Chapter 53: The Goblet of Fire

Sans was one of the last ones to get inside, but surprisingly, he wasn't one of the last ones to take a seat at the tables. The full crew of Durmstrang students were clustered around the entrance to the Great Hall, plainly unsure where to sit down. He noticed a few of them gave him strange looks as he slipped past.

Leaning over toward dog-Sirius, Sans stage whispered, "what, is there something on my face?"

The golden retriever snorted—which translated to an amused chuckle—and replied with an exaggerated eye roll.

"other than my nose, i mean," he added with a broad grin, gesturing to his completely fake schnoz.

Sirius bumped into his legs, tripping him up slightly.

He noticed that some of the more standoffish Durmstrang students glanced at him a bit disdainfully, but others looked like they were trying very hard not to show any hint of amusement. Of the group, only one or two actually let themselves crack a grin.

Maybe they would loosen up after having a chance to settle in a bit. Assuming they were staying, of course. He wasn't entirely sure.

Setting aside those musings for later, Sans looked over the crowd of students.

The boys and girls from Beauxbatons were sitting at what was presumably the Ravenclaw table—although, with the uniform colors shuffled around, it was hard to tell. Since they were all shivering in their blue silk clothes, expressions dour, it would seem the whole group was still quite chilled and generally unhappy; plainly they were not looking forward to any kind of extended stay.

Sans wondered why none of them had thought to apply warming charms to their shawls or scarves, and he made a point of remarking on that just loudly enough to be heard as he passed by the end of the table. When he next glanced their way, they looked much more comfortable (if, perhaps, a little bit embarrassed).

He found a free spot at one of the tables, and sat.

"Sans," Cassius hissed.

"oh hey, cass."

"What are you doing here?"

He tapped the newly-green badge on his robe with a smug grin, as if that was all the explanation he should need to be sitting with the Slytherins. In a somewhat amusing twist, Cassius was now wearing robes trimmed with blue: it was almost like the two of them had swapped colors.

"You've just been waiting for an excuse, haven't you?"

Neither confirming nor denying that statement, Sans shrugged. "no point in wasting the opportunity."

Giving him a disbelieving look, Cassius stated simply, "Even if your robes don't stand out, you still do."

Sans affected a gasp, as if insulted. "how could you say such a thing! i am, of course, the least noteworthy student in the school!"

"Sans." With an incredibly deadpan expression, he said, "I know you're just joking, but even if you hadn't been the root of most rumors this semester, your hair is bright white. People notice."

As a matter of fact, that particular point hadn't even crossed his mind. Perhaps it hadn't occurred to him since, in human communities, he was simply accustomed to catching undue attention because of his appearance—being a skeleton and all. A few curious glances was nothing new.

"hmm. does that have anything to do with why nobody wants to sit next to me?" he remarked, looking at the empty space at his other side.

Cassius shrugged.

He would have said more, probably, but at that moment the crowd of Durmstrang students walked over to the Slytherin table to find seats, and everything got very noisy.

Sans found the empty spot next to him now filled by the one foreign student whose name he actually knew. Even if he hadn't recognized him from earlier, all the students talking over themselves said his name plenty of times for him to learn it: all going 'Viktor' this and 'Krum' that. The poor guy looked rather uncomfortable, and certainly glad that students were only crowding him from one side.

Of course, this was the Slytherin table, so they were being a little more polite about it—or at least more subtle, maybe—than some other people may have been. But still, a mob's a mob.

"what, are you famous or something?"

There came an affronted gasp from somebody nearby.

Viktor blinked at him, as if not sure he had understood correctly, and his expression was somewhere between hopeful and pleasantly surprised. "To some," he replied. "I play professional Quidditch."

"…so you're actually famous?"

Sans honestly hadn't expected that: he wasn't familiar with many celebrity types for comparison, and the guy certainly didn't act like Mettaton (thank goodness).

With a slight nod, Viktor—

"Have you been living under a rock, Skelton?"

—was interrupted by a very peeved Malfoy, who was leaning over from the other side of the table.

"because i didn't know viktor was famous for playing broom-sport?"

Smacking a hand to his forehead in disbelief, Cassius muttered something under his breath. Viktor himself looked torn between that same sort of shock—Quidditch was clearly something he cared about very much—and laughter.

