"What story book are you reading there Vincent?"
A kind looking elderly man peered down on the boy, his narrow eyes peering through his half-lidded glasses.
"A book about heroes," The boy answered, without any emotion, glancing upwards as he did so. "I don't understand."
"What don't you understand?"
"I don't understand what a hero is. Why do they help people if all they receive in response is nothing more than a thank you?"
The supposedly innocent question made the man raise an eyebrow. It felt out of place for someone the boy's age. Still, the man didn't think much of it—after everything he'd put the boy through, it was only to be expected.
His dry chuckle lingered a moment too long before he replied—calmly, almost kindly, with a voice that didn't quite match the sharp glint in his eye.
"Those who choose to help others are either a bunch of fools or have something else that they desire from those they helped. For heroes? Fame, glory, reputation, prestige, anything that makes themselves seem bigger in the majorities eye. But in the light of their pursuits, here's the sad truth: the world is indifferent to kindness."
"People change, and over the passage of time, even the greatest acts of heroism fades. Helping others is only a temporary delay against the inevitable collapse of a world that doesn't care about your kindness or sacrifices. What does matter to the world, however, is power. Only true power shapes the world—everything else is just noise."
The man looked outside at the grey polluted sky of London, one that seemed to mirror that man's very heart and soul.
"Ah, I remember now, that book, it was N̵̷̵̶̨̡̛͘͢͢͞͏̴̢͜͠͏̡̕͢͢͜͟͜͜͞i̵̸̴̡̡̨̢̨̛̕͘͘͘͜͟͟͢͠͞͝͡͠͞͝͞͠m̸̵̶͘͢͜͢͢͠͠͏̴̡̕̕͟͢͟͜͢͜͞͞͝'s favorite, what's wrong, do you want to see her?"
Vincent gazed up at the man and gave a silent nod.
The man's kind expression faltered—just for an instant. A cruel, almost inhuman smile flickered across his face, baring white teeth, perfectly shaped and rounded.
He lifted a hand to cover his face, as though shielding a crack in his carefully worn mask. His shoulders trembled, not with grief or anger, but with the barely-contained tremor of laughter—like he'd just heard the most twisted joke in the world.
And then, just as quickly, it was gone. The warmth returned, his features settling once more into the familiar guise of a kind elderly man.
"Come along then Vincent, let us visit her just before our next experiment."
"..."
The boy grabbed the man's outstretched hand, following as he was led down, deeper into the black mass of space that hid within the basement. The door shut behind the two, hiding all trace of them except for the red footsteps that they left behind, all seeming to fade away with time almost as if they had never existed.
Just like magic.
...
.................
NOTICE TO ALL PROSPECTIVE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT PARTICIPANTS
Please be advised that, due to unforeseen complications regarding the Tournament's eligibility rules, the final selection of participants will be postponed by three days. This delay is necessary to address and resolve identified discrepancies to ensure a fair and consistent process. We appreciate your patience and understanding during this time.
.................
NOTICE TO ALL STUDENTS
Please be informed that Professor Alastor Moody, our Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, has taken ill and will be unable to conduct classes until further notice. During his absence, all scheduled sessions will be dedicated to self-study. We appreciate your cooperation and understanding, and we wish Professor Moody a swift recovery.
.................
The notice was posted on the Hogwarts Bulletin Board and displayed throughout the castle in all three languages to accommodate the visiting schools. It was also announced verbally by the professors during breakfast—which, owing to the previous night's events, was held outdoors. While repairing the Great Hall would have been a relatively simple task, there simply hadn't been enough time, prompting the hasty decision to relocate the meal outside, despite the chilly weather, in order to avoid raising suspicion.
Fortunately, a series of warming charms had been cast over the courtyard, rendering it pleasantly toasty and leaving no one to complain about the unexpected change in venue.
What was complained about, however, were the sudden notices.
The vast majority of students were understandably upset at the delay to what was the most anticipated event of the year. A lot of them were calling out the teachers and Ministry for their lack of foresight and preparation, all of which fell on deaf ears as the teachers refused to answer any such inquiries.
