Adrian groaned, his head pounding as though he had been hit with a sledgehammer.

Voices echoed around him dozens, maybe hundreds all talking at once. His ears rang, and his body felt off, like he was wearing clothes two sizes too small.

He forced his eyes open, only to be met with a scene that made no sense.

Rows of long wooden tables stretched out before him, surrounded by people in black robes.

Candlelight floated in the air, illuminating a ceiling that mirrored the night sky above.

'What the hell?' Adrian thought, his mind spinning. 'Where am I?'

Before he could process the strange surroundings, a sharp, searing pain erupted in his skull.

He lowered his head, gritting his teeth as images and memories flooded his mind.

A cupboard under the stairs. A giant with a pink umbrella. Letters flying through the air. A scarred man with a turban unraveling before his eyes.

And then magic.

As the pain subsided, Adrian opened his eyes again, his breathing ragged.

He felt different smaller, leaner, and strangely familiar with the room around him. Slowly, the truth hit him like a lighting-bolt.

He wasn't Adrian anymore.

He was Harry Potter.

Adrian—no, Harry—looked down at his hands, thin and pale, one trembling slightly as he ran it through messy black hair.

His fingers brushed against the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, and a chill ran down his spine.

'This can't be real,' he thought. 'This has to be a dream or some kind of hallucination.'

"HARRY POTTER!" Dumbledore said calmly.

The booming voice broke through his thoughts. Adrian's head shot up, and he realized everyone in the hall was staring at him.

In his small episode that he was going through, his brain had subconsciously ignored the voices that were shouting around him.

Now though it was completely quite. Not a sound to be heard in the entire hall.

Dumbledore stood at the front of the room, holding a slip of parchment.

His piercing blue eyes were locked on Harry.

It took him a moment to remember what this was. The Triwizard Tournament, The Goblet of Fire.

Today was the selection of the champions. The three champions has already been selected that left only him the unlucky fourth champion.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Harry thought, swallowing hard..

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called again, his voice firm but tinged with urgency.

There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat.

Hermione leaned close, whispering urgently, "Go on, Harry!"

Harry pushed himself to his feet, feeling every eye in the room follow his movements.

His legs felt like jelly as he walked toward the front, his mind racing.

He vaguely registered Ron's shocked face, Hermione's worried expression, and the mutterings of the crowd around him.

"Why him?"

"This has to be a mistake."

'This isn't happening,' he thought. 'How could this happen to me.'

He could feel hundreds and hundreds of eyes upon him, as though each were a searchlight. 

After what seemed like an hour, he was right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers upon him.

"Well . . . through the door, Harry," said Dumbledore. He wasn't smiling. 

Harry went through the door out of the Great Hall and found himself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him. 

The faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered.

Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire.

Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two.

Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire.

Fleur Delacour looked around when Adrian walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair.

"What is it?" she said. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"

Harry barely heard her. His mind was spinning, a strange calm beginning to settle over him.

The memories and chaos in his head hadn't vanished, but he pushed them aside.

There was no time to dwell on how or why he was here. He had to act.

'Okay,' he thought, clenching his fists. 'I'm Harry Potter now. If I don't keep it together, they might figure something out .'

From now on he was Harry Potter. The sooner he accepted this the better.

At-least, he was not going to go into a mental breakdown as some other MC's go through when ever they get transmigrated to some one else's body.

He had always thought of that as stupid, so now that he somehow ended up in that exact situation, it was time to practice what he had preached before.

His thoughts were interrupted as the door burst open behind him, and Ludo Bagman strode in, his round face alight with excitement.

He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, steering him toward the group by the fire.

"Extraordinary!" he muttered, squeezing Harry's arm. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen . . . lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three.

"May I introduce incredible though it may seem, the fourth Triwizard champion?"

Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Harry.

Cedric looked baffled. He looked from Bagman to Harry and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said.

Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, "Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."

"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"

Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered.

Fleur frowned. "But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. " 'E cannot compete. 'E is too young." 

The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape.

Harry heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before Professor

McGonagall closed the door.

"Madame Maxime!" said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"

Harry would have liked to tell her that he was not a little boy but since, he was in fact in the body of 14 year old, he felt he could let it slide.

Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she said imperiously.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Professor Karkaroff.

"Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions — or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"

He gave a short and nasty laugh.

"C'est impossible," said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand was resting upon Fleur's shoulder.

" 'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most injust." 

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, his steely snarl still in place.

"Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice.

"Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here —"

Harry's lips twitched. 'Ah, there's Snape. I was wondering when he'd start his usual spiel.'

Bagman, seemingly oblivious to the rising tension, clapped his hands together. "Well, the rules are the rules! If Harry's name came out of the Goblet, he has to compete!"

..................................

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