"What do you mean 'broom-sport'!?" sputtered Malfoy, clearly insulted.

"you know, the one with the flying and the brooms and such." Sans shrugged, and his grin took on a teasing slant. "i can't believe you haven't heard of it."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, completely gobsmacked.

"I take it," Viktor said, "you are not much interested for sports."

"eh, you could say that."

Further conversation was cut short as the various professors and headmasters filed inside, taking their seats at the front of the room. Dumbledore, still standing, looked out over the students with a twinkling smile.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and guests." He nodded to the clusters of foreign students among the crowd. "I am most pleased to welcome you all to Hogwarts, and I hope you find your stay here both comfortable and enjoyable."

"but probably not safe," Sans quipped, earning a doggish laugh.

Viktor looked briefly confused, and he sent a curious glance under the table: the golden retriever down there gave him a friendly wag in greeting.

"The Triwizard Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," Dumbledore continued, and he gave a sweeping gesture to all the tables. "For now, though, I invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

With that, the plates all filled up with food; a great variety of food, in fact, some of which was clearly foreign. Discussion of the Triwizard Tournament didn't continue until after the meal was done, at which point the headmaster did some more talking, though for the most part he didn't seem to be saying anything really important: he was just introducing some people who had apparently helped to set up the tournament.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," he announced, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will assess the champions' efforts."

Sans shook his head: as if the headmasters could be trusted as unbiased judges.

"The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch," said Dumbledore.

"casket?"

Filch had apparently been lurking in a dark corner, just waiting for his cue. He was carrying a fancy old chest covered in gems.

"oh. so by 'casket' he meant 'big glittery box'."

"Krum?" Cassius quietly asked, watching as the old caretaker carefully set the chest in front of the headmaster. "If you don't mind my asking, why do you want to compete?"

Viktor glanced away from the front table, frowning, but he didn't reply for a long moment.

"I von't lie," he said, finally, "it vood be exciting. But as for vhy… the headmaster vood be disappointed, if I did not even put in my name."

The Slytherin nodded, no doubt seeing the parallels with his own situation: he, too, was only entering because it was expected of him.

The Hogwarts headmaster said some more nice words about how the tournament will test the champions on their magical ability and their bravery, as well as some other such stuff that really seemed out of scope for students. Honestly, teenagers shouldn't need to be tested for their ability to 'cope with danger'.

"As you know," Dumbledore was saying, "three champions compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform during each of the tasks, and the champion with the highest total after the third task will win the Triwizard Cup." He drew his wand, and finished, "The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

The headmaster tapped the top of the overly-decorated box three times. After a dramatically appropriate pause, the lid creaked open. Dumbledore reached inside, and pulled out… an honestly kind of drab wooden cup.

Except for the fact that it was filled with flickering blue-white flames, of course.

Sans gave a low, impressed whistle.

"that's pretty cool." He grinned. "well, maybe not cool—"

Cassius poked him, cutting off the end of his joke.

Setting the goblet on top of its fancy box, Dumbledore gave some more explanation about the selection process; in brief, anyone who wants to compete just needs to write their name on a slip of paper and drop it into the goblet.

As cool as a burning cup of magic fire was, it still seemed like a lot of pomp and circumstance to dress up what was essentially just drawing names out of a hat. The goblet probably had other criteria than just random chance, of course, but for the students it was functionally the same.

Mostly, anyway.

Apparently—and Sans thought this was a bit excessive—just putting in a name constitutes a binding magical contract. He briefly wondered if the contract was with the named participant, or with whoever put the name in: knowing any loopholes could be useful.

Anyway, Dumbledore wrapped up his speech and finally let everybody head off to bed. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students left to their ship and carriages, respectively, and the Hogwarts crowd split up to go to their various common rooms.

Later that evening, well after curfew, the scheming classroom hosted another meeting.

"harry." Sans gave him a level look. "are you really sure about this?"

The boy took a deep breath, considered, then shook his head. "To be honest, I'm not looking forward to it. I'll still do it, but…"

With an over-the-top eye roll, Ron groaned, "Oh no, more fame and fortune, how terrible."

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. "Ron!"

"I was only joking!" he defended. "This is all bloody dangerous, I know— Sirius said he might have to fight a dragon!"

