Twisted Fascination

I awoke early the next morning, and I went out to breakfast as soon as the curfew lifted. I sat down in my usual spot, catching my newspaper and checking my stocks. Once done, I ate some toast and returned to the Slytherin common room, where I picked up my grimoire on rituals. I contemplated what I could sacrifice for the following year, only to pause upon reading that the sacrifice of something powerful may just give an extra protection for the following year.

The basilisk’s corpse came to mind, along with a detailed plan.

I decided that I didn't quite need to wait for the night to fall in order to perform the ritual. I would definitely get away with it if I was somewhere that no one would find. I shrunk my book and snuck outside to steal a school broom, which I then shrunk down and stuffed inside of my robes. I headed back to the castle and managed to slip inside of the second floor’s girls’ bathroom. I quickly opened the chamber’s entrance and pulled the broom from my pocket. Before anything could stop me, I was flying down to the Chamber of Secrets.

The Chamber was as quiet as always, and the basilisk’s rotten body was about halfway gone.

I decided to keep one of the basilisk’s fangs for the sake of having it just in case I needed it. I then used my wand to carve out a large circle around the basilisk’s corpse. Once that was done, I began to carefully carve three symbols on the outside of the circle, each representing one of the three Ancient Ones. I finished soon after starting and stepped outside of the large circle. I then got onto my knees, placing my wand before me on the ground. I placed my hands and head to the ground and muttered, “I offer this sacrifice to you, Lady Magic, Lord Death, and Lady Fate. I acknowledge your existence, your knowledge, your powers, and I pledge to become a stronger wizard under your watchful gazes. May you ever flourish.” I waited a long moment before lifting my gaze. I felt my eyes widen in shock upon seeing that the Chamber of Secrets no longer held the corpse of a basilisk.

There hadn't been even a miniscule shift in the air. The basilisk was there one moment and gone the next.

Once I wrapped my head around the fact it was gone, I came to realize that I didn't feel any different. I didn't feel upset at that, only a deep grateful feeling left that I hadn't messed up so badly so as to lose my life. I grabbed my wand and the broom and left the Chamber of Secrets behind. I cautiously returned the broom to where I had gotten it from and returned to the common room to continue with my studies. I stepped into the common room, went to my room, and pulled out my homework on Arithmancy. I worked on it through the rest of the day until evening arrived. Once then, I was told under no uncertain terms by Pucey that I would attend the feast that night or get a month of detentions. I only did so because I had already performed my sacrifice, so I had nothing else planned.

Of course, live bats were fluttering around the hall, and the Goblet of Fire had been moved so that it'd be in front of Dumbledore’s seat.

Eventually, as everyone arrived, dinner began. With an air of impatience, people ate quickly. Then, once done, they seemed to crane their necks to see if Dumbledore had finished eating, which he hadn't because he enjoyed his leisurely pace.

I, too, ate at a leisurely pace, knowing that I couldn't leave early unless I wanted to be sentenced to a month of detentions.

After a long while, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state. There was a sharp upswing of chatter in the Hall, which died back down almost immediately when Dumbledore rose to his feet.

On either side of him, Madame Maxime and Karkaroff looked as tense as everyone else. Meanwhile, Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Of course, Crouch watched everything with a sten expression, though his eyes displayed boredom at the whole display.

“Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” Dumbledore said, “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask please to come up to the top of the hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber.” He motioned to a door behind the staff table. “Where they will be receiving their first instructions.” He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it.

All at once, the candles save for those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging us into a state of semi darkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, blue-white flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched and waited impatiently, a few people checking their watches.

I was just about ready to yawn when the goblet suddenly turned red.

Sparks flew from it, and a second later, a tongue of flames  shot into the air. A charred piece of parchment flew from those flames, eliciting a gasp from many of the occupants of the Hall.

Dumbledore caught the paper and held it at an arm’s length so he could read it by the light of the now blue-white flames. “The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum!” He announced in a strong, clear voice.

A storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall as Krum stood up and swept up the hall briskly.

“Bravo, Viktor!” Karkaroff boomed loudly so that he'd be heard even over the applause, “Knew you had it in you!”

The clapping and cheering died down, and everyone once again turned their focus to the Goblet of Fire, which, seconds later, turned red. We all watched as another piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by flames.

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!”

The young woman with long, silver-blonde hair that had to have veela blood in her stood up gracefully. She walked through the hall, paying no mind to the devastated expressions that the other Beauxbatons students wore.

The remaining students eyed the goblet, eager to see who Hogwarts’ champion would be.

The goblet turned red yet again, and it spat out a third piece of parchment.

“The Hogwarts champion,” Dumbledore announced, “is Cedric Diggory!”

