197 I believe you, Harry!

"You'll forgive me if I take these wild conjectures of yours with a grain of salt," said Professor Karkaroff dismissively. "Do not try to change the subject; the real issue is that Hogwarts has two champions. Either you choose one of the two children, or we refuse to compete."

Bagman looked helplessly at Crouch.

"That cannot be done," he said curtly. "The rules must be followed, and the rules state that each champion must compete. The Goblet selecting a name constitutes a binding magical contract, which cannot be broken, unless you wish to face the consequences."

'What consequences?' Oleandra wanted to ask. Also, what was up with Mr. Crouch? He seemed oddly… off, somehow. He hadn't even given her a second look.

"In that case, I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," said Professor Karkaroff, dropping his friendly façade. "You will reignite the Goblet of Fire, and we will continue adding names in this fashion until each school has two champions. It is only fair, Dumbledore."

"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," argued Bagman. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out— it won't reignite until the start of the next Tournament—"

"— in which Durmstrang will certainly not be competing!" exploded Karkaroff. "After all the compromises and goodwill that we have shown you, I little expected to be double-crossed in this manner! I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a voice coming from the doorway. "Binding magical contract, or haven't you been listening? And I've got to say; awful quick to dismiss Dumbledore's concerns about Potter; touchy subject, maybe? Got a guilty conscience? No, that would be giving you too much credit."

"You believe I did this?" spat Professor Karkaroff. "Why would I ever do such a thing?"

"Zis matter only benefits 'Ogwarts," added Madame Maxime.

"Does it?" asked Professor Moody. "Whoever put Potter's name in, and they must have been a very skilled Wizard to fool an artefact on the level of the Goblet of Fire, must have known that it would result in him being selected as champion."

"Your point being?" said Professor Karkaroff coolly.

"The boy's not ready," growled Professor Moody. "Obviously, someone wants him dead."

"I should have known!" Professor Karkaroff laughed coldly. "We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime; obviously, he's extended his paranoia to his students. Dumbledore, what exactly are you trying to teach Britain's next generation of Wizards?"

"Ah, and what evidence eez zere of zat?" cried Madame Maxime. "You are imagining theengs."

"Evidence? There is none," admitted Professor Moody, "but we can guess at how it was done. To interfere with the champion selection system would have been too complex, but with a sufficiently powerful Confundus Charm… Bamboozling that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the Triwizard Tournament, making Potter the automatic champion of a fourth imaginary school… Well, that wouldn't be so difficult, would it?"

"An ingenious theory," scoffed Professor Karkaroff. "But I've heard that your track record after your retirement is less than stellar… Who is it that smashed his birthday present, thinking it was hiding a Basilisk egg, only to realize it was only a carriage clock? And I've heard you recently lost a duel against a simple Werewolf, resulting in you losing your half-dead targets… Pitiful. I don't know why I even bothered to engage in conversation with you."

"Funny, you didn't seem to feel that way when I cap—" Professor Moody began.

"Alastor!" warned Professor Dumbledore.

What was Professor Moody about to say, Oleandra wondered? Cap… what? Capitalized? Captured? Capricorn? …Kappa? .....Captivated? Whatever it was that Professor Moody was about to say, it had shut Karkaroff right up.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore with finality, raising his voice so that everyone could hear him. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Oleandra and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do…"

"Well, shall we crack on, then?" Bagman said with a wide smile. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honours?"

It appeared as though Mr. Crouch was playing life on five thousand ping, as a brief delay elapsed before he reacted to Bagman's words. Stranger and stranger; from what little Oleandra knew of him, it wasn't like him to simply lose himself in a daydream.

"Yes," he said slowly, "instructions. Yes … the first task …"

Mr. Crouch stepped forwards and began reciting his script with about as little emotion as he could muster.

"The first task is designed to test your daring," he said dully, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard… very important…"

His voice trailed off; Oleandra could almost hear crickets in the silence, before he started talking again.

"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges," he continued. "The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept 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 is over."

And almost as an afterthought:

"Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the Tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."

'All right!' Oleandra cheered in her head.

After everything was all said and done, the champions and the headmasters from the two other schools could do nothing but bitterly accept that they would be fighting an uphill battle, and so they left without another word to their hosts.

"Harry, Oleandra, I suggest you go up to bed," said Dumbledore, smiling at the both of them. "I am sure that Gryffindor and Slytherin are waiting to celebrate with you, and I wouldn't want to deprive them of their champions."

Oleandra and Harry both nodded dutifully, before leaving the room and walking out of the Great Hall. Once they got to the Grand Staircase, Oleandra turned to Harry.

"Well, Harry," she said cheerfully, "it looks like it's the beginning of a new adventure for the both of us. Best of luck to you!"

"Wait!" called Harry, as Oleandra started down the steps. "You're not going to ask how I got my name in?"

"I believed you when you said you hadn't done it," said Oleandra seriously, not quite sure why he had asked such a question.

"Thanks," said Harry quietly. "For believing me when I said I didn't do it."

"It's simple, really," Oleandra said smugly. "People like us: adventures just fall into our laps; we don't have to go out searching for them. That's just how it is. Well, 'night."

And upon saying these words, Oleandra lightly skipped down the stairs, waving goodbye without looking back.

Harry's face scrunched up as he mentally withdrew his thanks; what do you mean, people like us? Didn't you defeat Dumbledore's Age Line on purpose? Don't you actively go out looking for trouble all the time?

'I'm the real victim here!' Harry wanted to shout back at her. This girl could be infuriating, sometimes!