved her wand over him several times. "Well, Mr. Potter, for once you aren't pestering me to leave before I thought you were ready. You can go. Just take it easy for a few days, no heavy spells, and certainly no flying."

Harry fidgeted with his sheets. "Are you sure, Madam Pomfrey? My head still hurts and I still see two of things sometimes."

She frowned and waved her wand a few more times over his head. "You're certainly well enough to rest up elsewhere. Why don't you wish to go?"

Harry was saved by the arrival of Hermione. "Hey, Harry. How's your head?"

"Madam Pomfrey says I'm good enough to go."

She looked up at the healer. "Are you sure, ma'am? He took a nasty spill."

Madam Pomfrey folded her arms and scowled at them. "All right, what's really going on?"

"Going on, ma'am?" Hermione asked innocently.

She just scowled some more.

Finally Harry mumbled "It's Hallowe'en."

"What's that, Mr. Potter?"

He looked up. "It's Hallowe'en, ma'am. Nothing good happens on Hallowe'en. I'm already injured and in the infirmary. I figure if I leave, something else bad will happen and I'll just end up back here again."

"Mr. Potter, while I admit you're here more often than most of your peers, there's nothing inherently dangerous about Hallowe'en."

"For you maybe, but it doesn't like me."

"Meaning what, precisely?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Harry went first.

"Voldemort."

"Parents."

"Troll."

"Chamber."

"Black."

"And now this year the goblet is selecting champions for the tournament."

"So if it's all the same to you, I'm staying right here until there's no possible way that goblet can get a hold of me."

Madam Pomfrey's scowl quickly softened. "Mr. Potter…Harry. You can stay. I can walk you down to dinner, how does that sound?"

Harry smiled. "Thank you ma'am. I appreciate it."

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Dumbledore caught the charred parchment fluttering down towards him. "And for Hogwart's, Cedric Diggory."

Cheers erupted from around the hall, especially the Hufflepuff table. Cedric stood and walked proudly to the chamber behind the staff table.

"Excellent. We now have our three champions. They will be briefed on the rules and what they need to know for the first task. Please remember..."

Harry tuned him out. "Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…."

Hermione elbowed him. "Shush Harry. It looks like you were wrong—"

With great flash of red flame, the goblet spat out another scrap of parchment, silencing the room.

"Told you," Harry muttered.

"Yes, yes you did. Remember the plan. Stall as long as you can. Whatever you do, don't do anything that would imply you accept being chosen."

Dumbledore caught the parchment. He looked at it in obvious shock, before he finally cleared his throat and announced into the stillness, "Harry Potter."

The hall erupted again, this time in whispers and chatter. People were standing up to stare at him, some even getting up on their benches. Harry stayed staring at his plate.

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore announced again.

Harry finally looked up. "Yes, sir?"

"Please join the other champions, Harry."

"Um, no sir?"

Beside him, Hermione was repeating her own quiet chant, "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…"

Across from him Ron was glaring at him, his face trying to match his hair. "Why didn't you tell me you entered? And why didn't you take me with you? I'd like a shot at the thousand galleons too, you know."

Without looking at him, Harry muttered back, "Didn't, you idiot. Infirmary, remember? You even visited me there this afternoon."

"I'm afraid you must, Harry," Dumbledore continued. "Your name came out of the goblet."

Harry finally stood. "Not possible, sir. I didn't put my name into the goblet."

Draco yelled from the far side of the Hall. "Didn't think it through, did you Potter? Can't chicken out now." Most of the Slytherins laughed.

Hermione continued her chant, a little more urgently.

Dumbledore waved the parchment. "You must have, Harry, I have your name right here."

"Then someone else did it, sir. I was in the infirmary from just after dinner last night until Madam Pomfrey escorted me to dinner tonight. I couldn't have."

Madam Pomfrey had stood and was nodding her head emphatically, a shocked look on her face. The other Heads and the Ministry officials were all heading for Dumbledore to get a look at the parchment in his hand.

Just as Dumbledore was about to speak again, the goblet flared red and spat out another piece of parchment. He caught it, then searched the Gryffindor table until he found the twins. Frowning at them, he read the name, "Representing Ottery St. Catchpole Primary School, Ronald Weasley."

Harry sat down quickly, his knees no longer able to support him.

Hermione gave a quiet "Yes! It was the schools."

Harry glared at Ron. "Congratulations, Ron. Why didn't you tell me you figured out how to get your name in? And why the hell did you think I would want to be a champion?"

Ron just looked confused. "What, but I didn't—"

Harry pressed on, not feeling very generous. "Sure, Ron, sure. Then you try to blame me. Some friend you are, entering me into a deadly tournament while I'm laid up in the infirmary."

Ron was spluttering, turning red in the face again.

"Have fun competing. Maybe you'll even survive. Or at least keep most of your body parts. You and Moody could hang out together, compare fake legs. You could buy a real nice one with a thousand galleons."

Ron went from red to white in an instant. He suddenly remembered Hermione rattling off all the deaths and injuries that prompted the tournament to be cancelled in the first place.

In the centre of the room, Dumbledore was surrounded by a very irate Madame Maxime, Igor Karkaroff, Fudge, Crouch, Bagman, and the rest of the Ministry officials. It took the flaming of the goblet to quiet them and the room down again.

Dumbledore just smiled when he read the parchment. "Representing the Greater London Junior School of Ballet and Modern Dance, Draco Malfoy."

Laughter erupted around the Hall. Draco leapt to his feet, face almost as red as Ron's was. "That's preposterous. When my father hears about this—"

The laughter got too loud to hear what Draco's father might do.