Diggory stood with a broad grin, and he seemed eager to achieve greatness as his House, and several others from the different Houses, urged him on loudly.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore announced after the deafening noise finally went quiet, “Well, we now 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 out of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real–” Dumbledore cut himself off abruptly as the Goblet of Fire had red flames once more

Sparks flew out of it, a long flame shot into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

I closed my eyes for a moment, preparing to hear that Harry was somehow getting himself into more trouble. When I opened my eyes and looked at Dumbledore for confirmation, he was staring back at me with a neutral expression.

“Colton Potter,” he said.

As everyone turned to look at me, I bit back a rather large scowl. Instead, I calmly stood up and said, “Your eyes must be playing tricks on you, sir, for I didn't put my name into the Goblet of Fire.”

Dumbledore, who had absolutely no faith in me, asked, “Did you ask an older student to put it in for you?”

“I did not,” I answered.

“What a filthy liar,” someone from Ravenclaw, probably a sixth year, scoffed.

I didn't hesitate to say, “May Lady Magic strip me of my magic, may Lady Fate give me the worst possible outcome, and may Lord Death strike me down if I have any knowledge on who put my name in the Goblet of Fire.” Upon seeing that no one from the other houses was convinced, I continued. “I shall make an oath to you all that I didn't put my name in the goblet, nor do I know which one of you had the audacity to involve me in this tournament.” 

A brilliant white light came from me and seemed to stretch out to every person in the room.

I felt winded, but not ready to collapse like any normal person would have after making such a monumental oath.

“Holy shit,” Ernest Macmillan cursed aloud.

“Ten points from Hufflepuff,” Sprout said as if agast, causing Macmillan to shrink down while blushing deeply in embarrassment.

“Mr. Crouch,” I said, causing the man, who had been staring at me in thinly veiled surprise, to straighten up. “Is there any way to get me out of this tournament?”

“There isn't,” Crouch said, “As Dumbledore explained yesterday, it’s a binding contract that was made once your name was called out.”

I felt a great sense of annoyance. “Then, I suppose I must participate in this tournament.”

“You must,” Crouch agreed.

I barely held in a heavy sigh as I then asked, “Should I go with the other champions?”

“If you'd please,” he said as he motioned to the door by the staff table.

I stepped away from the Slytherin table, displeased by the news. I then walked to the top of the Hall and headed off through the doorway by the teachers’ table.

There was a smaller room waiting beyond the door, lined with portraits of witches and wizards.

As the portraits of the room turned to look at me, I stared into the flames of the handsome fire on the opposite side of the room.

Krum, Diggory, and Delacour were grouped around the fire. Krum was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Diggory held his hands behind his back as he stared into the flames.

Delacour, meanwhile, flipped some of her long hair back as she turned to look at me. “What is it? Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”

“No,” I denied as I heard the scurrying of feet approaching the door. I turned to look to see who would enter with that much enthusiasm, only for Bagman to bound in.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the other form “Extraordinary!” He muttered, squeezing my arm.

I felt a sickening feeling in my gut, and I quickly ripped my arm from Bagman’s grasp. “Don't touch me,” I demanded as I looked up at the blonde man with just a bit of apprehension.

“Come on, Colton, you're the fourth Triwizard champion!” Bagman exclaimed, clearly far too over eager for his own good.

Krum straightened up, his gaze darkening as he looked between us.

Diggory, meanwhile, glanced between us as if he was trying to read in deeper to the situation.

Delacour, as usual, tossed her hair back and smiled. “Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman.”

“Joke?” Bagman asked as if bewildered by her words. “No, no, not at all! Colton’s name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!”

Krum’s eyebrows contracted slightly.

Diggory still looked politely between us.

Delacour, using the brain she was blessed with, frowned immediately. “But evidently, zair ‘as been a mistake. ‘E cannot compete. ‘E is too young.”

“Well… it is amazing,” Bagman said as he rubbed his smooth chin, smiling down at me. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name came out of the goblet… I mean, Crouch even said there was no backing out at this point, even if you didn't put your name in the goblet–”

“If ‘e did not put ‘is name in ze goblet, who did?” Delacour asked curiously.

“We don't know,” Bagman said with a casual shrug.

“It wasn't me,” I said upon seeing Delacour raise an eyebrow. “I just made an oath to the rest of the people in the Hall, and I'll do it for you, too, if you doubt me that much.”

“No need!” Bagman chirped, “We can't have you exhaust your magic before the tournament even begins!”

The door suddenly opened once more, and in came Dumbledore, Crouch, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, McGonagall, and Snape. The chatter of the students was as loud as ever, which was cut off once more as the door closed behind the newcomers.

“Madame Maxime!” Delacour said as she strode over to her headmistress, “Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!”

I felt highly offended by her words, as well as just how little she thought of me when she knew nothing of my talents.

Before Madame Maxime could reply, Karkaroff said, “I'd also like to know the meaning of this, Dumbledore.” He wore a steely smile, but his blue eyes showed nothing but ice coldness. “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?”

“I'd like to read the rules as well. That, and the full contract someone agreed to on my behalf,” I said as I looked at Crouch, completely disregarding the others.

