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Chapter 21: The Fourth Champion.
🕑 Added 2025-01-20 07:21:33 +0000 UTCCelestial Ascendancy
Chapter 21: The Fourth Champion.
Hogwarts.
Elias Blake.
Walking alongside the girls and Professor Flitwick, I enjoyed what I knew would be my last moments of peace in the foreseeable future. The school felt silent since I suspected the students were either in the great hall or already in their dormitories. Each step I took felt heavier than the last, knowing that a lot of things would change after today.
I didn’t care about public opinion, so at least that was one less burden. The whispers, the curious glances, and the endless speculation about my name coming out of the Goblet of Fire? Let them talk. None of that mattered to me. No, what truly unsettled me was why I was the one who got forced into the Tournament.
It just didn’t make sense. I was Iris’s friend, and I had no doubt that losing me would break her heart in ways I didn’t want to imagine. But Voldemort wasn’t the type to care about that, was he? He wouldn’t risk his grand plans just to cause her pain, or mine, for that matter. He wasn’t sentimental. His cruelty always served a purpose. I believed that Voldemort was somewhat predictable in how he acted in the past, but now, I am not sure.
No… there was something else happening, something or someone pulling strings. That thought chilled me more than anything ever could. Whatever game was being played, I was the pawn caught in the middle, which made me nervous—very nervous.
Professor Flitwick knocked on the door of the school, which was opened by Professor McGonagall, with her lips set in a firm line.
“We just came back, Minerva,” Professor Flitwick said, shaking his head sadly, his usually cheerful demeanor overshadowed by worry. “Has anything been decided about young Elias’s participation in the Tournament?”
Professor McGonagall frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line before she sighed heavily. “I’m afraid not, Filius. The other headmasters and Ministry officials have been shouting in the waiting room for the past half an hour. They decided to wait so they could ask Mister Blake personally.” Her tone held a trace of frustration, though she was clearly doing her best to remain composed.
Iris, who hadn’t let go of my hand since we left the cemetery, scowled, her usual beautiful green eyes darkened with anger. “Why does he have to participate if it’s obvious he didn’t put his name in the Goblet?” she demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut through the professor's glances.
“It’s not that simple, Miss Potter,” McGonagall replied, shaking her head. Her tone softened slightly, though it didn’t lessen the grimness of her words. “The Goblet creates an unbreakable magical contract. If Mister Blake refuses to participate, he risks losing his magic entirely. While the contract has been broken multiple times in the past, all those who did it suffered the consequences.”
Hermione, who clung to my other hand, shuddered at the thought. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she whispered, “But… but he wasn’t the one who put his name in! How can the artifact bind him if that’s the case?”
“That’s how the Goblet was made, I’m afraid,” Professor McGonagall sighed, her tone heavy with resignation. “It’s not the first time something like this has happened in the history of the Tournament, and no one has ever found a safe way to break the contract. I don’t believe they’ll find one this time either.”
Walking ahead, I gently grabbed the girls’ hands, rubbing them softly as I tried to reassure them with a calm smile. “It’s fine, girls,” I said soothingly. “I can handle this. What concerns me more is why I was chosen first.”
Turning my attention back to McGonagall, I frowned. “Has anyone figured out who put my name in the Goblet?”
“I’m afraid not, Mister Blake,” she replied, shaking her head. “Headmaster Dumbledore has asked the Aurors present at the school to investigate, but there’s been no progress so far.”
Clicking my tongue in frustration, I sighed. “Let’s go see the Headmaster, then. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
McGonagall nodded firmly and began leading the way toward the waiting room. I hung back momentarily, wanting to speak privately with the girls.
“Everything will be fine,” I assured them softly. “Yes, this will be dangerous, but I can manage it. Any one of us would be capable. Let’s use this year to improve like no other.”
“You shouldn’t have to do this,” Iris scowled, her green eyes blazing with irritation. “It’s just not fair.”
I chuckled softly and rubbed her head, trying to lighten her mood. “Life’s rarely fair, Iris. But as always, we’ll surpass whatever life throws at us.”
Iris stuck her tongue at me, her scowl easing into a faint smile. That little gesture was enough to lift the weight pressing on my chest.
