NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 9: Chapter 8
Chapter 8: The Fourth Champion
The Great Hall was transformed for the Halloween feast that evening. Thousands of live bats fluttered near the enchanted ceiling, which showed a clear, star-filled sky. Massive carved pumpkins glowed with candlelight, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The usual golden plates had been replaced with black ones in honor of the holiday, and the house tables were adorned with orange and black streamers.
Hadrian entered with the other visitors, taking his assigned seat at one of the small tables set up along the wall for guests rather than at the house tables as he had the previous evening. This arrangement offered a better vantage point to observe the entire hall, particularly the staff table where the Goblet of Fire now stood, its blue-white flames casting an ethereal glow across the faces of those seated nearby.
He spotted Harry immediately, sitting between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. The boy looked up, caught Hadrian's eye, and offered a small wave which Hadrian returned with a smile. Their morning conversation had gone better than expected, establishing a level of trust that would prove crucial in the coming months.
The feast itself was as lavish as any Hogwarts celebration, with seasonal dishes appearing on the gleaming plates as Dumbledore welcomed everyone. Conversation at the guests' tables centered primarily on speculation about which students would be selected as champions, with occasional references to past Tournaments and their often gruesome outcomes.
"Three students died in the last properly conducted Tournament," a middle-aged wizard from the Department of International Magical Cooperation informed the table solemnly. "1792, if memory serves. A cockatrice went on a rampage during the first task."
"Surely the Ministry has implemented better safety measures this time?" inquired a witch who Hadrian recognized as the education correspondent for the Daily Prophet.
"Oh, absolutely," the wizard assured her. "Age restriction, modified tasks, additional safeguards—Barty Crouch has personally overseen every detail. The danger is minimal." He paused, then added with a wink, "But not too minimal, of course. Can't have a proper Tournament without a little peril, eh?"
Hadrian kept his expression neutral as he listened, all too aware of how these "safety measures" would fail to protect the champions—particularly Harry, who would face dangers far beyond what any of these officials could imagine. The casual way they discussed the potential for harm, treating it as entertainment rather than a serious concern, reinforced his determination to ensure this timeline unfolded with fewer casualties.
At the staff table, Hadrian noted the false Moody taking occasional swigs from his hip flask—polyjuice potion, he knew—while his magical eye swiveled constantly around the hall. Karkaroff appeared tense, continuously glancing at Dumbledore as though trying to gauge how soon the champion selection would begin. Madame Maxime maintained a regal bearing, conversing politely with Professor Flitwick while towering over him even while seated.
When the plates finally cleared, Dumbledore rose to his feet. The hall fell silent immediately, anticipation hanging in the air like a physical presence.
"The Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore announced. "When the champions' names are called, I ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and proceed into the next chamber," he indicated a door behind the staff table, "where they will receive their first instructions."
With a dramatic wave of his wand, Dumbledore extinguished all the candles except those within the carved pumpkins, plunging the hall into semi-darkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than ever, the blue-white flames almost painful to look at directly.
"Any second," Lee Jordan whispered from the Gryffindor table, his voice carrying in the silent hall.
Suddenly, the flames in the goblet turned red and sparked dramatically. A tongue of flame shot into the air, and a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it. Dumbledore caught it easily.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he read in a clear, strong voice, "will be Viktor Krum."
Applause and cheers erupted throughout the hall. Krum rose from the Slytherin table, his slouching gait unmistakable as he made his way to the chamber behind the staff table. Karkaroff's booming voice could be heard above the applause: "Bravo, Viktor! I knew you had it in you!"
The flames turned red again, and a second piece of parchment shot out.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore announced, "is Fleur Delacour!"
A girl of stunning beauty with silver-blonde hair stood gracefully from the Ravenclaw table. Several of her fellow Beauxbatons students burst into tears as she glided past them toward the chamber. Hadrian watched her with a mixture of sadness and respect, remembering how she would eventually marry Bill Weasley in his timeline, only to be widowed during the goblin rebellion years later.
The Goblet turned red a third time, and the hall grew hushed in anticipation.
"The Hogwarts champion," Dumbledore called, "is Cedric Diggory!"
The Hufflepuff table exploded with cheers as Cedric, tall and handsome, made his way to the front with a broad smile. Hadrian watched him intently, the memory of his lifeless body in the graveyard still vivid after all these years. This time, Hadrian silently vowed, Cedric would survive.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—"
But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and Hadrian tensed, knowing what was coming next. The Goblet of Fire had turned red once more, sparks flying from it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was a fourth piece of parchment.
Automatically, Dumbledore reached out and seized the parchment. There was a long pause as he stared at the name written upon it. Then, he cleared his throat and read—
"Harry Potter."
