Scotland, 31st October 1994 – Triwizard Tournament
Scotland, 31st October 1994 – Triwizard Tournament
Any fleeting moment of respite he had shared with Katya at the Three Broomsticks Inn just weeks ago was quickly slipping through his fingers. The warmth of that evening—the low hum of quiet conversation, the flickering candlelight reflected in her glass, the brief illusion of normalcy—was now nothing more than a distant memory, dissolving beneath the weight of the evening ahead.
Severus Snape sat in the Great Hall, his expression unreadable, as he waited for the Triwizard Tournament’s long-anticipated selection ceremony to commence.
It had been thirty years since the tournament was last held at Hogwarts, and the castle was thrumming with restless anticipation. Students murmured excitedly at their tables, eyes flickering between the enchanted Goblet of Fire and their own champions, each hoping to see their chosen contender emerge victorious. The professors, too, wore expressions ranging from cautious optimism to outright scepticism.
The Triwizard Tournament was an ancient tradition, dangerous and—in Severus’ opinion—unnecessarily stupid. For centuries, it had been a spectacle of recklessness and tragedy, and although the Ministry insisted that this edition would be "safe," Snape harboured no illusions.
He had seen too much in his lifetime to trust the word of a group of incompetent bureaucrats. The Goblet of Fire was supposed to choose only those who were skilled and powerful enough to compete. Only students over the age of seventeen were allowed to submit their names—a precaution meant to prevent younger students from risking their lives for a fleeting moment of glory.
Of course, all of that had been useless.
Snape watched from his seat at the staff table as the evening progressed. At first, everything had gone as expected. The Goblet, its flames dancing, had chosen the three champions: Viktor Krum, the prodigious Seeker for Bulgaria’s Vratsa Falcons, representing Durmstrang; Fleur Delacour, a proud and talented witch from Beauxbatons; and Cedric Diggory, Hogwarts’ golden boy, a Hufflepuff whom even Snape had to admit had some potential.
Up until that point, everything had been proceeding normally. But then, the Goblet’s flames turned crimson once more, and a fourth slip of parchment emerged.
Snape leaned forward slightly as the parchment drifted into Dumbledore’s hand. The headmaster unrolled it with his usual calm.
"Harry Potter."
And just like that, with those two words, the Great Hall erupted into a storm of whispers. Snape closed his eyes for a brief moment, took a slow breath, and suppressed a sigh.
Severus Snape was not a man easily surprised. Over the years, he had learned not to expect much from Hogwarts students, except for their chronic inability to follow instructions. However, upon hearing the boy’s name, even he had to admit this was bordering on the absurd.
He stood, arms crossed, watching with his usual severity as the scene unfolded before him. Confusion was thick in the air—the hushed murmurs, the stunned expressions on the students’ faces, the way Potter stepped forward, looking like a lamb to the slaughter.
Of course, it had to be Potter.
Snape inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Could the boy not go a single year without drawing the entire magical world's attention? It wasn’t enough that he had a habit of sneaking around at night, an insatiable tendency to land himself in trouble, or an alarming knack for flirting with death as frequently as most teenagers forgot to do their homework. No, now he had to add "Triwizard Champion" to his ever-growing list of misdeeds.
The boy had to be suicidal. There was no other logical explanation.
Perhaps, Snape thought with bitter irony, Potter had decided to hasten his inevitable and tragic demise. Perhaps he had considered that, having survived a basilisk, a werewolf, and Dementors, the only way to raise the stakes was to enter a tournament that had, for centuries, been notorious for killing its participants.
Snape opened his eyes and saw Dumbledore standing beside Potter, wearing that grave yet strangely indulgent expression. As if he couldn’t possibly imagine the boy being capable of something so brazenly reckless. Of course not, Snape thought sarcastically. The perfect and noble Harry Potter would never cheat.
He cast a sidelong glance at Karkarov. The Durmstrang headmaster had his mouth slightly open, his complexion shifting between pale and a furious shade of red. His outrage was justified: Viktor Krum had been legitimately chosen, and now he was expected to share the competition with a fourteen-year-old boy who, according to the rules, shouldn’t even be there.
Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory also looked bewildered. Snape took a certain satisfaction in the Hufflepuff’s deepening frown, as if, for the first time, the boy was beginning to entertain the notion that Potter might not, in fact, be the flawless hero everyone believed him to be.