“We’ll make sure you learn everything you need to win this,” Hermione said, nodding enthusiastically, her expression filled with determination.
I loved these two most for their unwavering trust. They were my pillars in this life, always ready to support me when I needed it most. But they weren’t afraid to call me out when I made questionable decisions, a work in progress, to be fair, but we were getting there.
“I trust you, Mione,” I said warmly, squeezing her hand. “The brightest witch of her age.”
At least academically. She even admitted to losing to Iris when it came to might.
Hermione pouted and averted her gaze, a faint blush dusting her cheeks, while Iris snickered behind her hand. It was so easy to rile her up; she was an absolute sucker for compliments. Something I would enjoy teasing her with for the rest of our lives if I could help it.
By the time we reached the waiting room, I sighed in relief. At least I wouldn’t have to face the rest of the school until tomorrow. While I didn’t care much about their opinions, I knew criticism and suspicion would follow me in the coming days, at least until the first task, when I’d prove my worth. Wizarding Britain was fickle like that. While the Tournament might attract global attention, most people don’t really care about us as individuals. To them, we were just kids unlucky or foolish enough to step into this death trap.
McGonagall knocked twice on the door, waiting for a response. At Dumbledore’s muffled invitation, she opened the door and stepped inside. “Mister Blake and his companions are here, Headmaster,” she announced in a clipped tone.
The room fell silent as every gaze turned toward us, assessing and analyzing. I also took the opportunity to scan the room, making note of everyone present. There were more people than I had expected.
The Hogwarts delegation was grouped together: Snape, Dumbledore, and Cedric. Dumbledore wore a sad smile as he looked at me, his blue eyes twinkling with an emotion I could not comprehend. Snape raised an eyebrow at my entrance, his expression unreadable as always. On the other hand, Cedric appeared thoroughly confused, his gaze darting between me and the others. At least he was perceptive enough to realize that something was amiss. I trusted Cedric to do his best to set the record straight with his housemates once this was over.
I was expecting less trouble from his house than the rest. Gryffindor would support me, aside from Ron, who will probably sulk until Ginny sets him straight. For Ravenclaw, it was a coin toss; most of the younger students feared me, rightfully so, but the older ones could be a problem. And the less said about Slytherin, the better. I had acquaintances there, but they were few in comparison to other houses.
The Beauxbatons contingent stood apart, their group larger than the others. Madame Maxime spoke rapidly in French with her colleagues, her expression a mix of frustration and concern. A man in his mid-thirties stood out among them, dressed smartly in Muggle clothing, a rarity in these circles. Beside him was a gorgeous woman who had to be a Veela. Her ageless beauty was captivating, though it wasn’t the allure that caught my attention. It was her resemblance to the younger woman in the room.
Fleur Delacour stood with her chin held high, her icy blue eyes sharp and assessing as they landed on me. She huffed softly and turned back to her older companion, clearly unimpressed. I couldn’t fault her for her low expectations; on the surface, I didn’t seem like much.
Sure, I was built for my age, but it was not that noticeable with these robes.
The Durmstrang delegation, by contrast, was the smallest, with only Karkaroff and Viktor Krum present. Both exuded a gruff intensity, though Karkaroff’s sneer when his gaze fell on Iris made my jaw clench in irritation. I narrowed my eyes at him but kept my expression otherwise neutral.
And finally… the problematic group. The Ministry of Magic was here in full force, making me wonder if they had nothing more pressing to do than stick their noses into this mess.
For starters, the Minister himself, Cornelius Fudge, had decided to grace us with his presence for some reason. He stood at the center of the Ministry group, nervously fiddling with his lime-green bowler hat as though it would somehow shield him from the tension in the room. His gaze flickered between the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, lingering a bit too long on Madame Maxime’s towering frame with an expression that was equal parts dread and awkwardness.
At his side was something I had prayed I wouldn’t have to deal with until at least next year: Dolores Umbridge. The pink-clad monstrosity stood rigidly, her expression fixed in that sickly sweet smile she was notorious for, though her beady eyes glinted with malice as they scanned the room. When her gaze landed on Iris, I instinctively stepped before her, shielding her from view without even thinking about it. The flicker of irritation in Umbridge’s face told me she’d noticed the movement, but I didn’t care.
