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Harry looked at Hermione instinctively, his eyes full of helplessness and confusion.
Hermione met his gaze, sauntered over beside him, patted him on the shoulder, and said flatly:
"Relax. It's just a competition. Worst case, you lose an arm or a leg. Nobody dies."
"By the way — did you take out insurance? Who's the beneficiary?"
Harry: "..."
His face got even worse.
Great comfort. Next time, don't bother.
At the front of the Great Hall, the hushed argument among the headmasters and Barty Crouch finally wound down.
Dumbledore turned to face the crowd, his voice settling back into its usual calm, though it carried an unmistakable edge of authority. "The Goblet of Fire's choice is binding. Harry Potter must compete."
He looked at Harry, his gaze gentle, his tone even. "Harry, did you put your own name into the Goblet of Fire?"
"No, Professor!" Harry denied it immediately. "I didn't!"
"We believe you, Harry."
Dumbledore nodded, then turned his gaze to Hermione.
"Miss Granger, given the dangers of the tournament and the unforeseen circumstances, the three headmasters are unanimously hoping you might serve as the Special Safety Officer for this Triwizard Tournament. To ensure the champions' safety during the tasks and prevent any accidents."
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
You mean you hope, right? Hogwarts already had one extra champion, they had to be under enormous pressure. The last thing they'd want was another Hogwarts person with their thumb on the scale.
Good grief. Old Dumbledore found her something to do every single year.
"Fine," she said.
Originally she'd been worried that if something went wrong and Voldemort failed to resurrect properly, she'd have no good way to intervene. But now, with an official role, she could step in wherever things drifted off course and nudge them back.
Karkaroff and Madame Maxime exchanged a glance. They were furious that Hogwarts had produced two champions, but with Barty Crouch and Dumbledore clearly reading from the same page, and a lunatic who had once bombed the Ministry of Magic standing right there, they had no choice but to swallow it and accept.
The selection ceremony ended in an atmosphere that was equal parts strange and tense. The crowd began drifting away in small groups.
Harry was immediately surrounded by classmates. The mood was not friendly.
"Nice one, Potter!" an older student said with a pointed sneer. "The Chosen One really is something else, gets picked without even submitting his name, stealing everyone else's spotlight!"
"I didn't!" Harry argued, his voice desperate. "I genuinely don't know what happened!"
"Sure you don't. Who'd believe that?" someone nearby called out. "Must've used some magic the rest of us haven't heard of!"
Ron stood at the edge of the crowd, watching Harry with a complicated expression. He didn't move closer.
Just then, an unexpected voice cut through the noise.
"Shut up, all of you. Idiots."
Draco Malfoy stood with his arms crossed, looking sideways at the hecklers.
"Potter may be insufferable, but he's still a champion chosen by the Goblet of Fire, representing our Hogwarts. Or do you want to give Durmstrang and Beauxbatons something to laugh about?"
It was less about helping Harry and more about protecting Hogwarts's pride.
The troublemakers went quiet.
Harry looked at Malfoy in surprise. Malfoy gave a soft scoff, turned, and walked away.
After the crowd dispersed, Harry paced anxiously in place, then finally slipped out of the Great Hall and caught up to Hermione, who was on her way out.
"Hermione!" He fell into step beside her. "What do I do?"
Hermione stopped and looked at him. "Do you want to compete?"
Harry thought about it, then nodded. "Yes."
"Then compete."
"But everyone thinks I cheated—"
"Then withdraw."
"But if I withdraw, they'll call me a coward—"
"Then compete."
"But the Goblet only takes adult wizards. My power can't match theirs, "
"Then withdraw."
"But Dumbledore said the Goblet's choice is binding, "
"Then compete."
"...Thank you for the advice. Very helpful."
"Glad to hear it." Hermione nodded. "Feel free to come find me for a heart-to-heart anytime."
"I'll, I'll compete."
Harry finally ground it out through clenched teeth, something reckless and resolved settling in his eyes.
Compared to possibly losing an arm or a leg, being called a coward was apparently the thing he couldn't live with.
Hermione nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She looked as if she'd expected exactly this answer.
Just then, a cold voice sounded from behind them. "Potter. Granger."
They turned. Snape stood a short distance away, face dark, his gaze sweeping over Harry like a blade before settling on Hermione.
"The Headmaster wants to see you, Miss Granger. His office. Now."
Harry shrank slightly under Snape's stare and said nothing.
"Understood, Professor." Hermione was perfectly calm. She nodded, gestured for Harry to head back on his own, and followed Snape toward the headmaster's office.
...
In the headmaster's office, Dumbledore sat in his chair with an expression that was uncharacteristically grave. Hermione and Snape sat opposite him, one on each side.
Somehow, at some point, these three-person meetings had become a habit whenever anything significant happened.
"Hermione, regarding Harry's name coming out of the Goblet of Fire, what do you think?" Dumbledore opened.
"He didn't put it in himself." Hermione said it plainly. "He doesn't have the nerve for it, and he doesn't have the skill to fool the Goblet."
Dumbledore nodded. "My thoughts exactly."
"Was it you, then?"
Snape cut in abruptly, his eyes fixed on Hermione.
"In this entire school, the only one capable of this sort of... warped sense of fun, with the ability to actually fool the Goblet of Fire, would be you."
Hermione blinked at him with an expression of genuine-looking astonishment. "Professor, are you serious? I've been back less than half a day, and I'm already carrying blame this big?"
She paused, stroked her chin, and let her gaze drift thoughtfully.
"Though, now that you mention it, if I had come back earlier, I might actually have found it rather interesting. Worth trying..."
Dumbledore: "..."
Snape: "..."
Both of them were momentarily at a loss. But they did trust Hermione. If she said it wasn't her, it wasn't.
Still, from the sound of it, she had genuinely considered something along those lines, and had simply been too late getting back to act on it?
"Since it wasn't you," Snape said, pressing down on the vein pulsing at his temple, his voice dropping even colder, "then who did it?"
Snape was furious.
The Triwizard Tournament was restricted to adult wizards for one reason: it was extraordinarily dangerous. Even with that restriction, there had been casualties before.
Sending Harry, a fourth-year, into that arena wasn't misfortune.
It was someone deliberately putting him in harm's way.
➤ Next: Moody: I Feel Like I've Been Living in Hermione's Shadow
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