Disbelief hung in the air like a thick cloud of smoke. Students twisted in their seats, whispering among themselves, muttering in confusion. Over at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy had leaned back with an expression of pure delight, as though this were the most entertaining spectacle he had ever witnessed.
From the judges’ table, Igor Karkarov shot to his feet, his face contorted with rage.
"This is an outrage!" he exclaimed, pointing a trembling hand at the Goblet.
Snape barely inclined his head, observing his former colleague’s reaction with amusement. He and Karkarov shared a common past, but that did not mean he respected the man. Snape had never held him in high regard, and even less so since Karkarov had betrayed his former allies to save his own skin.
Still trembling with indignation, Karkarov cast a venomous glare at Dumbledore, but the headmaster remained composed, refusing to rise to the accusation.
Snape, on the other hand, folded his arms and stared at Potter with disapproval as the boy moved forward between the tables, wearing the same bewildered expression as someone who had been thrust onto a stage without warning. The child did not look triumphant. In fact, he had the exact expression of someone who had just realised they had drunk a spoiled potion.
Which, from Snape’s perspective, meant absolutely nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time Potter feigned surprise while getting away with something.
"There must be some mistake..." the boy murmured.
Snape let out a sharp breath. Yes, Potter, of course. A mistake.
When Potter was led into the chamber where the other champions were already waiting, Snape followed at a measured pace, positioning himself in a corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. He had no intention of intervening—at least, not yet—but neither was he going to miss the opportunity to see how Dumbledore intended to resolve the mess the boy had caused.
Fleur Delacour eyed him up and down before turning back to Potter with clear scepticism.
"What is going on?" the young woman asked, her tone hovering between confusion and irritation. "Why is he here?"
"Good question," Krum’s voice was rough, devoid of emotion.
Cedric Diggory, meanwhile, wore an expression of complete bewilderment.
Dumbledore entered with his usual calm, followed by Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman. The Hogwarts headmaster approached Potter with a searching look and asked gently:
"Harry, did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?" It was a simple, direct question, laced with serene curiosity.
"No!" Potter exclaimed immediately, his eyes darting between confusion and desperation.
Of course he had. Was Potter not used to treating rules as mere suggestions?
Snape exhaled sharply, wearing the expression of someone who had just heard the most predictable lie in the world.
"It is impossible for this to be a mistake." Moody’s gruff voice cut through the room. "Someone put his name in the Goblet. And it wasn’t just a simple Confundus Charm, no, no..."
Snape cast a sharp look at the Auror. Was he implying that Potter had nothing to do with this?
Karkarov stepped forward, his cloak billowing behind him.
"This is ridiculous!" he spat, shooting a murderous glare at Dumbledore. "This is a trick. A ploy to favour your protégé."
Snape felt a stab of irritation at the accusation—not because he disagreed, but because the mere thought of sharing an opinion with Karkarov was distasteful.
"Whoever entered his name into the Goblet must have performed an extremely advanced piece of magic." McGonagall interjected firmly. "This is not something a student could have done without assistance."
Snape studied Potter, scrutinising him with dark, piercing eyes.
If the boy was telling the truth—if he truly had not placed his name in the Goblet—then the situation was even more concerning. Because someone had done it for him. No one entered another person’s name into the Triwizard Tournament without a reason. A faint unease stirred in Snape’s chest.
It was easy to despise Potter, easy to assume he was nothing more than an arrogant brat with too much luck and a surname far too famous. But this was no simple act of childish vanity. If Potter was not responsible, then someone else had ensured he would compete.
Someone who wanted him to face deadly trials. Someone was playing with the boy’s life as if he were nothing more than a chess piece. Because who, in their right mind, would go to such lengths to make certain that Harry Potter took part in a tournament where the most likely outcome was death?
Snape remained silent, but in his mind, a list of possibilities unfolded instantly. Perhaps it was a particularly idiotic admirer. Or maybe Weasley, in his boundless stupidity, had attempted some sort of prank that had spiralled out of control.
A prickle of unease ran down his spine.
Snape’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. Potter was a magnet for trouble. If someone else was pulling the strings—if Potter was not responsible for this—then there was a player lurking in the shadows.
And those who lurked in the shadows rarely had good intentions. Severus relaxed his arms and slid a hand into his robes, fingers brushing the edge of his wand.
Perhaps Potter was not so suicidal after all. Perhaps someone else had already made the decision for him.