The Goblet of Fire
Chapter 11
Hermione had never felt so much energy in the Great hall before, not even from her own sorting ceremony when she had stepped into it for the very first time. Every single person from every single school and every single house was chattering excitedly about who they thought the champions would be.
“Hope it’s Angelina,” said Fred as he and George forced their way into sitting next to the trio. It was good to see they were handling their failure at the goblet quite well.
“So do I! It’d be great to have a gryffindor.” said Hermione excitedly. “We'll know soon!”
“I just hope it’s not a slytherin.” Harry added, and everyone nodded in agreement.
Hermione looked over at their table and saw that they were all chattering away as well- and unsurprisingly, betting egregious amounts of money. Most noticeably was Blaise Zambini with a pile of shimmering galleons in front of him. Hermione found Greengrass with her own pile of sickles beside him, which she still disapproved of but she supposed it was more responsible than galleons. The emotional turmoil Greengrass was dealing with earlier in the day seemed to have dissipated now that she was with her friends. Instead it was now replaced by a bright smile and an eager look in her eyes. Hermione reflected on the new information she had acquired earlier and was, frankly, rather shocked. Greengrass was beautiful (that was obvious to anyone with eyes) in a really feminine way. Like a stereotypical rich pureblood, she carried herself quite gracefully. She just wasn’t the type of girl you would expect fancied women. Of course, Hermione knew there wasn’t a specific “type of girl” for that kind of stuff, but still, you just would never expect it. And then the question of her popularity and status came into play. From what Hermione knew, she was popular within her house. Which wasn’t really surprising, she was pretty, a quidditch player, and came from a good family. But based on what Kimura had said, the slytherins wouldn’t react kindly to that information. Hermione wondered if her friends and family knew. It must be hard living with a secret like that.
Greengrass looked up and caught her glance, Hermione was going to look away quickly, but the blonde smiled at her playfully and gave a nod, which Hermione returned. Huh, I suppose we are sort of friends now. This always seemed to happen to them and Hermione hoped she didn’t come across as some sort of obsessed stalker.
Finally, the noise died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored. “Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber” — he indicated the 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; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting… Hermione held her breath in suspense.
“Any second,” Ron whispered.
Finally, the fire from the goblet shot up and turned red, eliciting excited gasps from the crowd. a charred piece of parchment fluttered out. Dumbledore held it at arm’s length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white. “The champion for Durmstrang,” he read, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.”
“No surprises there!” yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Harry saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber. Karkaroff must have been clapping the loudest and he proudly looked at his champion, ignoring his other students, who looked more miserable than when gryffindor lost the Quidditch cup.
The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone’s attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames. “The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!”
“It’s her, Ron!” Harry shouted as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Ron gapped at her and Hermione scoffed at his behavior and made a mental note to lecture him about it later, but if she was being honest she understood him completely. She watched Delacour walk- no- float across the room and decided she was the most beautiful person Hermione had ever seen. She’d never felt so drawn to someone before and acknowledged that she had to be at least part Veela. Everything about her just fit so perfectly, her face, her body, her hair. Well Daphne’s hair is prettier than hers. It looks softer than anything. After realizing what she had just thought, Hermione snapped herself out of her daze hurriedly. Stop! It’s okay, you were just delirious from the veela effect or something. She reasoned.
Ron shook her excitedly. “It’s the Hogwarts champion now!”
Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment. “The Hogwarts champion,” he called, “is Cedric Diggory!”
“No!” said Ron loudly, but nobody heard him except Harry and Hermione; the uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to their feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers’ table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.
“Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all the remaining students, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on—” But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment. Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached for it.
He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room started at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out —
“Harry Potter.”
Hermione's heart fell to the depths of her stomach before rising up suddenly and beating so hard she could feel it in her ears. No. This can’t be happening. How is this possibly happening?! God, she could only imagine how Harry was feeling right now. Harry! Her best friend, who was still beside her. She turned to him quickly to see that he was pale and frozen in place. There was no applause for Harry. More like angry buzzing throughout the hall, especially from the hufflepuffs. She tried comforting him, putting her hand on his shoulder, but he still seemed numb. Finally, Dumbledore called him up.
“Go on,” Hermione whispered, giving Harry a slight push. He got up slowly as if learning how to walk again for the first time. He looked so small as he entered the champion’s room and Hermione just wished she had been able to destroy the goblet before so none of this was happening.