Thankfully, not everyone in the Ministry’s entourage was a source of dread. Amelia Bones stood a little to the side; her stern countenance was complemented by the sharp intelligence in her eyes. She had the kind of no-nonsense air that made you feel she was constantly evaluating everyone and everything, which, to be fair, she probably was. Her presence brought a sense of professionalism to the group that the others sorely lacked.
And then there was the real Moody. After his rescue, he’d been recovering under Madam Pomfrey’s care, and while he still looked as grizzled and battle-worn as ever, there was no mistaking the intensity in his mismatched eyes. His magical eye swiveled around the room, scrutinizing every corner, but his real eye settled on me. When our gazes met, he gave me a firm nod, which I returned instinctively.
Those two were of a select group that I knew worked for the good of the people in the Ministry. It was a shame that the group was so small.
“Professors, Madam Bones, Minister,” I greeted the group, keeping my neutral tone. “Quite a situation, isn’t it?”
“That’s putting it lightly, my boy,” Dumbledore said with a soft chuckle, his twinkling blue eyes betraying his amusement. “Quite a pickle, indeed.”
I shook my head wryly. “Is there any way I can avoid participating in this thing?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“As if you didn’t put your name in the Goblet yourself,” came Umbridge's sickly sweet and utterly grating voice.
I didn’t even look at her. Turning my head slightly toward Dumbledore instead, I ignored her completely, which earned a few quiet snickers from the group.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at my blatant dismissal of Umbridge, and I raised one right back.
He lost the silent battle, chuckling softly before shaking his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to compete, my boy.”
“I said something, young man,” Umbridge snapped, her scowl breaking through her artificial sweetness as she realized I wasn’t acknowledging her.
“That’s what I feared,” I said, still ignoring her as if she hadn’t spoken. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Fudge growing more nervous by the second, likely worrying about how this conversation would affect the Ministry’s reputation with the other schools.
Rolling my eyes internally, I pushed forward with the real issue at hand. “Do we know who put my name in the Goblet, Professor? And why did they do it, for that matter?”
Dumbledore’s expression tightened, and he frowned softly. “That’s precisely what we discussed before you arrived, my boy. Ever since we discovered the imposter within the school, I have strengthened the wards slightly, just below their maximum level. The wards in this setting should be nearly impossible to breach. They can detect even subtle forms of magical influence, such as the Imperius Curse. Something like this, something so blatant, should not have happened. I have no idea how this could have happened. The wards inform me about mind control, Animagus, and even Polyjuice. Nothing like that has entered the school.”
“Then it’s obvious this boy put his name in himself,” Umbridge screeched, her sugary-sweet persona now entirely replaced by a venomous tone.
I could feel Iris bristling beside me, preparing to launch into a tirade in my defense, but I stopped her with a firm squeeze. “I don’t know who you are, lady. What qualifications do you have to speak on this?” I said, my voice neutral.
Umbridge puffed up her chest, her smugness almost unbearable to witness. I wasn’t the only one repulsed by her; Fleur, Krum, Cedric, and even my girls exchanged uncomfortable looks, grimacing at the sight. “I am the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic,” she said with a self-important sniff.
I couldn’t hide my disdain. Rolling my eyes at the girls, I responded without hesitation, “Good to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure there are people here with more authority than you, and they’ll be able to help me far better than you can.”
Umbridge visibly fumed, her face reddening with fury, but I was already looking past her, directing my attention back to the people who mattered. Making an enemy of her wasn’t ideal, but I couldn’t bring myself to care at that moment. I had just met her, and yet her presence alone was unbearable. I could already sympathize with those poor souls working under her in the Ministry.
She was supposed to be nothing more than a bureaucratic paper-pusher, yet Fudge’s spinelessness had granted her more power than she realistically deserved.
“Every professor here knows I had no intention or reason to enter this Tournament. Even Cedric knows me well enough to see that something else is at play here,” I continued calmly, my gaze sweeping over the room. “The only other possibility is that someone else put my name in the Goblet.”
Dumbledore nodded in agreement, his expression grave. “As young Elias says, Madam Umbridge. All of us present here can confirm that he had no opportunity to place his name in the Goblet himself. He was not even at the school today.”