“That can be arranged,” Crouch replied curtly.

I nodded once before taking up a more relaxed stance. “Then, I suppose I could participate while putting forth a minimal amount of effort just to ease everyone else’s mind.”

“No, no, no!” Bagman tutted loudly, “This is a competition that only happens once in a lifetime! You have to put forth your best effort!”

I looked at the man while hiding away my disdain just about as much as I could. “I'm sorry that I must inform you that I have no patience for your little tournament. I have grades to worry about.”

“Oh, please,” Bagman waved off, “Grades aren't everything.”

Before I could blow up at the man, Snape sent me a malicious glare from behind Dumbledore, causing me to keep my mouth shut in a thin line.

“I, for one, think that having two champions is highly irregular,” Karkaroff cut in once again with an ugly look of rage. “I insist that the rest of my students’ names be resubmitted. You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore.”

“But, Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that,” Bagman said with a frown, “The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out – it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament–”

“–In which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!” Karkaroff exploded, “After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!”

“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” growled Moody as he came into the room, having obviously been eavesdropping from just beyond the door. “You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?”

“Convenient?” Karkaroff repeated as his hands balled up into fists. “I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody.”

“Don’t you?” Moody replied quietly. “It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter’s name in the goblet knowing he'd have to compete if it came out.”

“Evidently, someone ‘oo wished to give ‘Ogwarts two bites of ze apple!” Madame Maxime exclaimed.

“I quite agree, Madame Maxime,” Karkaroff said, bowing to the part-giantess. “I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards–”

“If anyone's got a reason to complain, it's Potter,” Moody growled, “But… funny thing… I don't hear him saying a word…”

Before I could explain that Snape would have my head on a silver platter, Delacour stomped her foot down. “Why should ‘e complain?! ‘E ‘as ze chance to compete, ‘asn’t ‘e? We ‘ave all been ‘oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money – zis is a chance many would die for!”

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody said sinisterly.

I snorted, causing everyone to once again look at me. “I – sorry – it's just funny that someone actually thought I'd be interested in participating for the sake of glory and/or money. I mean, they clearly haven't met me.”

“You would not participate for ze glory or money?” The part-Veela challenged.

“Delacour, let me ask you something,” I said calmly, “If you'd genuinely get fifteen minutes of fame out of this tournament before you're promptly discarded and forgotten, would you still participate?”

She frowned deeply at me, but she didn't open her mouth.

“This tournament is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I have better things to focus my limited time on,” I said mercilessly.

“Like what?” Delacour sassed.

“Let's settle down, now!” Bagman stepped in while mopping his head with a handkerchief.

“In any case,” I said as I turned away from Delacour, “I am under the impression that nothing will change regardless of who feels what. I'm set to participate, and I have no choice in the matter, just as you all have no choice in the matter. A magically binding contract cannot be broken unless certain clauses haven't been fulfilled, and I need to look into the contract more thoroughly before I can safely stop participating. Now, if you do not mind, I am quite bored of listening to you all argue. I also have Arithmancy homework to work on.”

“Now, now!” Bagman yelled as he stepped into my path. “We have to give the champions their instructions, don't we?! Barty, want to do the honors?”

“Yes,” Crouch said as he finally stopped staring into space. He approached the fireplace as he explained, “ Yes, the first task is designed to test your daring, so we cannot tell you what it is.” He turned to look at us four students. “Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard… very important… The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept the help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first one is over. Owing to the demand and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempt from their end-of-year tests…”

I internally snorted while making a mental note to tell Dumbledore that he could take my winning exam scores from the clutches of my cold, dead body.

Crouch turned to the oldest man in the room as he asked, “I think that's all, is it, Albus?”

“I think so,” Dumbledore replied as looked at Crouch with mild concern. “Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?”

“No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,” Crouch said with a small shake of his head. “It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment… I've left young Weatherby in charge… Very enthusiastic… a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told…”

I realized that the man was talking about Percy Weasley, and a sense of disgust ran through my mind.

“You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” Dumbledore implored.

“Come on, Barty, I'm staying!” Bagman chirped eagerly with a bright look on his face. “It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting there than at the office!”

“I think not, Ludo,” said Crouch with a touch of his old impatience.

“Professor Karkaroff – Madame Maxime – a nightcap?” Dumbledore asked politely.

But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Delacour’s shoulders and was leading her swiftly from the room, talking quite fast in French as they did so.

Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, but in silence.

“Colton, Cedric, I suggest you go to your beds,” Dumbledore said while smiling at both of us. “I am sure Slytherin and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.”

I nodded once before leaving, Diggory right on my heels.

The Hufflepuff waited until we were halfway through the Great Hall to say, “So, we're playing against each other!”

“I have no interest in this tournament,” I assured Diggory, “I'll lose to you three for sure.”

“Do you really intend to just lose?” Diggory asked incredulously.

