Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was warmly lit by a roaring fireplace, and the walls were adorned with portraits of Hogwarts headmasters and notable alumni. Among them, Godric Gryffindor stood proudly in a new outfit, though it retained a medieval style—complete with a sword in hand and white stockings on his legs.
The Sorting Hat had mentioned before that Godric was particularly fond of such attire.
"Mr. Potter, what took you so long?" Fleur frowned, turning from her place by the fireplace.
"There was a bit of an... incident," Harry replied softly.
"An incident?" Fleur raised an eyebrow, and Krum tilted his head curiously.
Harry nodded. "The Goblet of Fire seems to have lost its mind—it spat out my name on three separate slips."
Fleur blinked, stunned. Krum, too, looked baffled as he dug at his ear, as if wondering whether his limited English had led him to misunderstand Harry.
The door swung open again.
In walked the three school heads—Dumbledore, Maxime, and Karkaroff—accompanied by two Ministry officials, Ludo Bagman and Dolores Umbridge.
"Dumbledore, you owe us an explanation!" Karkaroff snapped, his tone sharp and shrill. His expression darkened as he turned toward Harry. "This is simply outrageous! I admit, Potter is exceptionally skilled—he can summon a magical creature Patronus, and the rumors about him overpowering a professor may not be entirely false. Maybe—just maybe—there are few students his age who can rival him in strength."
"But this isn't just about magical power!" Karkaroff's voice grew louder. "The Goblet of Fire also evaluates character! Is Hogwarts so desperate to win the Triwizard Tournament that it's resorted to such underhanded tricks? Three slips of paper with his name? Three!"
"Mr. Karkaroff," Harry interrupted, fixing the man with an icy stare. "Am I to understand that you are questioning my character?"
Karkaroff froze, his face momentarily stiffening.
From his portrait on the wall, Godric Gryffindor began to shout, "You! The headmaster of Durmstrang—what are you insinuating? Harry passed my tests, both in ability and in character!"
"When Hogwarts rose to become the finest magical school in all of Europe, your founder's ancestors likely sought our protection! And now you dare question the heir I chose?"
Karkaroff unconsciously shrank back, his confidence faltering.
Ludo Bagman stepped forward, forcing a smile to break the tension. "Now, now, Karkaroff, I'm sure Dumbledore and Gryffindor wouldn't make such a mistake. There's probably been some kind of misunderstanding."
"You seem to know something, Mr. Bagman," Harry said, his piercing gaze locking onto him.
Bagman stiffened, his grin becoming noticeably strained. "W-what do you mean, Mr. Potter? Why would you think that—?"
Harry calmly pulled out his wand. "I can tell you're hiding something."
"Wait, wait!" Bagman's expression shifted to one of alarm. He raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, fine, I do know something."
All eyes turned to Bagman, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
Bagman let out a defeated sigh, glancing at Harry. "It's true. I wanted to see you in the tournament. But when I heard you weren't planning to participate, I... I prepared a slip with your name on it and cast a Confundus Charm on the Goblet."
"But I swear, I only submitted one slip!" he added hastily, raising his voice. "Just one! I promise!"
Dumbledore pulled out the three slips of parchment bearing Harry's name and handed them to Bagman. "Which one?"
Bagman examined each slip carefully, his brow furrowing. Finally, he shook his head. "The slip I wrote only had 'Harry Potter' on it—nothing else. I used the Confundus Charm to trick the Goblet into thinking there was a school named Potter, with you as its student."
He separated one of the slips. "This one should have been mine. But... this isn't my handwriting."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and took the slip back. Bagman reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen, and scribbled a few words on the back of another slip to compare the handwriting. "See for yourself, Professor Dumbledore."
It was clearly not his handwriting.
"That means there were at least two others who wanted me to participate," Harry remarked, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group. "Professor Dumbledore, I suggest we cancel the tournament."
"I'm afraid that's impossible," Bagman interjected quickly. "We're bound by the rules. Even when past tournaments resulted in fatalities, they were never canceled."
"The contract has already been formed, Harry," Dumbledore said with a sigh.
