The Other Champion

Prologue

Disclaimer: Recognizable portions in this chapter have been taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, by J.K. Rowling. I neither own nor intend to make any profit from the use of Harry Potter and the associated characters of the series, in my story.

Location: The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Date: October the thirty-first, nineteen ninety-four

Time: Around eight twenty-three in the morning

The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning. As it was Halloween, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner. Harry led the way over to Dean and Seamus, who were discussing those Hogwarts students of seventeen or over who might be entering.

'There's a rumour going around that Warrington got up early and put his name in,' Dean told Harry. 'That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth.'

Harry, who had played Quidditch against Warrington, shook his head in disgust.

'We can't have a Slytherin champion!'

'And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory,' said Seamus contemptuously. 'But I wouldn't have thought he'd have wanted to risk his good looks.'

…

Location: The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Date: October the thirty-first, nineteen ninety-four

Time: Around eight thirty in the evening

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next …

And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

'The Hogwarts champion,' he called, 'is Cassius Warrington!'

The cheers from the Slytherin table on the far side of the Hall were loud, but clearly not loud enough to mask the shocked and angry exclamations that erupted from the rest of the student body of Hogwarts. Fred and George, in particular, were quite selective in their words, so much so that it caused a few of the Beauxbatons' students – the ones who weren't crying over Fleur Delacour's selection at least – to look over in alarm.

'How on earth did Warrington get chosen?' asked Ron angrily, as they watched the Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch team trundle up to Dumbledore, before turning right, walking along the staff table and disappearing into the chamber that now had the three Triwizard Champions.

'I dunno – look at Snape!'

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at the Potions professor of Hogwarts, his sallow face framed between curtains of greasy, black hair. He was still applauding Warrington's selection along with the rest of his House, but the expression on his face was the same stoic, unmoving one that he usually sported – except when he was speaking to or about Harry.

'You'd think he'd be happy about it,' whispered Dean, who had heard Harry's hiss to Ron and Hermione about Snape. 'I mean, it is a Slytherin champion after all.'

'A Slytherin champion, urgh,' groaned Seamus. 'We're never going to hear the end of this from them – especially Malfoy.'

Every fourth-year Gryffindor in the vicinity – which included Lavender and Parvati (Neville was sitting a few places down with Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevey) – turned to look at the blonde Slytherin. Malfoy was on his feet, along with every other Slytherin, their loud cheers echoing across the Hall as three-quarters of the students sat, flabbergasted at the decision of the Goblet of Fire.

Or was it every other Slytherin?

As the cheers died down, and the students returned to their seats, Harry spotted three others – two girls and a boy – seated next to Malfoy and his cronies, who had not risen along with their House-mates. They had been applauding, yes, but it looked as though they were doing so out of obligation, rather than jubilation. Even the smiles and grins they shared with Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and the others – barely visible in the semi-dark state of the hall – seemed forced.

'Hermione, who –' began Harry, but he was cut off almost immediately by Dumbledore's voice.

'Very well,' he called out; Harry noticed the slightly displeased tone Dumbledore had adopted. 'We have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real –'

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.

The flames in the Goblet of Fire, which up till then had been merrily crackling away in the sparkling hue of bright blue after spitting out Warrington's name, had turned red again. Sparks were flying from it, and almost instantly, a long tongue of flame shot into the air, longer than ones that had espoused the names of the other champions.

And in that very instant, as the flames illuminated almost everyone in the Hall, Harry knew – just knew – that something was about to go terribly wrong. And he was definitely, whole-heartedly sure, that it would have something to do with him.

The parchment from the fourth flame floated down gently, as though it were a dandelion carried along by the wind. Dumbledore did not reach out to snatch the parchment from the air: he, along with every single person in the Hall – ghosts included – watched with bated breath as the small piece drifted downwards ever so slowly…

And then, after what seemed like an eternity for everyone watching, the parchment reached Dumbledore, landing lightly on his outstretched and upturned palm. And, seemingly an eternity later, Dumbledore turned the tiny piece over in his hand, tilting it at an angle so that he could read it in the light of the once-again blue flames of the Goblet.

No one, not even Professor McGonagall – who was, till date, the longest-serving colleague of Albus Dumbledore – could ever remember seeing the Headmaster of Hogwarts struck dumb. The silver-haired old wizard did not utter a single word as he stared at what was written on the parchment in his hand, and everyone in the Great Hall of Hogwarts stared at him.

And then, slowly, excruciatingly, Harry saw Dumbledore raise his head from his palm and look around the seated students in the Hall, as though searching for somebody.

A moment later, blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles met bright green eyes behind round-rimmed glasses.

Harry Potter did not need to hear Albus Dumbledore call out his name – the locking of their gazes had told him all he needed to know.

Bugger it all.

Author's Note: I had read about this idea – of choosing a different champion other than Cedric for the Triwizard Tournament – somewhere on the web (I think it was a Tumblr post) a long time ago. And one of the comments (is that what they're called?) said 'Someone should write this into a fan-fiction!' And so I did. I think there are other stories on FF net with this as their topic – three of them, in fact – but none of them have been updated in a while. It did seem like an open idea to me, so I hope to do justice to it. I just want to thank that Tumblr user for coming up with this amazing idea.