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Assistant: Title: Little Lamb Gone to Slaughter
        Author: orphan_account orphan_account 
        Chapter: 2/15 
        Summary: Harry doesn’t think much about the Triwizard Tournament beyond being relieved that he won’t have anything to do with it at all. It seems like he might finally have a quiet, peaceful year.So, of course, his name ends up coming out of the Goblet of Fire despite the fact that he would never in a million years enter this death tournament willingly.The entire school turns their back on him once more, only this time, he truly feels alone. Is this how it’s always going to be? Year after year of being thrown into life-threatening danger at Hogwarts while surrounded by people who can’t decide whether they love or hate him only to be shunted off to the Dursleys –who certainly aren’t shy about how much they hate him– every summer?It feels like the fighting never ends. Harry is so, so tired…
        Contents: Chapter 2
    

    


      
        
          Did I really just churn out another chapter in less than 24 hours, five of which were spent at work? You bet I did. I'm literally so excited for this story that I couldn't help myself, haha. I hope you all enjoy!
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    Harry wakes up feeling quite miserable the next morning. He’s hardly gotten any sleep at all, and what little snatches of it that he managed were plagued with nightmares. He feels even worse when he realizes that Ron has gone to breakfast without him, clearly not inclined to be any more reasonable after sleeping on it.  ‘Fine then,’  he thinks as he worries at his lip.  ‘I don’t need him. If he wants to throw away our friendship over… Over… Then let him. I’m done.’ He feels quite done with the whole lot of it, really.The sentiment grows stronger when he trudges out of his dorm room and into the common room, greeted by deafening applause and cheering that makes him want to curl up on his bed and never leave it again. He doesn’t say a word to the others as briskly walks past them, barely dodging the Creevey brothers as he steps through the portrait. He nearly starts crying all over again when he nearly bumps into Hermione.She’s holding a napkin piled high with slices of toast and greets him with a wobbly smile. “Hello, Harry. I brought you this. Did you want to go for a walk?”“That’s a wonderful idea,” he whispers gratefully, trailing after Hermione with misty eyes as he nibbles on the toast she gives to him. At least he still has one friend…It’s a brisk morning. A chilly breeze musses their hair as they walk out toward the lake, staring at the massive boat moored at the shore. There are a few Durmstrang students puttering around on it, so they walk further away until they are nearing the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They take a seat beneath one of the gnarled, twisting trees just on the outskirts of it, and he breaks their peaceful silence with a stammered, “I didn’t do it, you know? Put my name in? No one else believes me. Well, except for Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Moody, anyway… Moody seems pretty sure that someone’s trying to kill me.”“Well of course I knew you hadn’t entered yourself,” Hermione says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The look on your face when Professor Dumbledore read out your name… The question is who did do it? Because I think Professor Moody is quite right, Harry. No student could have done it. They’d never be able to fool the goblet, never mind getting past Dumbledore’s Age Line!”A flood of relief so immense that it’s d@mn near suffocating engulfs him. It is because of this, perhaps, that he asks a question he really should have left well enough alone. “Have you seen Ron?”“Erm… Yes… He was at breakfast.”“Does he still think I entered myself?”“Well… No, I don’t think so… Not really,” Hermione stammers awkwardly.“Not really? What is that supposed to mean?”“Oh, Harry, isn’t it obvious?” Hermione asks despairingly. “He’s jealous!”“Jealous?! Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he? Wants to be forced to choose between participating in a tournament that got cancelled because it kept killing people and losing his magic?!”“Look,” Hermione murmurs placatingly. “It’s always you who gets all the attention. You know it is.” Attention that he’s never wanted. Attention that he’s made it clear a million times over that he hates. Hermione cuts him off before he can even speak, seeing the outrage that flickers across his face and attempting to diffuse it. “I know it’s not your fault. I know you don’t ask for it… But, well, you know, Ron’s got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you’re his best friend, and you’re really famous. He’s always shunted to the side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many…”“Great,” Harry mutters bitterly. Maybe he doesn’t have any friends left after all. “Really great. Tell him that he’s welcome to swap any time he wants. People gawping at my forehead everywhere I go, constantly fighting for my life, going home to a family that’d be cheering right alongside the Death Eaters if this was the year that finally did me in–”“I’m not telling him anything,” Hermione interrupts him, sounding quite cross. “Tell him yourself. It’s the only way to sort this out.”“It’s not like I can bl@@dy well force him to listen to me, is it?!” he snaps. “It’s not my fault he refused to listen, and I’m not gonna chase after him like a kicked puppy begging for scraps!” Several nearby owls take off at the sound of his shouting, hooting in alarm. “Maybe he’ll finally believe I’m not enjoying myself when I’ve got my neck broken or–”“That’s not funny, Harry,” Hermione whispers nervously. It isn’t meant to be. He isn’t joking. “That’s not funny at all. Harry, I’ve been thinking… You know what we’ve got to do, don’t you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?”“Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the–”“Write to Sirius. You’ve got to tell him what’s happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that’s going on at Hogwarts… It’s almost as if he expected something like this to happen. I brought some parchment and a quill out with me–”“Oh, come off it,” he scoffs derisively. He ignores the flash of hurt that dances across Hermione’s face. “He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He’ll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone’s entered me in the Triwizard Tournament–”“He’d want you to tell him,” Hermione repeats sternly. “He’s going to find out anyway.”“How?”“Harry, this isn’t going to be kept quiet.” Hermione almost sounds pitying then. “This tournament is famous, and you’re famous. I’ll be very surprised if there isn’t anything in the Daily Prophet about you entering… You’re already in half the books about You-Know-Who, you know? And Sirius would rather hear it from you. I know he would.”“Okay, okay, I’ll write to him,” he grumbles as he shoves his final piece of toast into his mouth. He’s not happy about it, but Hermione has a point. He still really regrets writing to Sirius about his scar in the first place. “Whose owl am I going to use?” he muses idly. “He told me not to use Hedwig again.”“Ask Ron if you can borrow–”“I’m not asking Ron for anything,” he says quite flatly. He will not budge on that.Hermione huffs out a quiet sigh before saying, “Well, borrow one of the school owls, then. Anyone can use them.” The two of them walk up to the Owlery together, and Hermione keeps a lookout while he pens his letter to Sirius.
   Dear Sirius, 

   You told me to keep you posted on what’s happening at Hogwarts, so here goes: I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Triwizard Tournament’s happening this year. And on Saturday night I got picked as a fourth champion. I don’t know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire because I definitely didn’t. The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff. 
Harry pauses. For a moment, he considers pouring all his anxieties out on the page, admitting just how afraid he is of this whole tournament and the fact that he’s very likely to die in the process. But he doesn’t know how to put it into words, so in the end, he simply dips his quill back into the ink with a sigh.