"Zis is outrageous! Our Ministère would never 'ave made a zuch a miztake!"
"Vere is Dumbledore?! What does he have to say to vis?!"
"Will this revised selection let under seventeen-year-olds participate?!"
While questions about the tournament flew back and forth amongst the crowd, there were others concerned about the other news.
"Mad-Eye? Sick? Seriously?"
"Yeah, never thought that would happen."
"Maybe it's a past injury or something."
"Maybe an experiment went wrong."
"Nah, that's the Mad Scientist you're talking about, speaking of which, can't seem to see him here."
"Guys! What if—hear me out—there was a battle between the Madmen?! And they fought in the Great Hall, that's why we're out here instead of in there! To conceal the evidence of the damage they caused!"
"..."
"..."
"Hey! Don't turn away from me! It was a perfectly valid guess!"
Ironically, the shared frustration did a far better job of fostering camaraderie between the schools than the previous night's events. It provided a common topic for everyone to start with, naturally leading many into a variety of conversations that soon flooded the courtyard.
Something Harry made a point off as he piled food onto his plat from one of the outside tables they provided, full of a variety of food not losing to last night's feast.
The previous night's events were still fresh in his mind. Vincent bolting off with his map with such panic brought great confusion to Harry. He reasoned it was something his friend could deal with at the time, but something inside him felt compelled to follow anyway.
He nearly had a heart attack the moment he reached Dumbledore's office, arriving just in time to see one of his best friends leap off the balcony into the vast emptiness of the Great Stairwell. Rushing to the edge, Harry was relieved to see no body at the bottom and could only assume that Vincent had somehow found a way to land safely.
"That bloody bastard," Harry couldn't help but cuss, taking inspiration from his red-headed friend. "If Voldemort couldn't kill me, then that guy's actions will."
"Harry? What on earth are you doing out so late?"
Harry turned to see Dumbledore, accompanied by Vincent's pixie Nyx, as well as the two Triwizard judges, Mr. Crouch, and Bagman, who looked excitedly at Harry, clearly happy to see him again.
The most Harry could offer about the situation was that Vincent was urgently looking for Dumbledore. He was careful not to reveal too much, casting frequent, cautious glances at Mr. Crouch. Harry remained wary of him, mindful of Vincent's suspicions regarding the man. Thankfully, Dumbledore received the hint as he asked Harry to lead the way.
The next few minutes was a blur, with Bagman making light conversation with him as the group made their way to the ground floor. By the time they did so, all of them noticed the flashing lights coming from the direction of the Great Hall (Bagman finally stopped talking here as he finally grasped the seriousness of the situation), and without hesitation, all of them began to hurry towards the source.
Only after being there long enough to see an unconscious 'Mad-Eye' and exchange short words with a clearly exhausted Vincent was Harry told to return to the common room. (something that Dumbledore wouldn't have done if he knew beforehand how involved Harry was with the situation).
Despite his worry, Harry managed to fall asleep—though a bit late—knowing Vincent was in good hands. His concern eased significantly when he saw Vincent passed out on his bed, face flat, still dressed in his outer clothes with shoes on, which was unsurprising given how hard Vincent had worked the past few nights.
"I still haven't told Ron or Hermione about what happened," Harry thought, seeing his best friend searching for Krum with a pen and parchment, clearly hoping to get his autograph this time around. "Arnya's not here though... she must be with Vincent then."
While Harry was still concerned about his friend and the events leading up to the current situation, he decided against grilling Vincent for the details until the boy had received his proper rest.
With his thoughts all settled and calm, Harry found his plate empty and decided to go for seconds. Afterall, it's easier to think properly with a full stomach.
...
ACHOO!
Arnya wordlessly handed a tissue to the miserable, bedridden Vincent, who accepted it gratefully. He was back in his sleepwear, now accompanied by several bandages scattered across his body. While the stones could have accelerated his healing, the injuries were relatively minor—and he still didn't fully understand the extent of the stones' capabilities.