I paused before looking back at the Hufflepuff carefully. “I didn't want to be a part of this, so why should I put forth more than a bare minimum?”

Diggory’s smile waned before dropping away entirely. “Because that level of effort will get you killed,” he warned, “I've read up more about this tournament, so I know that carelessness will get more than just the contestants killed.”

I averted my eyes to the floor with a frown. “Do you want me to actually put forth an effort to win even though I'm not interested?”

“Think of it as a big test,” he suggested cheerfully. “I've heard you always do your best on tests.”

I barely bit back a snort as we exited the Hall. “If I have to actually do well, you’ll have genuine competition.”

“I'd like to see that,” Diggory said gently.

I grunted in acknowledgement before looking at Diggory. “If you insist…”

The young man beamed at me. “Great! Let's both do our best!”

I nodded once before moving to the stairs to the dungeons.

Diggory, too, moved away from the entrance to the Great Hall, going off toward wherever the Hufflepuffs were waiting to cause a ruckus.

I calmly moved down the stairs and into the Slytherin common room. I stared impassively at the crowd of Slytherins who hadn't bothered setting up for a celebration.

Almost hesitantly, Pucey said, “Potter, do you have any suspicions on who put your name in the Goblet of Fire?”

“Not now,” I admitted, “Though I know that it wasn't a student from here. It would take exceptionally Dark magic to hoodwink an ancient artifact like that, and no student from Hogwarts is taught such magic.”

Pucey shifted a bit, but his eyes clearly said that he had doubts.

“Well, let me rephrase,” I said as I looked at the Slytherins. “No one of us Slytherins would just throw my name into the goblet without wanting me harmed and/or dead, and I know I haven't done anything to any of you that warrants my death.”

Pucey nodded tensely.

“Now, I have homework–”

“Can't we just have one relaxing night?” Davis whined from where she lounged around with some other Slytherins in their fourth year.

“I will be relaxing–”

“I meant a party,” the girl grumbled.

“You can still party while I do my homework,” I offered.

“No,” Davis said with a heavy sigh, “Nevermind…”

I shrugged, figuring it was her loss. I then headed off to where I left my homework and continued working on it.

Time passed by quickly, and before we knew it, it was lights out.

I stared at the canopy of my four-poster bed for a long while, simply thinking over what had occured. I knew that no student in Hogwarts had those abilities, which left the other schools and all the staff members. While I was confident that Snape had nothing to do with my championship, I also knew that the others couldn't be trusted, especially not Dumbledore. I figured that anyone in Dumbledore's pocket could be seen as a potential threat, so I needed to keep those I distrusted at a distance, but not so far that they'd easily sneak around me.

Draco grumbled in his sleep as he rolled over in his bed on the opposite side of the dorm room.

I didn't bother acknowledging the noise, instead finally closing my eyes. I tried getting some sleep, but the peaceful rest evaded me. I eventually got up for the day and did my morning routine. Once done, I headed out for breakfast.

As usual, my owl carrying the Daily Prophet arrived early. I caught my newspaper and checked my stocks. I then nodded in approval before folding up my newspaper. Leisurely, I ate my breakfast before attempting to head back to the Slytherin common room. I grabbed my bag and headed up to the library, where I decided to work on my Ancient Runes essay. I managed to work in silence for a mere three minutes before I was disturbed by someone stepping into my space.

“May I sit next to you?”

I glanced over at the person, and I raised my eyebrow at Krum. “Sure,” I said casually before looking back at my essay.

“Do you like Runes?” Krum asked curiously as he sat down right next to me.

“I do,” I admitted.

“Why?” He pressed.

“They aren't understood by many, but they are quite powerful nonetheless,” I explained as I continued working on my rough draft.

He pondered my words for a moment before asking, “Do you like the idea of having power?”

“That depends on the situation,” I replied honestly, “I like having power over those who wish to harm me, but I don't exactly want power over those with whom I am acquaintanced.”

Krum remained silent after that.

I continued doing my work, aware that he hadn't taken his eyes off of me. After a while of trying to ignore him, I grew frustrated. I looked at the older teenager sternly and asked, “May I help you?”

“Do you duel well?” Krum inquired.

“Dueling here is strictly against the rules of Hogwarts,” I stated.

“Do you know any Dark magic?” Krum pressed.

“I do,” I admitted before replying, “Why do you ask?”

“Would you be willing to learn more?” He questioned.

“I’m always willing to learn,” I admitted honestly, “However, I won't just learn from anyone. They must prove themselves first.”

Krum then asked, “Why not go to Durmstrang?”

“My brother only knew of here, and I had to follow him,” I answered.

“Why not have him come to Durmstrang?” Krum inquired.

“I don't think that was ever an option for the Boy-Who-Lived,” I said softly.

Krum frowned deeply before asking, “Does it hurt to be in his shadow?”

“No,” I answered, “Neither of us is in the other’s shadow, after all. We're simply our own people living our intertwined lives.”