   Hope you and Buckbeak are okay, 

   Harry 
“Finished,” he murmurs quietly as he gets to his feet and brushes the straw off of his uniform. His hands are bound to itch later, but he doesn’t really care about that right now. Hedwig comes fluttering down onto his shoulder and holds out her leg, eagerly awaiting the letter.“I can’t use you,” he whispers apologetically. “Not for this one. I’m sorry, girl, but I’ve got to borrow one of the school owls– Ouch!”Hedwig’s talons dig into his shoulder as she takes off with an indignant hoot, and spots of blood well up in the punctured flesh, hidden only by the dark color of his school robes. She refuses to even look at him as he ties the letter to a barn owl’s leg, and when he reaches out to stroke her, she clicks her beak furiously, snapping at his fingers and only just barely missing them before soaring into the rafters, far outside of his reach.“First Ron, and now you?” he whispers despairingly, ashamed to feel tears welling up in his eyes again. “It’s not my fault…!”Somehow, it only gets worse from there. He’s unable to avoid the rest of school once Monday –and thus, lessons– rolls around, and it becomes abundantly clear that they, like the Gryffindors, believe he entered himself into the tournament. Unlike the Gryffindors, however, none of them are very impressed. He isn’t sure whether that’s better or worse.The Hufflepuffs, who are usually on remarkably good terms with every house, are giving the whole of Gryffindor the cold shoulder. One Herbology lesson is all it takes to be certain of this. It’s very clear that the Hufflepuffs believe he is stealing their rare chance at glory and recognition, and he wants to shout from the rooftops that Cedric is more than welcome to it. But what does it matter? They’ve already made up their minds. Even Ernie and Justin, who he usually gets along with quite well, refuse to say a word to him during the lesson even though they were working right beside each other. The only sound he hears out of them at all is a mean laugh when one of the Bouncing Bulbs wriggles free from Harry’s shaky, unsteady grip and smacks him in the face.Ron still isn’t talking to him either, but he honestly cannot bring himself to care about that anymore. Hermione sits between them and tries to make very forced conversation, but eventually, when it becomes clear that Harry isn’t going to answer her either, she huffs and directs her full attention to Ron. He has nothing to say to her either so long as she thinks he’s the one being unreasonable here, like he owes Ron an apology for existing or something.Harry’s almost dreading Care of Magical Creatures. He’s usually quite excited for this class, even with the Blast-Ended Skrewts to deal with, but the thought of dealing with the Slytherins after being declared champion is like lead weighing down his every step. He’s practically dragging his feet the whole way there.He feels sick. He’s not sure he’ll ever feel well again.“Ah, look, boys, it’s the champion!” Draco jeers with a smirk. He looks back to Crabbe and Goyle as he mutters, “Got your autograph books? Better get his signature now, because I doubt he’s going to be around much longer… Half the Triwizard champions have died… How long d’you reckon you’re going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task’s my bet.”Honestly, that feels like a generous estimation. He says as much. “I didn’t realize you thought so highly of me, Malfoy,” he mutters quietly. Crabbe and Goyle’s guffawing laughter slowly dies out as confusion flickers across their faces.”I’ve got my money on five minutes. If I’m lucky. And, well, I’m not really counting on that…”Malfoy’s signature sneer wavers as a hint of unease flashes in his eyes. But he doesn’t get a chance to hear whatever he was going to say next because Hagrid walks out of his hut, carefully balancing a teetering tower of massive crates containing Blast-Ended Skrewts. They’re all quite horrified to hear that he believes they’ve started killing each other due to pent-up energy, and they’re even more so when Hagrid suggests they walk them to help them burn off some of said energy.“Take this thing for a walk?” Malfoy echoes with disgust. “And where, exactly, are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?”He barely stifles a snicker at that. It shouldn’t be funny, but honestly, it kind of is. It isn’t like Harry is looking forward to walking them either…“Roun’ the middle,” Hagrid says while demonstrating on one of the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Er, yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus’ as an extra precaution like. Harry, you come here an’ help me with this big one…”But Hagrid is not subtle, and it’s clear that isn’t the real reason why he’s asking Harry to step to the side. He waits until the rest of the class has walked off with their skrewts, many of them struggling and cursing under their breaths as they barely avoid getting stung or singed, before saying, “So, yer competin’, Harry. In the tournament. School champion.”Harry shakes his head firmly. “Just an extra. Cedric is the school champion.”Hagrid looks just as anxious as he does. “No idea who put yeh in fer it, Harry?”