Not that any one of them could get rid of Vincent's current issue.
"I got a cold..." Vincent grumbled. "...and I'm starving...this is what I get for sleeping in damp clothes."
Arnya sat there silently as Vincent complained to no one in particular, letting the boy just vent his frustrations out. After much thought, she finally decided to speak up—half an hour after Vincent's open complaint.
"Do you want me to get you something to eat?"
Vincent shot her a sidelong glance, caught between the reluctance to trouble Arnya and the fragile pride he was didn't know he had, struggling to decide whether to ask for her help. That decision soon met its breaking point at the sound of his stomach growling for food.
Vincent groaned as he turned to the side to hide his embarrassed expression. "...Yes please."
"Anything in particular?"
"...Surprise me,"
"?"
Vincent could clearly see that Arnya was puzzled at his response. It was his turn to be speechless as she covered her face with both hands.
"...Boo?" She quickly removed her hands to reveal...her usual deadpan expression, one that matched Vincent's own in that moment. "No good?"
"...Well...it surprised me, not in a bad way I guess."
Vincent was left to stew in his thoughts the moment Arnya left the room. Nyx was curled up and napping on the nearby side table, while Blimp was off buzzing around—who knew where. He wasn't too concerned; the little snake was probably stronger than he was when it came to defense. You'd be hard-pressed to find anything that could even scratch it.
With some time on his hands, Vincent decided to go over recent events to make sure he hadn't missed anything. These were the facts he knew for certain—along with the truths Barty Crouch Jr. had revealed under the effects of Veritaserum.
The Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup had been cast by Barty Crouch Jr., apparently as a reaction to the Death Eaters' attack—an attack carried out, disturbingly, purely for their own amusement. In the aftermath, Mr. Crouch Sr. had dismissed his house-elf, Winky, and taken his son home.
Sometime after this, Voldemort had discovered Barty Crouch Jr.'s existence. The revelation came through Bertha Jorkins, a witch who had accidentally uncovered the Crouch family's secret and had been missing for quite some time. She was the one who provided Voldemort with crucial information about the Triwizard Tournament.
Crouch Jr. hadn't been sure how exactly Bertha had been captured. All he knew was that Voldemort had another helper—someone Bertha seemed to recognize—who had taken her when her guard was down.
Though the identity of this second accomplice remained a troubling mystery, it seemed Voldemort's plan to capture Harry through the Tournament had, at least for now, been delayed.
"At least it would've been completely thwarted if they'd just called off the Tournament," Vincent muttered with a sigh of frustration. "Why does politics always have to be so complicated?"
Cornelius Fudge believing them was all well and good, and it did sound like he planned to take some action behind the scenes. But with the Tournament still scheduled to continue, there remained a very real risk that it could still be compromised.
Barty Crouch's final words still echoed in Vincent's mind as he struggled to imagine what other scheme Voldemort might be plotting—whether it involved the Tournament or not.
It bothered him—how could it not? His friend Harry was once again in danger, and that danger could easily spread to others. Vincent would be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to stop it.
Vincent didn't realize he was gripping his fist too hard, only noticing it as he went to grab some water from the bedside table.
"...Seems recent events affected me more than I thought," Vincent muttered, flexing his hand, which had gone numb from the restricted blood flow. "Stein... I could go the rest of my life without hearing that name again."
He really hoped that nothing bad would happen during the Tournament.
...
Just like that, two days had passed, and the time had finally come for the Goblet of Fire to choose the school Champions. Students crowded excitedly around the Goblet, buzzing with chatter as one by one they tossed in their names. The frustration over the earlier delays now felt like nothing more than a distant memory.
Though no new incidents had occurred at the school, that didn't mean the last couple of days had been quiet. While Barty Crouch Jr.'s capture was kept relatively under wraps, his father's resignation as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been made public in the Daily Prophet, sparking heated discussion about whether he would still be involved in judging the Tournament.
His position had been filled by Amelia Bones—who, as it happened, had a niece attending Hogwarts: Susan Bones. Vincent knew her vaguely from their shared Muggle Studies class.