Every head in the Great Hall turned toward the Gryffindor table. Harry sat frozen, his face a mask of shock and confusion. There was no applause, only a growing buzz of angry whispers that filled the hall like angry bees.
Hadrian watched as Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, saying something that appeared to be a denial. At the staff table, Professor McGonagall had risen to her feet, whispering urgently in Dumbledore's ear. The Headmaster's expression remained unreadable as he nodded slightly.
"Harry Potter!" he called again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"
Hermione gave Harry a gentle push, and he rose shakily to his feet. The hostility in the hall was palpable as he walked between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. Unlike the other champions, there were no cheers, no congratulations—only suspicious stares and hostile muttering.
As Harry passed the guests' tables, Hadrian caught his eye briefly. He offered a small, reassuring nod—the most he dared do in this public setting. Harry's expression flickered with momentary recognition before he continued his long walk to the door behind the staff table.
The moment Harry disappeared through the door, the hall erupted into chaos. Students shouted accusations and theories, some standing on benches to make themselves heard. Dumbledore quickly conferred with the other judges before following Harry into the chamber, accompanied by Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, McGonagall, Snape, and the false Moody.
Barty Crouch Sr. and Ludo Bagman remained momentarily frozen at the staff table, exchanging concerned glances before they too headed for the champions' chamber. Crouch looked grim and disapproving, while Bagman appeared almost excited by this unexpected development.
Hadrian remained seated, carefully observing the reactions around the hall. The Hufflepuffs looked particularly outraged, feeling that Harry had stolen their moment of glory. The Slytherins were predictably contemptuous, led by Draco Malfoy who was already holding court at his table, clearly suggesting that Harry had cheated.
Most concerning was Ron's expression at the Gryffindor table. Even from this distance, Hadrian could see the jealousy and anger on the redhead's face—the beginning of the rift that would separate Harry from his best friend during the crucial early stages of the Tournament.
In his original timeline, this division had been painful but ultimately temporary. Ron had eventually recognized his error and reconciled with Harry before the first task. But the weeks of isolation had taken a toll on Harry's confidence and preparation. This time, perhaps Hadrian could help mitigate that damage through his correspondence and support.
As Ministry officials attempted to restore order, Hadrian excused himself from the guests' table and made his way toward Lupin, who was standing near the entrance to the Great Hall with a concerned expression.
"It's happening exactly as you said it would," Lupin murmured quietly as Hadrian reached him, both of them stepping into the entrance hall where they could speak more privately.
"Yes," Hadrian confirmed grimly. "And now the true challenge begins."
"Do we intervene?" Lupin asked. "Try to get Harry removed from the Tournament?"
Hadrian shook his head slightly. "That won't be possible. The Goblet creates a binding magical contract. Even Dumbledore won't be able to release him from it."
"Then our focus shifts to preparing him," Lupin concluded. "Helping him survive the tasks while maintaining the timeline as you remember it."
"Precisely. The tasks themselves need to proceed as they did originally, but with better preparation and contingency plans. Especially for the third task."
Their conversation was interrupted by Professor McGonagall emerging from the champions' chamber, her expression tight with concern. She spotted them immediately and approached with purposeful strides.
"Mr. Peverell, Mr. Lupin," she acknowledged with a crisp nod. "I assume you've both witnessed what just occurred."
"We did," Lupin confirmed. "How is Harry?"
"Shaken, as one might expect," McGonagall replied, her Scottish accent more pronounced with stress. "He denies having entered his name, of course, but Karkaroff and Maxime are unconvinced. Quite hostile, in fact."
"Do you believe him, Professor?" Hadrian asked, though he already knew her answer.
"Of course I do," she said firmly. "Potter may bend rules occasionally, but he has never shown the kind of magical skill required to hoodwink an artifact as powerful as the Goblet of Fire. Someone else entered his name, and I highly doubt it was with benevolent intentions."
This was the McGonagall that Hadrian remembered—fierce in her defense of her students, sharp in her assessment of situations, and uncompromisingly loyal to those she believed deserved it.
"Will he be required to compete?" Lupin asked, maintaining the pretense that this outcome was uncertain.
McGonagall's lips thinned to an almost invisible line. "Mr. Crouch has been quite clear on that point. The Goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. Potter has no choice."
"Then he'll need support," Hadrian said decisively. "Both emotional and practical. This Tournament was designed for seventh-year students with nearly complete magical education. Harry is at a significant disadvantage."
"Indeed," McGonagall agreed, giving Hadrian a calculating look. "I understand you've been corresponding with Potter on defensive magic, Mr. Peverell. Perhaps that guidance might become more... specific in the coming weeks?"
The implication was clear. McGonagall was subtly suggesting that Hadrian could help prepare Harry for the Tournament tasks, possibly even bending the rules against outside assistance.