Krum looked down at the desk before us for just a moment. Then, Krum said, “Do you want to train together?”

“Train?” I echoed in confusion.

“For the Triwizard Tournament,” Krum clarified.

“I suppose I should increase my endurance, at the very least,” I mused aloud to myself.

“So–”

“I won't train with you,” I interrupted right away, causing his face to fall. “It could lead to us having an unfair advantage over the other. I'm not the type of person to agree to that.”

“Why not?” Krum questioned.

“I love a good challenge,” I replied with a small smirk.

Krum’s lips curled up. “I see. Then, I suppose you don't want me to go easy on you, either.”

“I would be upset if you did,” I replied.

The young man’s smile grew, and he turned his gaze toward my Runes once more. “You are smart to know this.”

“Not necessarily,” I waved off dismissively, “I just study ahead.”

“You learned from a book that this symbol can actually go next to this one?” Krum asked with a raised brow as he motioned between two symbols that, by all means, were not supposed to go next to each other if you were a novice in Runes.

I looked up at Krum with a sharp grin that bordered on malicious, “Studying isn't only about learning from books.”

Krum smirked as he sat back, crossing his arms over his chest as he did so. “Fair enough.”

I allowed my grin to die down to a mere smirk as I turned my focus back to my Runes. As my smirk turned my usual frown, I made a small note on my rough draft that an advanced guide to Runes was needed the next time I was in Diagon Alley.

Viktor seemed content to sit quietly for a small while.

His headmaster seemed to have a problem with that, however, as was evident when he came storming into the library while saying as kindly, but firmly as a man like him could say, “Viktor, you're late for your practice. And what are you doing with this boy?”

I kept an even face despite wanting to hex the man for calling me a mere boy.

“I was merely speaking to him,” Krum said honestly as he stood up.

“Well, no more of that,” Karkaroff said as he looked down his nose at me. “He isn't the type you wish to associate with.”

Krum frowned, but he didn't open his mouth to stand up for me.

Karkaroff wrapped an arm around Krum’s shoulders and basically began to drag the eighteen-year-old from the library.

I turned back to my Runes, not interested in further speaking with Krum if it meant Karkaroff would keep looking down at me. I continued with my homework, and the rest of the day passed by in peace.

The next day, of course, was the day that classes resumed.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to get away from the stares of others and their constant murmuring. I couldn't fathom how those people gossiped like it was their last day on earth for every time they say me.

Didn't they get bored of asking the same things to each other?

In any case, everything was becoming normal with the foreign students at Hogwarts, as classes continued without them, and only during mealtimes did they show up.

On Friday, I was heading down to Double Potions when something in the entrance to the dungeons. I raised an eyebrow upon seeing the badges that Draco, and the rest of my Housemates, had seemingly charmed and donned. “Celebrate Champion Colton?” I read aloud in horror.

“Like it?” Draco asked with a smirk.

“Merlin, no,” I answered honestly, “Take them off before you embarrass our House.”

“You mean before we embarrass you,” Nott said with a smirk that could only be described as smug.

I clicked my tongue in distaste. “A toddler could have come up with a better slogan, and I refuse to be associated with that shade of green. You should have stuck with Slytherin colors instead of baby puke green.”

“I told you to go with the first option,” Parkinson muttered to Burstrode, who just rolled her eyes and scowled in retort.

“Fine, we'll redesign them,” Draco tried to negotiate.

“I’ll burn them all,” I threatened.

Before we could squabble further over the horrific badges, Malfoy perked up as he saw the Gryffindors coming down the stairs. I was exactly three milliseconds away from hexing Malfoy when he opened his bloody mouth and said, “Want some badges to support the greatest Hogwarts champion? I've got loads.” He held his hand out to the nearest Gryffindor, Hermione. “But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up.”

I barely forced back a roll of my eyes.

Harry and Ron both reached for their wands, and people went scrambling to either sides of the corridor.

I, meanwhile, refused to move from my spot just because those idiots were doing their foolish one-upping ritual.

“Harry, Ron!” Hermione said in a warning tone.

“Go on then,” Malfoy said quietly as he drew his own wand. “Moody’s not here to look after you now – do it, if you've got the guts–”

They shot spells off at each other at the same time, but it was hardly fair with Draco against both Ron and Harry.

Thankfully, none of their spells seemed to hit their intended targets.

I filled my eyes toward the ceiling as Goyle and Crabbe were both hit with some kind of minor thing while Hermione was hit with one from Draco.

“Hermione!” Brown squealed as the girl painfully whimpered and covered her lower face with her hands.

“And what is all this noise about?” Snape demanded to know as he arrived on the scene. As the majority of the Slytherins clamored to give their explanations, Snape pointed a yellowed finger at me. “Explain.”

“A minor spat in the hallway, sir,” I said honestly, “I would suggest sending Crabbe, Goyle, and Granger up to the hospital wing because they were hit by the rather horribly-aimed spells.”