He watched in silence as Susan calmly answered the barrage of questions from their classmates.
"Calm, patient, collected... she handles all that press well," Vincent muttered to himself.
"What was that, Vince?" Hermione asked.
"Just taking notes on how Susan over there handles being mobbed," Vincent said, nodding toward her group. "I've always done my best to avoid situations like that, so it's interesting watching someone navigate it. Who knows—might learn a thing or two."
"Taking notes on how to talk to Krum?" Hermione asked, drawing a small chuckle from Vincent at the mention of the older boy. "But in all seriousness, do you think she knows...you know, the reason for her aunt's sudden promotion?"
"Who knows, if she does, then she has a pretty good poker face," Vincent answered, recalling the moment he broke the news to the trio, Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Needless to say, they were shocked. Not even the excitement surrounding the Tournament was enough to ease their worries—if anything, it only made them more cautious. From what Vincent had heard, Harry had taken to scanning the Marauder's Map even late into the night. Ron, meanwhile, spent most of his free time lingering near the Entrance Hall, keeping an eye on anyone approaching the Goblet of Fire—though, to be fair, that might've had just as much to do with catching a glimpse of Krum as with actual security.
Hermione had taken to the library, scouring books on the Dark Arts and obscure branches of ancient magic tied to revival. But with so little to go on regarding how Voldemort might return, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack.
It also distracted her from her other pursuit, the freedom of House-Elves, something that the group didn't dare to bring up.
While all of that was going on, Vincent had been focused on recovering from his cold. Fortunately, it hadn't lasted long—today was the first time in three days he'd gotten out of the hospital wing, and he was more than happy to finally stretch his arms and legs again.
"Speaking off, how's Professor Moody?" Hermione asked Vincent in a low whisper.
"...Crouch kept him fed, but that's about it," Vincent said. He'd seen the man during his time in the hospital wing, though he hadn't been able to speak with him—for a number of reasons. "He's lost a lot of weight, and his sleep cycle's completely out of sync. I think he's experiencing hallucinations too. Not surprising, really, considering he was stuffed inside a dark trunk for months."
"That's horrible."
"Well, the good news is he's recovering. Whether he'll keep teaching... we'll have to wait and see," Vincent said, glancing around the Great Hall and doing a quick headcount before turning his attention back to the newspaper in his hands.
"Oh—Sirius is mentioned here... 'Pettigrew has been caught'... 'the Ministry remains tight-lipped on how the man was apprehended'... 'with such events along with the incident at the Quidditch Cup, can the Ministry still be trusted to protect us?' Huh. Can't believe they actually let this get published. Fudge wasn't kidding when he mentioned how shaky the Ministry's reputation is right now."
"And yet, the Tournament continues."
Vincent sighed, sharing Hermione's frustration. "And yet, it continues."
Dinner was starting, and among all the students now pouring into the Great Hall, Harry and Ron soon joined the two at the table.
"Anything?" Harry whispered to the group.
Hermione gave the two a quick rundown of the past couple of hours.
"There were a few Slytherin's testing their luck against the age line, Fred, George and Lee also tried to use age potions to fool it, needless to say, all of them left looking just a tad older with those beards. Other than that, there didn't seem to be any tampering with the Goblet, at least, none that we could have seen."
"So that's what happened," Ron muttered. "I thought it was a prank gone wrong or something when I saw the two walk out like that. You think someone could have jinxed it during the past couple of days?"
"It would have been rather difficult, seeing as Filch practically hasn't budged an inch from his post," Harry pointed at the caretaker, whose bloodshot eyes betrayed the toll of several sleepless nights. "The teachers also routinely check the Goblet throughout the past few days, if I'm not mistaken."
"So, nothing?" Ron asked hopefully, earning a deadpan look from all of them.
"Don't jinx us."
The four of them were so focused on the Goblet that they weren't able to pay attention to their meals. Vincent recalled that the Halloween feast was a couple days ago and felt a twinge of disappointment at not being able to attend it.
