Chapter 132: Withdrawal Denied
“Regarding the Goblet of Fire and the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore said, face grave, “there has never been an option to withdraw… Go. Through that door!”
It was the first time Jon had heard Dumbledore issue such a harsh command.
He sighed inwardly and walked past the staff table.
But his thoughts were racing… Who put his name into the Goblet of Fire?
Barty Crouch Jr.…? That seemed unlikely. He bore the boy no grudge, and Voldemort probably wouldn’t care for his blood…
So who was it…
He passed through the door and out of the Great Hall, finding himself in a small room.
A fire roared in the hearth; portraits of wizards hung on both walls.
As Jon stepped in, nearly every portrait turned to look at him… some frames were crowded with figures.
Ahead, three people stood around the fire—familiar faces all.
Viktor Krum leaned against the mantel, hunched in thought, a step apart from the other two.
Harry Potter stood awkwardly with his hands behind his back, staring into the flames.
Fleur Delacour turned, tossing her waterfall of silver hair. At the sight of Jon’s getup, she let out a little scream.
“Qu’est-ce qui t’arrive?” she called.
“Ce n’est rien.” Jon had no interest in small talk. He shrugged and found a spot by the hearth to sit.
Head down, he kept thinking…
“Jon!” Harry blurted. “You’re the fourth champion… And what happened to you?”
“Don’t ask me. I know nothing!” Jon pulled off his dragon-hide gloves and buried his face in his hands.
...
“This is utterly bizarre!” Amid a flurry of footsteps, Ludovic Bagman strode in.
“I assume you’re all aware of the situation,” Mr. Bagman said to the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions. “A minor mishap… Hogwarts has produced two champions!”
Viktor Krum straightened, gave Harry a once-over, then Jon, a scowl darkening his arrogant face.
Fleur Delacour flicked her hair and smiled sweetly, pride in her voice. “They can’t possibly compete—they’re far too young!”
“I agree!” Jon nodded hard, shooting Fleur a grateful look.
“That’s complicated,” Mr. Bagman admitted, shaking his head. “The age restriction is an extra safety measure introduced only this year. Since your names were chosen by the Goblet of Fire… I mean, at this point, we can’t allow anyone to back out… The rules are clear—you must abide by them… You must do your utmost to complete the tasks!”
“Can’t the rules be changed?” Jon argued, knowing it was useless.
Mr. Bagman only smiled and shook his head.
The door opened again and a crowd pressed in: Professor Dumbledore, followed by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape.
The small room instantly felt packed.
Snape sniffed the air, then glanced at Jon and frowned.
He raised his wand. “Scourgify!”
At once, the black eel’s blood vanished from Jon’s robes.
“Thank you, Professor!” Jon exhaled in relief—at least one teacher remembered to clean him up.
...
“What does this mean, Dumbledore?” Madame Maxime demanded haughtily, her black satin bodice heaving.
“I’d like to know that myself, Dumbledore!” Karkaroff said silkily. “I recall a rule stating the organizers may field two contestants!”
“One is a third-year and the other a fourth-year!” Professor McGonagall snapped. “They’re about to compete against two adult wizards… If you wish, feel free to send two third- or fourth-years in place of your champions!”
Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff exchanged a glance and held their tongues.
McGonagall was right. Triwizard points aren’t combined, and third- or fourth-years simply couldn’t match seventh-years. Two wouldn’t make a difference.
Which meant the real loser in this farce was the host, Hogwarts.
Conversely, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang stood to gain… so, unlike in the original storyline Jon knew, they didn’t press the argument.
Dumbledore gave a cold snort, cutting them off. “Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?”
“I did not,” Harry Potter said quickly.
Snape shook his head and pursed his lips; Madame Maxime and Karkaroff both snorted.
“And you?” Dumbledore’s gaze shifted to Jon.
Jon met the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles and nodded. “I did, Professor. This morning, when no one was around, I folded a slip with my name into a paper airplane and flew it into the Goblet… I was just fooling around, because I thought the age restriction meant the Goblet would never pick me!”
“Impossible!” Karkaroff growled. “Your age line is meant to keep the underage out, isn’t it, Dumbledore? How could it be fooled by something so crude!”
“So… someone tricked the Goblet of Fire!” Alastor Moody hobbled over, thumping his cane. “Someone cast a powerful Confundus Charm on it, made it forget the true age restriction; then they entered a boy’s name as a student of a fourth school, ensuring he’d be that school’s only candidate… None of this could be done by a third- or fourth-year.”
“Harry Potter,” Professor Moody said grimly. “Someone intends to use this tournament to kill Harry Potter!”
Jon very much wanted to ask, “And you know that how?”… but wisely held his tongue.
...
Ten minutes later, Moody’s “conspiracy theory” had clearly convinced them.
Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff dropped the matter.
Madame Maxime slipped an arm around Fleur’s shoulders and led her quickly from the room; Karkaroff nodded to Krum, and the two of them left without a word.
“Harry, I suggest you go back to bed,” Dumbledore said first, smiling kindly at him.
Harry Potter nodded, face blank, and edged out of the room.
Then Dumbledore turned to Jon, his expression hardening.
“As for you… I’m sorry,” he said softly, with a sternness Jon had never seen. “But Hufflepuff will lose one hundred points for this.”
“One hundred points? No, Albus!” Professor McGonagall covered her mouth, trying to stop him. “It wasn’t the boy’s fault—this was an accident…”
Professor Sprout lowered her head in shame, while Professor Snape looked thoughtful. Sensing the shift, Ludovic Bagman and Barty Crouch slipped out quickly.
“And… detention,” Dumbledore continued. “Saturday evening. Come to my office…”
“Every Saturday,” he added, weight in his voice.
Jon raised a tentative hand. “Professor, on Saturday nights… I already have detention with Professor Snape.”
“Then Sunday nights.”
“Yes, Professor!”
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