“You believe I didn’t do it, then?” he whispers with a flood of gratitude. Maybe he’s not completely alone in this after all. That hope is snuffed out quite quickly when he remembers that professors aren’t allowed to help their champions, but Hagrid doesn’t seem to notice the wobble in his relieved smile.“Yeh say it wasn’ you, an’ I believe yeh. An’ Dumbledore believes yer an’ all…”“I just wish I knew who did do it,” he mutters bitterly.Maybe Hagrid isn’t quite as oblivious as he thought because he does not comment on the skrewts dragging several of his classmates along, instead looking down at him with a sad smile. “Ah, I don’t know, Harry… A champion… Everythin’ seems ter happen ter you, doesn’t it?”Yes, not half as oblivious as he thought. At the very least, he sees what no one else seems to. “Yeah…” he whispers. “Hagrid?”“What is it, Harry?”“I…” He’s exhausted. He feels worn down to his very bones and is struggling to even get out of his bed in the morning. It doesn’t feel like there’s much point in it. The first task is rapidly approaching, and he’s quite certain that, come the end of November, the person who entered his name will get their wish. He’s just not strong enough. At least in previous years, he had his friends by his side and some idea of what he was getting himself into. This year? He has no one and no idea what is coming. He’s afraid. He’s so afraid that the thought of refusing to participate at all, consequences be damned, is growing more and more tempting by the day.“Harry?” Hagrid prods him gently, and the worry that furrows his brows makes Harry feel like the worst person on earth.“It’s nothing,” he whispers with a shake of his head. His smile is a flimsy excuse of one that clearly does nothing to reassure Hagrid, but he doesn’t have it in him to offer anything more. “Don’t worry about it.”“... If yeh say so.”The next few days are some of Harry’s worst that he’s ever had at Hogwarts. This is even worse than second year. At least then, there were some people who believed he was innocent, and he had his friends back then. But now, almost everyone believes that he entered himself into this tournament. The hatred pouring in from all sides is threatening to drown him. Hermione has given up on getting him to talk to her, only pleading with him to make up with Ron if she bothers speaking to him at all. He refuses. Sirius still hasn’t responded to his letter, Hedwig still refuses to come anywhere near him, Professor Trelawney is predicting his death with even more certainty than usual, and he does so badly in Charms that Professor Flitwick assigns him extra homework on top of it all. He’s the only one outside of Neville to get any. And he has Double Potions this afternoon to top it all off, so the day can only get worse from here.Being trapped in the dungeons with Snape and the Slytherins, all seeming determined to punish Harry as much as possible for daring to become champion, is almost the worst fate he can imagine. His skin crawls with unease, leaving him jittery and tense in a class that he really cannot afford to lose focus in. He’s already suffered through one Double Potions since the announcement, and he cannot see today going any better. It might go even worse. When he arrives at Snape’s classroom just after lunch, it’s to a sea of Slytherins wearing a large badge on the front of each of their robes. For a moment, he almost thinks that Hermione has somehow badgered them into wearing S.P.E.W. badges, but then he gets close enough to read them. ‘Support Cedric Diggory– The Real Hogwarts Champion!’“Like them, Potter?” Malfoy crows loudly as he approaches. “And this isn’t all they do– Look!” He presses his badge into his chest, and in a flash of green, the words shift before their very eyes. ‘Potter Stinks.’The Slytherins howl with laughter as they all make their badges match, and he can’t help it. He laughs too. It just seems so inconsequential —downright silly, really— compared to everything else going on right now. “Yeah, I do like them, actually. Mind if I have one?”Malfoy gives him that strange look again, but in the end, he tosses a badge his way with a shrug. Harry proudly affixes it to his robe, though he does tap it again to make the text go back to ‘Support Cedric Diggory— The Real Hogwarts Champion’. Maybe the Hufflepuffs will ease up a little if they see him wearing it. “Thanks, Malfoy.”