The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons seemed to have grown somewhat comfortable at Hogwarts over the past few days, with several of them being spread out amongst the four houses. Still, most of the Beauxbatons students had gravitated towards the Ravenclaw table, while the majority of Durmstrang had settled near the Slytherins, a stark contrast from their first day where they sat with the Gryffindor's.
"Did you know, Krum dropped by during breakfast to ask where you were Vince. He wished you a speedy recovery," Hermione said suddenly. "It's probably because of his Professor that he's sitting over there and not here. You know, Pureblood bias."
"That's strange," Ron muttered.
"What is?" Vincent asked.
"Malfoy," Ron pointed. "The little git had this smug expression taped to his face the past few days ever since Krum sat next to him. Now though? He looks as if something died."
It was true. Vincent had never seen Draco Malfoy look so troubled. Despite the star Seeker sitting right near him, the boy looked as if someone had just been murdered.
He wasn't the only one though, several other Slytherin students sported the same expression. Even Crabbe and Goyle—Malfoy's lackeys as everyone likes to call them, who were not the brightest—looked sullen.
"What do you think's happened?" Ron asked.
"...Who knows," Vincent responded with a thoughtful expression.
As the plates cleared and the clinking of cutlery faded, replaced with murmur of conversation, Dumbledore finally arose from his seat, clearing his voice as he did so.
"The moment is near, and the Goblet is ready to make it's decision. I'd like to extend a warm thank you to all of you for your patience. Now, a few things to get out of the way before the selection begins."
"It is to my deepest regret, that Mr. Crouch will unfortunately be unable to attend the Tournament as a judge due to unforeseen circumstances. His replacement will be none other than Miss Amelia Bones, who along with Mr. Bagman, extends their apologies for not being able to attend tonight's feast. We thank you for your continued understanding."
Vincent glanced at Susan Bone's side of the table, where frantic whispers were being exchanged in response to the announcement. Susan looked somewhat surprised at the news but seemed to keep a level head, calmly hushing her friends.
"Why didn't they attend?" Harry whispered.
"Their probably still sorting 'things' out," Vincent whispered back.
"As you all have been informed, there were some...complications regarding the Tournament's rules. Rest assured, the matter has been addressed as thoroughly as possible."
Dumbledore took a moment to look around the room, his eyes meeting Vincent's for a brief moment before continuing to the other students.
"But that, I think, is quite enough from me, I won't keep you waiting any longer. The Goblet is ready to reveal its decision. When your name is called, I ask that you come forwards and make your way to the side—!"
Vincent could have sworn he heard a clicking sound as all the lights vanished—candle flames, and even soft glow of moonlight simply disappeared. Darkness encompassed the hall, leaving the room with an air of confusion and unease.
"Harry? Ron? Vincent?" Hermione's voice called out, on amongst many voices that now rang out in the darkness.
"We're still here Hermione," Harry's voice answered.
"Arnya, Nyx, you still here?" Vincent called out, he felt a small tug on his ear, and a hand on top of his. "That answers that, can anyone get a light up?"
Before anyone could brighten the room with a spell, a faint ball of flame appearing caught everyone's attention. All the voices died down as the bluish-almost silver, flames flickered amongst the darkness.
"It's the Goblet, it's about to choose the Champions!" Someone cried out.
Indeed, the flame came from the Goblet. Whether or not it was choosing a champion, however, was unclear though, from the apparent shock Vincent saw on Dumbledore's faintly lit face.
"No, this is wrong," Vincent thought grimly.
The voices all died down as the flame turned a brilliant shade of red, deep, almost crimson. It surged upwards, swelling in intensity as it cast a vivid red glow across the entire hall. Nothing was spared from the light, yet somehow it wasn't blinding.
Amidst the silence, a voice rang out, one that clearly wasn't human.
"Someone dares to alter my judgement? To bend the rules? To choose in my place? How foolish...how utterly foolish."