Harry gulped.

"okay, next question." Sans steepled his fingers, still considering. "you're probably not the best at acting."

"That wasn't a question," Hermione pointed out.

"eh, semantics."

Harry frowned, thoughtful. "Acting?"

"He's pants at acting," said Ron, having apparently figured out what Sans was getting at, "but if he needs to, he's actually pretty good at getting us out of trouble. Most of the time." He shrugged. "I think he'll be able to fake it when his name's called."

Sirius leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, and stared at the ceiling as if it might have all the answers. "I suppose Hermione could hit you with a sly Confundus Charm if we have to…"

"Actually, we don't learn that spell until next year," With a glance between the older wizard and Sans—one was a dog most of the time, and the other only a first year—she added, "And I don't think either of you would be able to cast it, either."

"good point."

"Maybe I can go with terrified instead of surprised," Harry half-joked. "It'd probably be more genuine, at least."

The five of them spent a little bit more time discussing possible strategies—Ron was really quite good at it—but none seemed any better than just faking their reactions as best they could, so they ended the meeting early.

Sans and dog-Sirius had walked with the Gryffindors for a ways, until the trio had to turn down a different hallway to head off to their tower. But instead of heading back to the Ravenclaw common room—or, more likely, one of the tower roofs—Sans had something else he wanted to check.

The Goblet of Fire had been moved to the entrance hall, and its blue-white light set shadows dancing across the walls.

Head tilted questioningly, Sirius woofed.

"it's always good to read the fine print."

After a moment to puzzle out the meaning from that statement, he nodded.

Sans stuck his immaterial nose over the edge of the goblet. The flicking fire whiffed through the hair of his glamour and cast a soft glow over his face. He set a hand against its side and concentrated.

The weave of magic was dense, beautiful, and, in one small section, twisted awry. If he had meant to repair that, straightening it out would likely have taken most of the night.

But, for better or worse, that wasn't why he was here.

Eye sockets closed in concentration, he CHECKED different parts of the spellwork, looking for something in particular. After a few moments, he found it: some kind of variation of an unbreakable vow.

Another second passed, and he grinned.

The magical contract was tied to both people, actually, in the event that the one entering a name was not the one named on the entry. If the chosen decided not to compete, the backlash would fall solely on whomever wrote in the name.

Sans didn't bother looking closer, it was enough to know that, if they needed to, they could pull Harry from the tournament at no detriment to him.

He stepped back from the goblet, shooting Sirius a quick grin. "all clear."

Sirius looked relieved, if his waging tail was any indication.

As they walked back toward the common room, for the briefest moment, Sans considered submitting his own name. There would be no guarantee that it would be chosen, of course, but it would be an interesting option.

And not a very good one, when it came to their long-term plans.

He needed to stay low—or at least, as low as he could, given the attention he'd already accidentally gained earlier in the semester. Competing as one of three (four) champions at an international event would do him no favors.

Pausing in the doorway, he glanced back. The blue fire twisted in the goblet, crackling, and the shadows it pulled at swirled across the walls.

Sans knew the coming months wouldn't be boring, even from the sidelines.

=X=X=X=

Most of the following day passed by quickly, and then… well.

It was time.

"The goblet is nearly ready to make it's decision," Dumbledore announced. He considered the flickering blue-white fire with the same manner as one checking the time from a watch. "About one more minute, I'd estimate."

Sans was sitting at the Slytherin table again, and Cassius had allowed it with barely any complaint. Perhaps that's because Sans had actually been invited this time, as surprising as that might seem, because Viktor had waved him over.

"When the champions' names are called," the headmaster continued, "I would ask them to please come to the front of the room, walk along the staff table, and go through the door to the next chamber where they will receive their first instructions."

The Great Hall was festively decorated for Halloween: there were hundreds of carved pumpkins—some floating, others arrayed as center pieces on the tables—and an actual swarm of live bats was flying around through the sky of the enchanted ceiling.

Sans was familiar with the holiday, of course, though he'd only experienced it once or twice. It was fun, and he had enjoyed spooking the few human trick-or-treaters who would risk asking candy from a house of real monsters.