“… Whatever, Potter.”The atmosphere in the classroom after that is… Strange. Hermione doesn’t even hesitate before sitting down with Ron this time, and Harry is left to sit at a table alone. Snape’s robes fan out behind him as he stalks into the room, and he levels Harry with a nasty glare. “Antidotes! 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 glitter with a sadistic sort of satisfaction. He can see how this is going to go already. Snape is going to poison him, and he’s going to bungle his antidote because he can’t focus on anything but the looming dread of the tournament these days. His hands never quite stop shaking. Snape is going to kill him.He wonders if it would hurt less than whatever is waiting for him in this tournament. Maybe this is a good thing…But before he can ponder on that thought for too long, there’s a hesitant knock on the door. Colin Creevey edges into the room when Snape opens the door, shooting a starstruck smile in Harry’s direction that makes him squirm in discomfort.“Yes?” Snape asks impatiently.“Please, sir, I’m supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs.”Snape stares down his hooked nose and levels Colin with a sneer that slowly wipes the eager smile off his face. He starts shuffling nervously. “Potter has another hour of Potions to complete,” Snape refuses curtly. “He will come upstairs when this class is finished.”Colin flushes pink, but he squares his shoulders even as he stutters out, “Sir– Sir, Mr. Bagman wants him. All the champions have got to go. I think they want to take photographs…”He can physically feel his will to live slowly drain from his body. Ron is going to be so insufferably smug about this –not to his face, but he’ll still hear him– and the very thought of getting dragged around by some reporter or another for pictures makes him want to scream. He almost prefers getting poisoned. “Very well, very well,” Snape snaps with a glower. “Potter, leave your things here. I want you back down here later to test your antidote.”“Please, sir, he’s got to take his things with him!” Colin squeaks nervously. “All the champions–”“Very well!” Snape barks, and Harry shrinks beneath the murderous glare that pins him in place. His heartbeat quickens. Snape reminds him of all the worst parts of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia combined, and that comparison feels especially apt right now. He yells and looks for any excuse possible to hurt him, just like Uncle Vernon, and he always looks down his nose at Harry like he’s something disgusting that he’s stepped in, berating him with cruel words just like Aunt Petunia. He’s also probably gonna be pretty happy when Harry dies in this thing. “Potter! Take your bag and get out of my sight!”He practically sprints out of the classroom. His legs wobble as soon as he escapes the room, and Colin’s eyes widen in alarm when Harry has to brace himself against the wall with a shaky breath. “Are you okay?”“Y-Yeah, just fine, Colin. Thanks for the save there. Pretty sure Snape is racing to off me before the tournament can.”“It’s amazing, isn’t it, Harry?” Colin says, a smile returning to his face as the two of them walked down the hall. “You being champion?”“No,” he says curtly, and he hates himself a bit for the way Colin’s smile falters again, but he means it and isn’t going to take it back. Maybe the rest of Gryffindor will finally get it through their thick skulls that he isn’t happy about this if he shuts them down at every available opportunity. The bragging and gloating about someone trying to kill him is worse than the other houses hating him, he’s decided, and he’s really quite sick of it. It’s only making everything else worse too.The rest of their walk is silent, save for Colin’s whispered, “Good luck,” as he leaves Harry standing on the other side of the door separating him from the rest of the champions. For a moment, he seriously considers turning around and walking away. He might be trapped in this tournament, but an interview is hardly one of the tasks. It’s not like they can force him to do this, can they? His magic won’t be bound if he doesn’t.Nodding decisively, he turns around, but unfortunately for him, the door opens before he can make his escape. “Ah, there’s our fourth champion!” Bagman smiles and grabs his arm, leading him into the room without a care in the world about how tense Harry is. He kind of wants to punch that smile right off his face, but he refrains. Barely. “Nothing to worry about! It’s just the wand-weighing ceremony, and the rest of the judges will be here in just a moment.”