Vincent stared at the flame, shocked, something that was shared amongst those present as they broke out in whispers. The voice, every time it spoke, it easily encompassed all form of sound, as if it were speaking directly into one's ear. It seared itself into his mind, impossible to ignore.
It was as if fire had found a voice, one that singed the ears and branded its words deep into his thoughts.
"It sounds deep at times, and light at others, like an everchanging flame," Vincent furrowed his brow.
The voice continued, its very words burning into the minds of those present.
"However, you have also awakened me, if only for a brief time. It's been centuries since I was last permitted to look upon this world. For that alone, I shall allow it, those of your choosing shall be champions. But know this: I will have fairness. The rules that you so carelessly disregarded shall be burned and made anew under my judgement!"
A burst of light came from the flame, and a burnt parchment shot forth into the air, before lightly landing in Dumbledore's hand.
"Nine champions, three from each school, two set in stone, chosen by those who dared interfere. The champions have been chosen, and I will return to my slumber."
The moment the flame went out, light returned to the Hall. Candles flared back to life, and the moon's gentle glow once again shone down through the windows, casting its calm light upon the now turbulent hall.
In the midst of it, the Goblet sat still, unlit, as if nothing had happened.
A heavy silence fell over the room as Dumbledore scanned the parchment with furrowed brows. He took one deep breath before finally speaking.
"The Durmstrang Champions are as followed:
Viktor Krum,
Nikolai Osman,
and...Nina Fortner!"
Along with Krum, two others also stood up with him, each with puzzled expressions. One was a tall, olive-skinned boy with longish black hair, tied back with a head band of sorts. The other was a girl with gentle features, standing around Vincent's height if he had to guess.
There were no cheers. The event before was still fresh in everyone's mind, people were still trying their best to process the information.
"Will the champions step into the chamber? The entrance is over by Professor McGonagall. Professor Kakaroff, you may enter with them if you wish."
Dumbledore waited as the Durmstrang group entered the chambers before addressing the next group.
"The Beauxbaton Champions are as followed:
Fleur Delacour,
Sylvie Flamel,
...and Eloise Bernard!"
"Flamel?!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all reacted to the name as three Beauxbaton students stood up and made their way to the chamber.
One of them—Fleur—Vincent recognized as the girl who asked for a plate of food at their table on the day they arrived.
The two other girls may not have the same attractive force that made heads turn as the Fleur did, but they were just as pretty as she was in their own way.
One girl was tall with sleek black hair, carrying a quiet air of intimidation. The other was somewhat petite with a delicate presence that gave her an almost fragile grace. Although different in appearance, the contrast between them only enhanced their charm, allowing them to stand next to Fleur without losing presence.
"The one who made the Philosophers Stone, that Flamel?" Vincent thought, remembering Harry and Ron recounting the events of their first year to him.
He shelved that thought for later as the Beauxbatons entered the chamber with Madame Maxime—met with no applause, just like the Durmstrangs—and Dumbledore finally moved on to announcing the Hogwarts Champions.
"The Hogwarts...Champions are Nicholas Nott!"
Nicholas rose up from the crowd of Slytherins, his silver zipper catching the gaze of all present. A frown was seen present on his face, clearly unhappy with the situation.
"...Harry Potter!"
Now, whispers and murmurs spread rapidly through the Great Hall, all the while Harry sat frozen, face ashen. He didn't get up right away, only doing so when a worried Ron prodded at him, with Hermione also looking at her friend worriedly.
Whatever words Vincent was about to say something, died in his throat as Dumbledore announced the last Champion.
"...and Vincent Wong!"
The whole hall fell silent before erupting into a chorus of voices.
"He's a Muggle!"
"Those two must have done something to it!"
"They're not even of age yet!"
"This isn't fair!"
Vincent could feel the weight of countless eyes on both him and Harry, who met his gaze with an equally disturbed look. He caught sight of Nicholas Nott, watching them with curiosity.
With a resigned sigh, Vincent got up from his seat.
"Next time we hold a death-defying competition, let's just pick a name from a hat. I'm sure the Sorting Hat would love to volunteer."