Harry frowned. The moment the Goblet of Fire had released his name, he'd felt a magical thread slither out of the flames and wrap around his wrist. And not just once—three times. The bond he felt was stronger than the connections Fleur and Krum had to the Goblet, combined.
Besides, the Ministry had invested too much time and money into the event to let a "small misunderstanding" derail it.
"Luckily, it's all just Harry Potter," Maxime said, trying to lighten the mood. "If it were someone else, Hogwarts might have ended up with two champions, which wouldn't have been fair."
Karkaroff said nothing, his head turning toward the fireplace as if to avoid drawing further attention.
"The Ministry will thoroughly investigate this," Umbridge croaked, her sharp voice cutting through the air. "Rest assured, we'll uncover the culprit behind this interference."
Her words were met with silence. Even Dumbledore only gave her a faint nod before turning away.
Umbridge's toad-like face twisted into a pout as she muttered angrily to herself, retreating to the corner.
"Well, since we still have three champions, the results haven't been affected," Bagman said brightly, his cheerful tone returning. "Now, let's talk about the first task!"
"The first task will test your courage," he explained. "But... we won't tell you what it is. Facing the unknown is a crucial part of being a wizard."
Fleur clicked her tongue in annoyance, Krum's expression darkened, but Harry remained impassive.
Bagman continued, "During the tasks, you won't be allowed to accept help from professors or anyone else. You'll only have your wand, along with any potions or weapons you've created yourself."
His gaze briefly flicked to the Sorting Hat at Harry's side before continuing.
"You'll receive the clue for the second task only after completing the first. This will be a challenging year, but as a small consolation, you're all exempt from end-of-year exams."
Neither Fleur nor Krum said anything.
Harry, however, subtly turned his head, his eyes scanning a shadowy corner of the room. He could feel it—a familiar presence.
"Well, that's all for now!" Bagman concluded. "Good luck in the Triwizard Tournament, and do your schools proud."
As the champions and their respective heads of school began to leave, Harry lingered. "Professor Dumbledore, may I have a word with you? There's something I need to discuss."
"Of course, Harry," Dumbledore replied, nodding kindly. "I've been meaning to speak with you as well."
Together, they walked toward the ground floor. But instead of heading to Dumbledore's office, Harry veered into a nearby classroom and pushed the door open.
"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled. "Wouldn't my office be a more suitable place—"
Before he could finish, Harry raised his wand. The classroom desks twisted and transformed—not to attack Dumbledore but to coil around Harry himself.
"Harry?" Dumbledore's tone sharpened, though he didn't intervene.
Suddenly, a small beetle buzzed frantically out of Harry's robes.
With a quick flick of his wand, Harry sent a wooden slat spiraling toward the insect, trapping it. His wand pointed at the beetle, and he cast another spell, its tip glowing with pale blue light. "Animagus Revelio—show me who you are."
Dumbledore's expression turned grave. He raised his own wand, casting a spell to seal the room tightly.
The beetle twisted and expanded, transforming into a woman with carefully coiffed hair, a sharp chin, and garish jewel-encrusted glasses.
"Rita Skeeter," Harry and Dumbledore said in unison.
"Well, isn't this a surprise?" Harry muttered, his brows furrowing.
Rita, still bound by the wooden slats, gave a nervous smile. "Good evening, Mr. Potter... and Professor Dumbledore."
"Was it you who submitted my name to the Goblet of Fire?" Harry demanded, his wand still trained on her.
"No, no!" Rita exclaimed, shaking her head. "I swear I didn't! I was just... gathering material for tomorrow's front-page article."
Harry didn't trust her words. He raised his wand again, chanting Legilimens.
"You're lying," he murmured as he sifted through her recent memories.
Rita stammered as Harry finished his inspection. Dumbledore sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Harry, I must say, your skill with Legilimency is... startling."
Harry ignored the comment and turned to Dumbledore. "It wasn't her. She's telling the truth. Her memories confirm it—she didn't submit the slips."
Dumbledore's frown deepened. "Then this mystery is even more troubling."
Harry turned his gaze back to Rita. "So, what should we do with this... beetle?"
Rita's face paled.
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Powerstones?
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