“Wand-weighing ceremony?” he echoes nervously. Harry’s never liked letting anyone else touch his wand, and that feeling has only grown stronger after the disaster at the World Quidditch Cup.“We have to check that your wands are fully functional –no problems, you know– as they’re your most important tool in the tasks ahead. The expert’s upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there’s going to be a little photo shoot! This is <PRESIDIO_ANONYMIZED_PERSON>,” Bagman gestures to a shrewd-looking witch in magenta robes. Harry really doesn’t like the gleam in her eyes. “She’s doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet.”“Maybe not that small, Ludo,” Skeeter titters with a smile. Her eyes haven’t left Harry’s form for a second. “I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?” she asks Bagman as if Harry isn’t standing right there. “The youngest champion, you know… To add a bit of color.”“Certainly!” Bagman agrees without hesitation, and he can feel his eyebrow start twitching. “That is– If Harry has no objection?”“No.”“Excellent!” Bagman claps his hands together with a smile, and Skeeter stalks toward him like a house cat about to pounce on a particularly elusive mouse, all vindicated satisfaction and malice that make him take several swift steps back just before she can sink her claws into him.“You misunderstand me,” he repeats, a bit louder this time. “No, I won’t do it.”“Come dear, Harry,” Skeeter attempts to coax him, and he bristles further when she takes another step forward. “Our readers are positively dying to hear more about you.”“I guess you’ll have to plan a bunch of funerals then,” he retorts. Fleur smothers a delicate laugh behind her hand, and even Viktor –who is looming in a corner by himself, as per usual– snorts quietly. “I said no.”Bagman looks between Harry and Skeeter with a hopelessly confused expression. “Now, Harry, it’s truly no big–”“‘E said no, Mr. Bagman.” Fleur practically floats across the room, standing close to him but refraining from reaching out this time. He’s immensely grateful for it. “Zat is zat. Unless you don’t want either of us to answer any questions at all…?”“Now, now, there’s no need for that,” Skeeter chides them dismissively. “It is tradition! You wouldn’t leave our readers without an interview, would you? They want to know about their champions!”“This isn’t a task,” he says firmly, pointing at the faintly glowing badge that is still pinned to his robes. “And Cedric is the Hogwarts champion. I’m being forced to participate in the tasks themselves, but the rest of it doesn’t fall under the magical contract, right, Mr. Bagman?”“Er– Technically not, I suppose…?”Harry levels Skeeter with a firm look and repeats, “I said no, and if you keep pushing it, then I will just leave. I don’t care what anyone thinks about it.”Skeeter looks quite like she’s bitten into a sour lemon, but she backs off. Fleur smiles proudly at him, dipping her head in a regal nod as she murmurs, “Well ‘andled, ‘Arry.” She leads him over to where the champions are sitting, and he takes a seat between her and Cedric with a wobbly smile. Cedric’s eyes linger on his badge as a faint grin tugs at his lips.“... You really don’t want this, do you?” Cedric whispers.“What reason could I possibly have to enter this tournament?” It’s a bit snippy, but considering that Cedric refused to believe him the first time, he kind of deserves it. “Fame? I don’t want what I already have. Money? A thousand Galleons is… Really nothing to me. I’d probably just give it away. Glory? I have almost died every single year since I’ve been here. I would like that trend to stop, actually.”“Huh… I guess when you put it like that…”“You were being ridiculous,” Fleur sniffs derisively. “‘E looked like a stiff breeze could knock ‘im over. Zat is not zhe face of someone who entered willingly.”Cedric rubs at the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’ll try to get the Hufflepuffs to back off. Where’d you get that badge, by the way? It’s an interesting piece of charmswork.”Harry taps on his badge with a smile, snickering at the dumbfounded look he gets when the text shifts to ‘Potter Stinks’. “Malfoy was passing them out earlier. I bet he’d be willing to give you one.” He leaves the badge exactly like it is, crossing his arms with a defiant glare at the photographer’s defeated look. Harry is being dragged into this thing kicking and screaming, and he intends to make it as difficult for everyone around him as humanly possible.The judges slowly trickle into the room, and Dumbledore is the last of them, followed by a familiar face that Harry hopes isn’t a sign of bad things to come. If Ollivander goes on that tangent about his wand again…“May I introduce Ollivander?” Dumbledore says quite cheerily, though his eyes do linger on Harry’s robes for a touch longer than the rest of them. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.”“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” Ollivander asks politely as he steps into the center of the room. Fleur answers him with a graceful nod, sweeping across the room before passing over her wand.“Hm…” Ollivander twirls the wand between his fingers, and it emits a shower if pink and golden sparks. Harry wonders if that means Ollivander is compatible with Fleur’s wand or if it’s just a wandmaker thing. “Yes,” he murmurs quietly. “Nine and a half inches… Inflexible… Rosewood… And containing, dear me…”“An ‘air from ze ‘ead of a veela,” Fleur answers with a pleasant smile. It’s a touch sharp around the edges. “One of my grandmuzzer’s.”“Yes… Yes, I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes rather temperamental wands… However, to each his own, and if this suits you…” Fleur’s smile grows even sharper, and Harry can’t help thinking that it wouldn’t look out of place in a shark’s mouth. “You’ll find I’m a razzer temperamental person. Zhe veela is strong in me.”Ollivander runs his fingers up and down the wand, checking for any chips or cracks before he mutters, “Orchideous.” A bunch of flowers blossoms from the wand-tip, all pretty blues and purples that match Fleur’s uniform quite well.. “Very well, very well, it’s in fine working order.” Ollivander passes both her wand and the flowers to Fleur. “Mr. Diggory, you next.”Cedric stands up, casting a faint smile back at both Harry and Fleur before walking forward. “Ah, now this is one of mine, isn’t it?” Ollivander’s voice has far more enthusiasm than it did while he was holding Fleur’s wand. “Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn… Must have been seventeen hands tall; he nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches… Ash… Pleasantly springy! It’s in fine condition. You treat it regularly?”“Polished it last night,” Cedric answers with a grin. Harry looks down at his own wand with a faint grimace. He can see fingerprints and smudges all over it, but in his defense, it’s not like he knew he was supposed to polish it… He tries to discretely wipe it clean with his robe, but he only succeeds in sending a few golden sparks fluttering to the floor. Fleur gives him a reassuring look before whispering, “Scourgify.” His shoulders sag with relief when his wand looks far better afterward, even though it still doesn’t look nearly as clean as Cedric’s. “Zere you are. It’s not zhe best, but it’s better zhan nothing, non? And I can show you ‘ow to polish it later.”“Thanks, Fleur,” he whispers with a wobbly, genuine smile. She’s a lot nicer than he expected her to be.“Of course! We champions must stick togezzer."A stream of silver rings pours from Cedric’s wand, and Ollivander nods with satisfaction before handing it back over to him. “Mr. Krum, if you please.” Viktor looks almost as unhappy as Harry is to be here, though he’s beginning to suspect that’s just his general demeanor whenever he isn’t on a broom. He slouches the entire way over to Ollivander, scowling as he holds out his wand. “Hmm… This is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I’m mistaken? A fine wandmaker, though the styling is never quite what I would have… However…”Ollivander lifts the wand and inspects it closely, turning it this way and that in his hand. “Yes… Hornbeam and dragon heartstring?” he questions Viktor, who merely answers with a nod. “Rather thicker than one usually sees… Quite rigid… Tend and a quarter inches… Avis!”The thundering blast that echoes from Viktor’s wand as birds fly out of the tip of it and straight out of a window makes Harry startle so badly that he nearly falls out of his chair. He flushes with embarrassment when he sees the sharp, calculating gleam in Skeeter’s eyes as she jots something down. Fleur makes a point of leaning forward to better shield him from her view. “Are you alright?” she murmurs quietly. “You are quite jumpy, non?”“A bit,” he mutters with a wry chuckle. “More so now than usual.”“Good,” Ollivander declares decisively. “Which just leaves… Mr. Potter.”It’s a bit easier without quite so many eyes watching him, but he still feels a bit queasy as he walks up and hands over his wand.  ‘Don’t say a word about Voldemort’s wand. Don’t you dare.’ Maybe, just maybe, if he thinks it hard enough, he can keep a bad situation from becoming even worse.