"I'll certainly continue to be a supportive presence in Harry's life, Professor," Hadrian replied carefully. "Though of course, I would never want to interfere with the integrity of the Tournament."
McGonagall's eyes flashed with something that might have been approval at his diplomatic response. "Naturally. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to my duties. The students will need to be managed carefully tonight. Emotions are running rather high."
As she turned to leave, she paused, looking back at them. "Mr. Lupin, it's good to see you again. Perhaps you might consider visiting more frequently during the Tournament. As a former professor, your presence would hardly be questioned."
With that suggestion hanging in the air, she departed, her emerald robes swishing as she returned to the Great Hall where the commotion was still audible.
"Well," Lupin said quietly, "it seems we have an ally in Minerva, whether she realizes it or not."
"She always was protective of her lions," Hadrian replied with a small smile. "Even more so when she felt they were being treated unfairly. Her suggestion about your visits is actually quite helpful."
"Indeed. It provides a legitimate reason for me to be at Hogwarts regularly, which could prove useful for our broader plans as well."
Their discussion was interrupted by the appearance of Alastor Moody emerging from the champions' chamber, his wooden leg clunking loudly on the stone floor. Both men fell silent as the false professor approached, his magical eye swiveling between them suspiciously.
"Peverell. Lupin," he growled in greeting. "Interesting development tonight."
"Very," Lupin agreed neutrally. "I assume you'll be investigating how Harry's name got into the Goblet?"
"Already have some theories," Moody replied, his normal eye fixed on Hadrian while the magical one continued to rotate unpredictably. "Powerful Confundus Charm, most likely. Beyond the capabilities of a fourth-year student."
"Suggesting an adult wizard with significant skill," Hadrian observed, carefully matching the false Moody's suspicious tone. "Someone with access to the Goblet and knowledge of how to manipulate it."
"Exactly," Moody said, his scarred face twisting into what might have been approval. "Not many wizards who could pull that off. Narrows the field considerably."
The irony of this conversation wasn't lost on Hadrian. He was discussing theories with the very person who had performed the deed, both of them pretending to speculate while knowing exactly what had happened.
"Will Harry be allowed any special accommodations, given his age?" Hadrian asked, feigning concern.
Moody snorted. "Not likely. Tournament rules are clear. Potter's on his own, just like the other champions. Though..." he paused, his magical eye fixing on Hadrian again, "nothing in the rules says he can't get advice from family members. Especially distant relatives who happen to be skilled in defensive magic."
The implication was clear, and perfectly aligned with Barty Crouch Jr.'s plan. As the false Moody, he wanted to ensure Harry survived until the final task, where he could be transported to Voldemort. Encouraging outside help from Hadrian served that purpose, while also allowing him to monitor what kind of assistance Harry was receiving.
"I'll certainly offer what support I can within the rules," Hadrian replied carefully. "Harry's welfare is my primary concern."
"Good man," Moody growled, clapping Hadrian on the shoulder with unexpected force. "Boy's going to need all the help he can get. Tournament's no picnic even for fully trained wizards."
With that, he stumped away, leaving Hadrian and Lupin to exchange meaningful glances.
"He's pushing you toward Harry," Lupin observed quietly once Moody was out of earshot. "Encouraging your involvement."
"Yes, which aligns perfectly with his actual mission," Hadrian confirmed. "Voldemort wants Harry alive until the third task. The more help he gets with the earlier challenges, the better."
"A dangerous game," Lupin murmured. "Balancing genuine assistance with awareness that you're potentially playing into their plans."
"The key difference being that we know the endgame," Hadrian replied. "Which gives us the advantage of preparation."
Their conversation was interrupted again as the door to the champions' chamber opened once more, and the four champions emerged, followed by Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and the remaining officials. Harry looked pale and overwhelmed, his eyes searching the entrance hall until they landed on Hadrian and Lupin.
After a brief word with Dumbledore, Harry broke away from the group and approached them, relief evident on his face at the sight of familiar, supportive adults.
"Professor Lupin! I didn't know you were here too," he said, genuine pleasure momentarily overriding his distress.
"I arrived for the feast," Lupin explained with a warm smile. "Though I didn't anticipate quite such dramatic developments."
"I didn't put my name in," Harry said immediately, his eyes moving between them, seeking belief. "I swear I didn't."
"We know, Harry," Hadrian assured him quietly. "Neither of us believes you would have done this."
The tension in Harry's shoulders eased slightly at their immediate acceptance of his word. "No one else seems to believe me. Maxime and Karkaroff think Dumbledore and I planned it to give Hogwarts two chances. Even the real Hogwarts champion—Diggory—looks like he thinks I cheated."
"People often rush to judgment based on appearances rather than facts," Lupin said gently. "Give them time. Some minds will change."