Snape looked at Crabbe, Goyle, and Granger before waving his wrist at them dismissively. “Be back quickly, class is starting.”

The three headed off, all while quietly bemoaning their features.

“Who cast those spells?” Snape asked me.

I blinked once before answering, “Harry and Weasley hit Crabbe and Goyle respectively–”

“Let me see,” the man said softly, “Twenty points from Gryffindor and a detention for each Potter and Weasley–”

“What about Malfoy?!” Ron yelled furiously.

“What about him?” Snape asked with a raised brow.

“He hit Hermione!” Ron replied loudly.

Snape looked at Malfoy for confirmation.

“I don't know what he's talking about,” Draco replied like the arrogant brat he was.

“Bastard,” Weasley growled.

“Thirty points from Gryffindor,” Snape said right away. “Now, get inside, or it'll be a week’s worth of detentions.”

Harry and Ron both stomped inside while looking ready to blow up at the next person that dared to even look at them.

I, meanwhile, dismissed the clear favoritism and merely went to my usual seat next to Zabini.

For half the class, we started writing down recipes for certain types of potions.

“Antidotes!” Snape started loudly once everyone was finished. His black eyes glittered unpleasantly as he gazed around the classroom. “You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one…” Snape’s eyes met Harry's, and before he could either foolishly threaten to poison Harry and/or one of Harry's friends, a loud knock on the door interrupted.

Colin Creevey, a Gryffindor in Astoria Greengrass’s year, hesitantly edged into the room. The boy beamed at Harry before walking up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.

“Yes?” Snape asked curtly.

“Please, sir, I'm supposed to bring Colton Potter upstairs,” Creevey answered.

“Very well,” Snape said dismissively.

“Why, exactly, must I leave class?” I asked the boy as I nevertheless packed up my things, knowing I didn't really have a choice in the matter.

“Mr. Bagman wants you,” Creevey answered cheerfully. “All the champions have got to go. I think they want to take photographs.”

“Oh,” I said, less than pleased with the revelation that I had to miss my classwork for some article in the Daily Prophet. I then looked at Snape pleadingly, but he had turned his back to me and was writing on the board with chalk. I bit back a deep scowl as I finished packing up my belongings and left the classroom behind, all with Creevey eagerly eyeing me.

He didn't speak up, though, an indicator that he was at least somewhat sensible.

When we got to the right room, Creevey beamed at me before scurrying off.

I knocked on the door politely before entering without an answer.

The classroom was fairly small in size, and most of the desks had been pushed back, leaving a large space in the middle. Three of the desks, however, were lined up in front of the blackboard side-by-side. They were covered in a long length of velvet with five chairs behind the desks.

Bagman was there, talking to Rita Skeeter, who wore magenta robes that day.

Krum was in a corner, brooding as usual.

Diggory and Delacour, meanwhile, were locked in conversation. Delacour kept throwing her hair back, and she seemed significantly happier than she had in the past few days.

A paunchy man that was holding a large black camera which smoked slightly kept looking at Delacour out of the corner of his eyes. Even if Delacour had veela blood, that didn't excuse the man for eyeing a student.

Before I could do something about that, however, Bagman spotted me and leapt from his chair, bounding over with the energy of a golden retriever. “Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Colton, in you come… nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment.”

I merely hummed in acknowledgement at the information, knowing that meant my wand would be deemed as either fully functional or in need of replacement.

“The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photoshoot. This is Rita Skeeter,” Bagman said as if she were a mere afterthought.

“Hello again, Miss Skeeter,” I replied curtly.

“Good to see you again dear,” Skeeter replied with a fake smile that was genuinely convincing for normal people.

“Oh, so you two know each other. Good,” Bagman approved as he clapped his hands together. “She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet…”

“Maybe not that small, Ludo,” she replied as she eyed me. “I wonder if I could have a little word with Colton before we start? The youngest champion, you know… to add a bit of color?”

“Certainly!” Bagman agreed for me at once.

Before I could object, Skeeter grabbed my upper arm and basically dragged me from the room. She then pulled me into a bloody broom closet across the hall and sat down on a bucket, pushed me down onto a cardboard box, and then closed the door, throwing us into darkness.

I blinked a few times, but otherwise kept my usual guarded expression.

“Let's see now…” She unsnapped the crocodile-skinned handbag of hers and pulled out a handful of candles, which she promptly lit with a wave of her wand. “You wouldn't mind, Colton, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…”

“I wouldn't be opposed so long as nothing is taken out of context,” I replied even though I definitely had a problem with the quill.

She begrudgingly nodded, flashing me a fake smile. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a long, acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out on a crate of Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She put the tip of the quill into her mouth for a mere moment, sucking on it, and then stood the quill upright on the parchment and allowed it to remain standing and quivering. “Testing… My name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter.”

Naturally, the quill began to write what she thought, instead of what she spoke.

Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations–

“Lovely,” Skeeter said as she ripped off the piece of parchment and stuffed it into her handbag. She then leaned toward me eagerly and said, “So, Colton… What made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?”

“The staff and students alike can testify for me that I didn't enter the Triwizard Tournament of my own volition. I made a magical oath in the Great Hall when my name was announced, verifying to everyone that I didn't enter my name, nor did I have any knowledge of anyone who even thought of entering my name,” I replied honestly.

“You made a magical oath to everyone in the Great Hall?” She asked in surprise.

“That's correct,” I confirmed, “Even to those from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.”

“Do you have any suspicions on who entered you?” The woman asked eagerly.

“Moody certainly made it sound like someone wanted me dead,” I replied with false concern, “I just hope it wasn't for that reason.”

“As in Mad-Eye Moody?” Skeeter inquired.

“The very same,” I confirmed.

“Do you have any enemies?” The blonde followed up right away.

“I doubt that any of them would have entered my name into the Goblet of Fire,” I answered. “It's not as though it's taught here how to bewitch a powerful relic of the past.”

“Excellent point,” Skeeter approved at once. “That leaves little options for the suspect.”

“It does, but I don't know enough about the suspects to make a proper guess of who entered my name without my permission, much less my knowledge,” I said.

“In either case, how do you feel about the tasks ahead?” She pressed on, “Excited? Nervous?”

“I would say I'm cautious,” I replied before explaining, “People have died in this tournament, and that makes me wonder what precautions have been taken this time around. I do hope things will be marginally safer, especially considering Hogwarts hasn't had the best reputation in terms of safety.”

Skeeter at once latched onto my words, and her quill skated across the parchment eagerly. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“I'm sure you remember how dementors surrounded the grounds here last year,” I said, causing her eyes to practically spark with demented glee. “I was attacked by a few while out on a stroll during the winter time.”

She gasped in surprise. “You were? Are you alright now?”

“Physically, yes,” I replied, and I purposefully paused, looking hesitant.

“Otherwise…?” She pressed, falling hook, line, and sinker into my little trap.

“I don't like to walk around the grounds alone anymore, of course,” I answered hesitantly, “I know the dementors are no longer here, but it's still something I fear – being attacked out of nowhere. It's not the first time something like that has happened here, after all.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Well, there was an incident the prior year with Lockhart,” I said, and her quill couldn't have gone faster even if it wanted to.

“Yes, I remember. Lockhart tried to extort you,” Skeeter said.

“That was only after he fed me a potion,” I informed her, and both of her eyebrows raised high. Before she could ask me to elaborate, I leaned toward her a bit while saying softly,  “That wasn't the worst of it, though.”

Immediately, she leaned back. “What could possibly make it worse?”

“In my first year, a servant of the Dark Lord was here at Hogwarts, and he threatened my life,” I divulged, knowing that information was never given to the public.

“What?!” Skeeter gasped in surprise.

“Surely, you heard of the passing of Quirinus Quirrell?” I asked, causing her to nod slowly. “He was that servant, and he not only threatened my life, but also tried to kill my brother. He ended up dying that night he tried killing Harry.”

“That can't be,” she denied as her quill nevertheless continued to write away.

“I swear on penalty of my magic that Quirrell was the Dark Lord’s follower, threatened me, and tried to kill my brother,” I said, and a brilliant glow of white filled the broom closet.

As her jaw literally dropped open, her quill finally came screeching to a halt.

I then flicked my wand once, causing the candles to levitate easily. “I didn't lose my magic,” I pointed out.

Before Skeeter could truly comprehend the gravity of my path, the door to the closet opened. At once, Skeeter’s quill and parchment vanished inside of her handbag, and she clasped it shut quickly. Then, she cried out, “Dumbledore! How are you?” She stood, holding one of her manicured hands out toward the man. “I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?”

“Enchantingly nasty,” Dumbledore replied with his usual teye twinkling. “I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat.”

Skeeter didn't even bother looking abashed. “I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street–”

“I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita,” said Dumbledore with a courteous bow and smile, “but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard.”

I dismissed the flames from the candles and stepped out from the cupboard. I then proceeded back to the room across the hall and sat down in the chair between Diggory and Krum.

Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Bagman, and Crouch were all there and waiting for Dumbledore to come into the room and sit in his own chair.

Skeeter settled herself into a corner, and she got her parchment and quill prepared once more.

“May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” Dumbledore asked as he took his spot at the judges’ table. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.”

Standing quietly by the window, Ollivander stared at us. “Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” He asked as he stepped into the open space in the middle of the room.

The young woman swept over to the wandmaker and handed him her wand.

“Hmmm…” He twirled the wand between long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully. “Yes,” he said quietly, “Nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing… dear me…”

“An’ ‘air from ze ‘ead of a veela,” Delacour said, “One of my grandmuzzer’s.”

“Yes,” Ollivander said, “Yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands… however, to each his own, and if this suits you…” The man ran his fingers along the wand before suddenly exclaiming, “Orchideous!”