“Ah, yes…” Ollivander’s pale eyes positively gleam with interest –even more so than they did with Cedric’s wand– and that queasy feeling only intensifies. “Yes, yes, yes… How well I remember.” Ollivander spends much longer inspecting Harry’s wand than he did with any of the others, but thankfully, that time is spent either muttering quietly to himself or not saying much of anything at all. A fountain of wine shoots out of Harry’s wand before Ollivander nods, passing it back over to him as he mutters, “Expecting great things indeed…”Harry cuts him a sharp glare before he can say anything else, and a haunted look flashes across Ollivander’s face before he shakes his head slightly, returning Harry's wand to him and stepping back to rejoin Dumbledore’s side. “Thank you all,” Dumbledore says with a smile. “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–”He’s so, so close to making it out of the door before they’re halted by the photographer. Harry sighs. Cedric laughs at the despondent look on his face, but at least it isn’t a mean laugh. He sounds genuinely amused by it.“Photos, Dumbledore, photos!!” Bagman cries excitedly. “All the judges and champions! What do you think, Rita?”“Er– Yes, let’s do those first,” Skeeter says distractedly. Her eyes are focused on Harry again. “And then perhaps some individual shots.”The photographs took ages. Madame Maxime is so tall that she casts a shadow on whoever she stands behind, and the photographer couldn’t stand far enough back to get her completely in frame. In the end, they wind up standing around her as she sits. Krum seems as displeased to be in the spotlight as Harry is, skulking around the back of the group with what could generously be considered a grimace plastered on his face. They keep trying to get Harry to take off the button, but the most is he willing to do is tap it again to show a message of support for Cedric. The photographer keeps dragging Fleur to the front of the photos, but Skeeter keeps doing the same with Harry. He is firmly in the scowling instead of smiling territory toward the end of the group photos. Skeeter tries to force them to stay behind for individual pictures, but he does not like the gleam in her eyes and ignores her shout as he storms out of the room. Fleur’s tinkling laugh rings out behind him, and the photographer gapes quite dumbly as she follows him out of the room. Both Cedric and Viktor practically sprint after them.“I zought it would never be over,” Fleur grumbles unhappily. “I am starving.”“Are you sure it was a good idea to ditch them like that?” Cedric murmurs worriedly. “They’re just trying to do their jobs…”“Vultures,” Viktor grunts firmly. “Vey are all vultures.”“It’s probably better that they only have pictures of us together,” Harry murmurs with a scowl. “Did you see how Skeeter was looking at me? She was practically drooling. I didn’t want her to make the whole article about me. I’m the last person anyone should be focusing on here.”“... Is that why you refused to take off the badge?” Cedric asks with a laugh. “She looked right p@ss@d off about it."“Mostly. There’s also the fact that it p@ss@d her off to consider…” Viktor snorts at that, looking quite amused.The four of them enter the Great Hall together, and Harry grimaces at the sight of the Gryffindor table. He’s too drained to deal with their boisterous excitement and inevitable interrogation right now. His thoughts must be plainly visible on his face because Cedric pauses and asks, “Did you guys want to sit with me? The Hufflepuffs won’t mind, and it’s a good opportunity to convince them to lay off of you, Harry…”“That sounds great, actually.” His smile is still a bit strained around the edges, but this is the lightest that Harry has felt ever since his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. “Thanks, Cedric.”“I will join you, of course,” Fleur agrees with a nod. “‘Ow about you, Viktor?”“... I don’t see vhy not.”This whole situation is still absolutely awful, but… Maybe Harry won’t have to face these tasks quite as alone as he feared. There are no rules against the champions helping each other, after all.
  
  

    
      
        
        
          I love that the entirety of Draco and Harry's interactions right now are basically:Draco: Says something deliberately antagonistic that would usually get a rise out of Harry.Harry: Backs down without a fight, laughs, and generally doesn't act like how he typically wouldDraco, internally and with great confusion: 'Why aren't you following the script, Potter? What is wrong with you?''
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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