"But not all," Harry said bitterly, clearly thinking of specific individuals. "I saw Ron's face. He thinks I found a way to enter without telling him."
This was the rift Hadrian had been concerned about—the jealousy and sense of betrayal that would drive a wedge between Harry and Ron at a time when Harry most needed support.
"True friendship can weather misunderstandings," Hadrian said carefully. "But it may require patience on your part, Harry. Not everyone processes shock and surprise the same way."
Harry didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway, his expression troubled. "They're making me compete. Crouch says it's a binding magical contract, even though I never entered myself."
"Yes, we heard," Lupin confirmed. "Which means your focus now needs to be on preparation rather than protestation."
"But I don't know what I'm preparing for," Harry said, frustration evident in his voice. "They won't tell us what the first task is—just that it's designed to test our courage. It's happening November 24th."
"That gives you just over three weeks," Hadrian calculated. "Not much time, but enough to develop some general strategies and practice useful spells."
"Professor Moody suggested focusing on my strengths," Harry said. "But honestly, I don't know what those are compared to seventh-years like Krum and Diggory."
"You're an exceptional flyer," Hadrian pointed out immediately. "Your reflexes and instincts in dangerous situations are unusually well-developed. And you have a capacity for unconventional thinking that has served you well in past challenges."
Harry looked slightly heartened by this assessment. "Maybe. But I don't see how flying helps unless they let me use my broom in the tasks."
"Creative solutions often emerge from constraints," Lupin suggested. "Perhaps consider spells that might allow you to access your strengths even when they seem impractical at first glance."
This subtle hint toward the Summoning Charm that Harry would eventually use to call his broom during the first task was as far as Lupin dared go in direct assistance. Hadrian was impressed by his careful balancing of help and self-discovery.
"I should probably get back to Gryffindor Tower," Harry said reluctantly, glancing toward the marble staircase. "Though I'm not exactly looking forward to what's waiting there."
"Would you like one of us to accompany you?" Lupin offered. "As a former professor, I could perhaps help smooth over some of the immediate reactions."
Harry considered this, then shook his head. "No, I think... I think I need to face this myself. But thanks."
"You can write to either of us if you need anything," Hadrian reminded him. "Day or night. And I believe Professor Lupin will be visiting Hogwarts more regularly during the Tournament, so you'll have in-person support as well."
"Thanks," Harry said sincerely, looking between them. "It helps just knowing someone believes me."
As Harry reluctantly made his way toward Gryffindor Tower, Hadrian and Lupin watched him go, both acutely aware of the challenges that awaited him—not just the Tournament tasks, but the social isolation and public scrutiny that would make the coming weeks among the most difficult of his young life.
"He'll be alright," Lupin said quietly, though whether he was reassuring Hadrian or himself wasn't clear. "He's remarkably resilient."
"He is," Hadrian agreed, memories of his own experiences flowing through his mind. "But resilience comes at a cost. Every time he's forced to stand alone, something changes. Not always for the worse, but... it accumulates."
"That's why we're here," Lupin reminded him. "To ensure he doesn't stand alone this time."
They departed Hogwarts shortly thereafter, Hadrian returning to the Three Broomsticks while Lupin headed for their secure location with the diadem Horcrux. As Hadrian walked through the quiet streets of Hogsmeade, he reflected on the evening's events.
The pieces were moving exactly as he remembered—Harry selected as the fourth champion, the initial disbelief and hostility, the binding magical contract forcing his participation. But subtle differences were already emerging. Harry had confided in Hadrian about his dreams, McGonagall had tacitly endorsed their support, and even the false Moody was encouraging Hadrian's involvement in ways that might be turned to advantage.
Back in his room, Hadrian updated his timeline wall with notes from the evening's observations. The coming weeks would be crucial—balancing the need to help Harry survive the first task with the broader mission of retrieving and destroying the remaining Horcruxes. The locket at Grimmauld Place would be their next target, requiring careful navigation of Sirius's complicated relationship with his family home and the house-elf Kreacher who guarded it.
As he worked into the night, refining plans and considering contingencies, Hadrian was acutely aware of his younger self lying awake in Gryffindor Tower, facing what felt like insurmountable challenges. The parallels and divergences between their experiences created a strange emotional resonance—empathy mixed with determination to ensure that this Harry would face these trials better prepared and better supported than he had been.
"Different outcomes from similar beginnings," Hadrian murmured to himself as he finally prepared for sleep. "That's the entire point of this journey."
And as the events of the Triwizard Tournament began to unfold according to their inevitable pattern, the real question remained: where and how significantly could he alter that pattern without causing even greater dangers to emerge? It was a question with no easy answer, but one that would guide his every decision in the critical weeks to come.