Drawing his wand, the headmaster made a sweeping gesture that extinguished most of the candles. The room was left very dark, save for the eerie light of the Goblet of Fire.

Everybody was watching those dancing flames, waiting, tense.

Then, quite abruptly, the blue light changed to a deep red. Sparks scattered, orange and golden, and the fire surged into a blaze. A charred piece of paper flew into the air, faintly smoking, and the goblet settled back to blue.

"The champion for Durmstrang," Dumbledore read, loud and clear in the held-breath silence of the hall, "will be Viktor Krum!"

That was met with raucous cheers from everyone in the audience. Or nearly everyone: Sans and Cassius just murmured quiet congratulations—or condolences, perhaps. As for Viktor himself, he didn't look too happy about being chosen.

Sans offered him a small grin, and said, "good luck."

"Thanks."

He stood up—trying not to look too down about it—and slouched to the front table, where he turned right, kept walking, and disappeared into the back room.

"Bravo, Viktor!" shouted Karkaroff, over the applause. "I knew you had it in you!"

"bit late there," Sans muttered.

Soon enough, after the chatter died back down, everyone was back to staring at the flaming goblet.

And, moments later, it flared up again—blue shifting to bright red. A second slip of paper flew into the air, as if spat out by the fire.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," the headmaster called out, "is Fleur Delacour!"

This time the applause wasn't quite so loud, but it was no less excited. The girl in question turned out to be quite pretty, by human standards, which was probably why most of the loudest cheers came from the boys.

She left the room, and it grew quiet once more.

Very quiet.

Excited.

Tense, and eager.

Because the next champion would be for Hogwarts.

Sans… tried not to yawn.

After a few moments, the goblet burned red once more. It surged, the flames leapt up, and the third singed parchment was thrown out of the fire. Dumbledore caught it, unfolding it with a flick of his wrist.

"The Hogwarts champion is…" He paused, very slightly, as if somewhat surprised by the name he was about to read, and finished, "Cassius Warrington."

Under his breath, completely horrified, Cassius whispered, "What?"

Sirius, even as a dog, looked like he'd been slapped. He gave a low bark, shaking his head in near denial.

"oh, so things have gone sideways already," Sans muttered. "shoulda seen that coming."

There were a few lone claps—from the visiting students, no doubt—but they quickly died out as nobody else joined them.

This was unexpected.

For a moment, the entire hall was dead silent. Even the rest of the Slytherins seemed unsure how to react, which was kind of amusing.

As it turns out, the first person to do anything was a Hufflepuff, Cedric Diggory, who began to pointedly cheer and clap until the rest of his table—followed by the Slytherins and then the Ravenclaws—joined in.

"A snake?!" hollered somebody from the direction of the Gryffindor table, where very few people were clapping. "You can't be serious!"

"you got this, cass," Sans said, setting one hand on his reluctant friend's shoulder.

"Of course," he replied, but he didn't really sound convinced.

Cassius brushed him off as he stood up—kept steady and outwardly calm by sheer force of will—and he headed for the room behind the front table. His exit was accompanied by polite applause interspersed with loud jeers.

It took quite a while for the noise to die down.

"Well, then!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together, looking over the students with a gentle smile made darker by faint disapproval. "We have our three champions! I should hope that you treat them all with respect and support in the coming months, as—"

The headmaster was abruptly cut off.

For a fourth time, the Goblet of Fire burned red. Spitting sparks, it again threw out a long tongue of flame, tossing another slip of paper into the air.

Of course, Sans already knew whose name it was.

There was a long, almost unwilling pause, then…

"Harry Potter."

Silence.

There was no applause this time: not from Hogwarts, Durmstrang, or Beauxbatons. On the whole, nobody knew how to react.

From what Sans could see of him, Harry was frozen in place. Some of that was probably genuine surprise: he may have known it could happen, but facing the reality of it is a very different beast.

"I didn't put my name in the goblet," he said, his voice ringing in the quiet hall.

The truth of it lent his words a more genuine edge, making up for a few of the shortcomings in his fake-surprise acting. There weren't that many, actually: Sans could spot them, but he doubted that the average teenager would.

"Harry Potter!" called Dumbledore, no longer smiling at all. "Come here, please."

He only stood up after Hermione gave him a little shove, and then he hurried to join the other champions. Quiet arguments started up among the students.