Ron smiled. "Oh, good. Hope he dies instead of me."

Harry just leaned into Hermione in relief. He said quietly, "You're bloody brilliant, you know that? Anything I have that you want, except maybe the cloak, is yours."

She smiled, and said softly back, "Why thank you, kind sir. I didn't pick him just because he's a git. His father's one of the governors for the school, and is one of Fudge's 'closest advisors.' When he gets Draco out of this, you're out too."

"So it's not just about me…bloody brilliant," Harry repeated.

"And now your alibi is worth something. You're the only one who really couldn't have done it."

Harry just laughed quietly in relief.

"Just wait, it gets better. And I'll remember your promise."

The goblet flared again, and this time Crouch beat Dumbledore to the parchment. He read it, then thrust it at Dumbledore. "Someone is making a mockery of the entire tournament. You will find out who's responsible for this, and bring them to me in chains. Being expelled will be the least of their worries." Crouch stormed out of the Hall.

Dumbledore smiled again and read out, "Representing the London School of Beauty and Makeup, Severus Snape."

This time the laughter was loud enough to cover whatever Snape was yelling from the beginning, before he too stormed out of the Hall.

"So how'd you do it?" Harry whispered.

"Well, I thought about wingardium or depulso, but didn't want to risk my magic crossing the age line. So I just wadded up the bits of parchment and kept tossing them at the goblet until they went in."

Harry imagined the flaming goblet, inside its age line, with a disembodied hand throwing balls of parchment at it. "What about if you missed?"

"Crookshanks thought it was all a game of fetch. He loved it. And not being human, the age line didn't effect him."

"That's it? That's all it took?"

"Yep. Another great example of how magicals don't have a lick of logic."

The goblet flared yet again. Being tallest, Madame Maxime grabbed the parchment. She read it and shook her head. "Someone has a sense of humour, Dumblydore. I will be taking my students back to our carriage. Come find me once you have this sorted out." She handed the parchment to him, and headed off to the Ravenclaw table where her students sat.

Dumbledore was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "Representing the Stand-Up Comedy School of Bristol, Cornelius Fudge."

The laughter wasn't quite as loud, as the purebloods didn't get it, but Fudge had enough exposure to the Muggle world to know he'd been insulted. He was yelling at Bagman and Dumbledore for embarrassing the Ministry. Karkaroff was following Madame Maxime's example and was leading his students out of the hall. Bagman was poking the goblet with his wand when the blue flames suddenly went out.

Dumbledore held his wand to his neck and let out with a loud "Silence." The room quieted. "Thank you. Prefects, please escort your houses back to their dormitories, while we sort out this… situation."

Harry and Hermione quickly hid themselves in the middle of the pack of Gryffindors heading out the doors. Harry's chair in the corner of the common room was unoccupied. He pushed her into it and sat in front of her. Grabbing her hand, he gave it a squeeze and said, "Thank you, Hermione. I'm pretty sure you saved my life."

"Well, I still owed you for the troll, so now we're even."

Harry just leaned back against her legs and let out a deep breath in relief.

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A very powerful confundus charm was found on the goblet and removed. Fortunately for George and Fred, the prime suspects, it was felt to be beyond even their capabilities. Then it was noticed that Moody had disappeared. No one had seen him since the night that the names came out the goblet. His office was searched, and after several hours of effort by Flitwick, the locks on his trunk were breached, and another Moody, apparently the real one, was found inside. Suddenly the missing boomslang skin made sense. No one knew who was impersonating him.

After much debate, it was decided that some sort of tournament had to take place, just in case the magically binding contract was still in place. So over the next three weekends, there were competitions of exploding snap, gobstones, and chess. Snape won. It turned out that intimidation was a very effective technique. Ron came in second, as the tasks were right up his alley. Harry finished near the bottom, and didn't care at all. Draco came in second to last. He stomped off, stating that such things were beneath him. Fudge lost every match he played.

Finally, the goblet was to be relit, but only for the hours between lunch and dinner. The age line was in place again, as were comfortable chairs for the three Heads of the schools. Nothing was happening to the cup this time.

Harry and Hermione grabbed a few portable items for lunch, then headed to the infirmary.

Madam Pomfrey poked her head out of her office when she heard her doors open and shut. "Mr. Potter, what now?"

"Nothing, ma'am, and I want to keep it that way. Can I stay until dinner?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Of course Mr. Potter. Here." She conjured a table and a pair of chairs.

"Thank you, ma'am." They plunked down in the chairs and pulled out their homework. Pomfrey went back into her office.

"Hermione?" Harry asked a few minutes later.

"Hmm?"

"What're you doing next Hallowe'en?"

She looked up and saw the serious look on Harry's face.

"Well, I would imagine I'm going to be saving your arse yet again."

Harry smiled a small smile. "Thank you, Hermione."

"Of course, Harry."

*
More A/N. I liked GoF. But a more Rube Goldberg plot would be hard to find. Sneak up on Harry and slap a portkey on him. Stun him, disillusion him, and levitate him out. Etc, etc. Harry is way too trusting given his upbringing and what's happened to him at Hogwart's. At the very least, a little paranoia would be appropriate.

In the original story notes, Neville was supposed to be with them, at least at the discovery of Fluffy. Don't know why she didn't take the devil's snare out when she took Neville out.

The flute seems to be universally ignored in fanon, but seems to be a crucial tool/item that got overlooked. But even without the flute and Neville, they made it.