A bouquet’s worth of flowers burst from the end of the wand.

“Very well, very well, it's in fine working order,” Ollivander said, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Delacour with her wand. “Mr. Diggory, you're next.”

Delacour gilded back to her seat, smiling at Diggory as he stood up and passed her.

“Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?” Ollivander asked enthusiastically even though he was one of two wandmakers in all of Great Britain. “Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn… must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches… ash… surprisingly springy. It's in fine condition… You treat it regularly?”

“Polished it last night,” Diggory replied, grinning widely.

Ollivander nodded in approval before sending a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric’s wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, “Mr. Krum, if you please.”

Krum stood up and went over to the man, thrusting his trusted wand forward and into the hands of a stranger. He then shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Hmmm…” Ollivander observed the wand for a mere moment before musing aloud, “This is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wandmaker, though the staying in never quite what I… however…” The man lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. “Yes… hornbeam and dragon heartstring?” He looked at Krum, who nodded once. “Rather thicker than one usually sees… quite rigid… ten and a quarter inches… Avis!”

The hornbeam wand let out a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

“Good,” Ollivander approved as he handed the wand back. “Which leaves… Mr. Potter.”

I approached the man, who looked back at me with great apprehension.

“Ah, yes,” he said almost apprehensively, “Yes, how well I remember…”

I could remember, too, when I pressed Ollivander for answers regarding the Dark Lord. I also recalled how he had insisted I leave his shop after he had given me my wand.

“Blackthorn wood, phoenix feather, thirteen and three-quarters with–” The man cut himself off abruptly as his brow furrowed. “Your wand seems more flexible than it has in the past, Mr. Potter.”

“Unyielding flexibility can only last for so long before it either snaps in half or learns to bend just a bit,” I stated.

“Your wand has supple flexibility,” he said as he eyed it suspiciously. He then snapped it around and created a fountain of wine from the end. He handed it back to me while begrudgingly giving it a passing mark.

“Thank you all,” Dumbledore said as he stood up at the judges' table. “You may go back to your lessons now – or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end–”

The man with the camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

“Photos, Dumbledore, photos!” Bagman cried excitedly, “All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?”

“Er – yes, let's do those first,” Skeeter said, her eyes once again landing on me, “And then perhaps some individual shots.”

The photographs took a long time to get through. Madame Maxime shadowed everyone no matter where she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand back far enough to get her into the picture properly. Finally, she had to sit down while everyone gathered around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl while Krum glowered, half-hidden in the back, clearly not pleased to have his photograph taken yet again. The photographer kept trying to pull Delacour in the front while Skeeter wanted to have me in the front. Of course, she also insisted on separate shots of all us champions.

Finally, we were free to go, and I headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. I calmly served myself food and ate alone before heading back to the Slytherin common room. I worked on my homework until lights out and then ended up having a hard time sleeping that night. Finally, I gave up in the early morning and got myself ready for the day.

The Daily Prophet was delivered by the usual owl that morning.

I took one look at the front page before scowling deeply at how my photograph had taken up most of the space. I noted that the article had continued into pages two, sox, and seven, and I couldn't help but want to rip up my paper upon seeing that Skeeter had interviewed others about me as well. I decided to read it over, and I wasn't too impressed with how she had taken my words and added onto them in certain places.

“What's that?” Davis asked as she sat down across from me.

“An article by Skeeter,” I replied dryly.

“Ah,” the girl said, clearly understanding that I was less than pleased.

Aloud, I read, “‘Yeah, Potter made an oath about not entering himself in the tournament to everyone in the Great Hall. I was surprised that he would do that, but he really doesn't like it when people call him a liar when he's pretty forthcoming,’ said Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw.”

“That girl hasn't even talked to you before,” Davis said incredulously.

“Skeeter called me, and I quote, ‘A true survivor and quite misfortunate.’ Can you believe the gall of this woman?” I asked rhetorically.

“I mean, she did write an article about you being the next Dark Lord,” Davis said, causing me to scoff.

“That woman–” I paused as I saw that Ginny Weasley had been interviewed about me as well.

‘You know, Colton won't like me saying this, but I think he could easily beat the others in the tournament if he actually bothers to apply himself. I mean, it's not like they pose much of a threat, especially if one of them really annoys Colton.’

Why, Ginny? I thought with the utmost exasperation, Why would you throw me under the metaphorical bus like this? What have I ever done to deserve the spotlight? Do you want me to throw you into the light in retort? I continued to read the long article, which barely touched on Delacour, Diggory, or Krum. I rolled my eyes a few times, especially considering that Skeeter considered me as the star of the tournament that hadn't even had one event yet. Finally, I was able to finish the article and check my stocks. “This year is going to be so annoying.”

Davis gave an unladylike snort before she said, “Have fun with that.”

I glared at her before heading off to the library to get some studying in that day.

Merlin knew I needed some time alone to process my new stardom.