“And where was he, Albus?” Fudge interjected, eager to regain control of the conversation.
Dumbledore’s response came in his usual composed tone. “He and his friends were visiting the cemetery in Godric’s Hollow.”
“Why on earth would he be there on a school day?” Umbridge continued her interrogation, her voice dripping with suspicion, as Fudge looked genuinely baffled by the turn of events.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you all forget what happened this day years ago?” I shot back at her, frustration rising in my chest. Just listening to her pissed me off. “I thought Iris would want to visit her parents that day, so I asked the Headmaster for permission. He allowed us to go, with Professor Flitwick accompanying us. We’d been out of the school since breakfast.”
The room fell silent momentarily as Dumbledore’s expression shifted from stoic to cold. “I’m afraid something has happened,” he murmured, the change of his demeanor taking me by surprise.
“What happened, Dumbledore?” Madam Bones asked, her voice steady though her gaze had sharpened.
“The wards have just alerted me… someone has died within the school grounds. In the professors' quarters,” Dumbledore said softly, his demeanor suddenly grave. He sighed heavily, his fingers tapping on the arms of his chair.
“A death, Albus?” Fudge stammered, his face paling as panic began to seep into his voice. “What will the papers say about this? We have the attention of the entire world on us. We can’t afford this kind of bad PR.”
Of course, that was what he cared about, I thought in barely hidden frustration, feeling disgusted by the quality of the government.
Iris let out a low, muttered remark, rolling her eyes. “Typical.”
Madam Bones turned her attention to Dumbledore, her face hardening. “Albus, we need answers now. No more delays.”
“As you say, Madam Bones,” Dumbledore nodded firmly, “I think the rest of the people here can finish this without our presence. If you would follow me.”
Bones nodded, her lips firm before barking, “Moody, with me.”
As I watched them leave, I frowned. A death in the school didn’t make much sense, but at least that gave me a prime suspect to the question of who. I could only hope that Dumbledore would share more information once they figured everything out.
“Terrible business, that,” Fudge murmured, as if to himself before he continued, “Since everything is done here, I’ll call for Ludo and the Weasley boy so they can fill you in on the ins and outs of the tasks.”
As soon as he finished that, he left, with the pink toad following him after sending a nasty glare in my direction.
Iris didn’t even bother hiding her eye roll at the Minister’s retreating back.
“Sorry for taking the spotlight,” I muttered, offering Cedric a wry smile. He returned my smile, but his expression quickly morphed into concern.
“Don’t worry about it, mate,” he said, giving me a light pat on the back. “But are you sure you’ll be okay?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “I’ll manage. I’ve got these wonderful girls helping me, after all.”
As I gently nudged the girls, a frown tugged at my lips. So much was happening, and I really needed to step up my training. Even if the tasks were the same as in Canon, I had much to work on. Even knowing what to expect didn’t lessen the risk entirely. The thought of facing a dragon was daunting, the same as the skrewts, boggarts, and the damn sphinx.
Turning to the other schools, I spoke softly, my voice filled with honest regret. “As for all of you, I know this wasn’t supposed to happen, and I want to apologize for that. As we heard from our esteemed Minister, it appears that there’s no way around participating.” I paused, taking a deep breath before continuing with my head down, “I know that for some of you, this Tournament means a lot, and my participation may affect that. For that, I truly apologize.”
It was clear that no one expected me to say this, but it was the truth. I hadn’t wanted this. I hadn’t even expected it. And I felt terrible for those who had truly wanted to be here, competing on their own merits.
I don't remember if it was Canon or not, but Fleur wanted to prove that she was more than her looks, and Cedric and the Hufflepuffs, in general, deserved the recognition more than me.
Fleur’s eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded slowly, understanding. Krum, on the other hand, just grunted. I didn’t think he was one for many words, so I let it go.
Just then, the door opened, and Ludo and Percy Weasley walked in. Both looked confused at the palpable tension in the room, but they proceeded forward, Ludo with his jolly laugh and Percy with a stern frown.
“The Minister and the Undersecretary filled us in on what we need to do,” Percy announced, his tone serious. “The first task will take place on the twenty-second of November. It’ll be a test of your courage, daring, and wit. You will only be allowed to use your wand and nothing else. Any questions?”