Dumbledore waved his wand, casting a sharp crack that caught everyone's attention.

"The other headmasters and I will discuss this… unexpected turn of events," he said, tone calm and collected, "and we will come to an agreement on how to proceed. For now, you are all dismissed. Good night."

With that said, most of the adults at the front table followed Harry through the door into the back room. Now left largely unsupervised, the quiet arguments became… decidedly less quiet.

"Four champions?"

"Zey cannot let ze boy compete!"

"Potter cheated!" somebody called, and that was picked up as a refrain by many others.

"He cheated!"

"Potter cheated!"

"Even the goblet knows it messed up," came an angry response, "choosing a slimy Slytherin!"

"Better a Slytherin than a lying cheater!"

Sans made a snap decision.

He immediately stood up, then did one better by jumping onto his chair: he didn't jump onto the table, though the option was considered. With all the loud chattering and bickering going on, nobody seemed to notice him at the moment.

Now that just won't do. To bad he didn't know that noise spell the headmaster had used, it had been pretty effective. Sans would need to improvise.

Glancing around, he spotted… ah-hah.

Thank you in advance for your sacrifice, dinner plate.

Sans swish-and-flicked his wand, said the magic words, and didn't try at all to mitigate the outcome. The plate forcefully launched itself into the ceiling, hitting it with an almost unexpectedly loud clang.

All—or almost all, close enough—eyes were on him.

"alright then." Nonchalantly holding out one hand, Sans caught the now-badly-dented plate before it could hit anyone. Loud enough to be heard over the crowd, he cheerily asked, "so. bets on who put harry's name in the goblet?"

Flitwick—one of the few professors still in the room—stood up, looking somewhat upset that he had to call out: "Mr. Skelton, ten points from Ravenclaw."

Sans waved off the loss, he didn't particularly care about the inter-house competition anyway. "fair enough. but seriously guys, who do you think put his name in?"

Someone sneered, "Who's to say Potter didn't put his own name in?"

That remark was met with a chorus of disgruntled agreement from the entire hall.

"don't be stupid," he sniffed.

"Excuse me?"

Sans ignored the outrage. "we know the where and the when—and you all seem to think you know who—but we're forgetting the most important questions."

"Oh, yeah?" That was Malfoy, just a few seats away. "What would those be?"

"why… and how."

There was a long moment of relative silence, with only a few murmurs here or there. Those closest to him—from the Slytherins—had a distinctly spiteful slant.

"He's right, though. Something is definitely off about all this," Cedric spoke up from the Hufflepuff table. He sounded worried. "We all know that the Tournament is dangerous, and when it comes down to it… Potter's just a kid."

Ron stood, looking a bit tense under the sudden attention that got him, but he kept his voice steady. "Harry didn't even want to compete, not really," he said. "He was hoping he'd finally have a quiet year!"

That got some laughs: the yearly misadventures must be pretty well-known.

"looks like we're a bit lacking for a motive, than," Sans remarked. "and besides, i highly doubt harry coulda convinced the goblet to choose a fourth champion, even if he somehow managed to get his name in."

"That's—!"

"Actually," Cedric cut in, "that's a good point."

Seeing the conversation shift from useless blathering and angry blame-throwing to something a bit more productive—if still a little angry—Sans figured he could step back and let things run their course. A few of the Slytherins were giving him oddly calculative looks.

"well," Sans muttered, sitting back down, "this is off to a stressful start."

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.

Finally.

Okay, so I missed posting on the first by like, thirty minutes. I'm still awake, so it still counts! Kinda. Whatever, close enough.

I'm sure you saw this coming, but Cassius has been shoved into the role of champion! Cedric will still have his part to play in things, but not as it had been.
That said, this also isn't just a name-swap sorta thing. A lot of stuff will go differently with Cassius in charge. I have some ideas for that, of course… but, hey! What do you all think will happen now?

Updates are on the first of the month (approximately).
Thanks again for the reviews, follows, and favorites! And special thanks to my betas, even though they probably won't ever read this note, seeing as they have already had to read the chapter to help me stitch it all together. Sometimes it's still a real mess when they get it…
Uh, yeah! Thanks again!

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Stay safe out there! See ya on the flipside, everyone!