Chapter Text
Monday, 31 October 1994
~Hestia~
Dumbledore plucked the slightly burnt parchment piece from the air, quickly reading it. His eyes scanned the crowd of students, stopping on one particular.
Fuck.
“Harry Potter.”
Double fuck.
Every set of eyes in the Great Hall found the one un-moving person.
Triple fuck.
“Harry. Potter.”
Someone pushed her in the back and she suddenly found herself in the aisle.
“Cheater,” some unhappy Hufflepuff called out.
A scoff from the Slytherin table, loud in the dead silence. “Can’t even go a single year without begging for attention.”
“Harry! How?” Ron called after her. Shaking her head in response, not trusting her words.
Only three pairs of eyes from the Gryffindor section looked at her in worry rather than adoration. They knew for certain that she didn’t put her name in the Goblet.
Hestia took a few halting steps forward before the sudden feel of the stone floor against her hands and knees brought her back long enough to recognize a Tripping Hex and hear the snickers from the direction of Malfoy.
“Bastards,” she hissed under her breath.
Reaching Dumbledore, she began to protest. “Professor, I didn’t pu-,” falling silent with a slight flinch to the Headmaster’s raised hand to silence her.
“That’s alright my boy,” another slight flinch. “Please step into the other room.”
Turning to the crowd and speaking loudly, “ladies and gentlemen, the Fourth TriWizard Champion!”
The roar of the crowd drowned out her thoughts until the door to the room closed, and she was plunged back into quiet, overwhelmed by the speed her mind was moving.
~Ron~
Ron couldn’t believe that Harry would lie to him. They had talked about entering the tournament. They had both agreed getting past the age line, after seeing Fred and George’s failed attempt, was impossible. Harry had even said that he wanted a quiet year, without the attention.
But here he was. Having his name called out. Walking up to the Headmaster without any protest.
This was just one more thing in the growing list that Harry was keeping from him. He had to pretend he didn’t see Harry and Hermione whispering when they thought he couldn’t hear them. He had to pretend that he didn’t see them sneak off together, abandoning him. HIM! Harry’s first friend, Harry’s best friend.
Ron was already up and stalking out the exit before Dumbledore announced the fourth TriWizard Champion.
~Hermione~
Hermione knew instantly. The shock on her best friend’s face when said friend’s deadname was called out, meant this was another year of bullshit for Hestia Potter and crew.
A quick glance at Ronald revealed that he was not going to take this well.
Hermione had spent enough time alone with Hestia since the start of the school year, to know that she often switched to Parseltongue without thinking. Especially when agitated or emotional.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the fourth TriWizard Champion!” Hermione was jolted from her thoughts at the Headmaster’s announcement, and quickly cast a muffling charm around her head as the Great Hall erupted from all directions. “Prefects, please lead your Housemates back to your dormitories.”
Hermione watched as Professor Dumbledore, all four Heads of House, the Beauxbatons Headmistress, the Durmstrang Headmaster, Professor Moody for some reason, and the two Ministry officials all barge into the side room Hestia had been corralled into just moments before.
Sticking close to Fred and George, the trio share a look and silently agree to not let Hestia be alone as much as possible.
The walk back to the common room in the swarm of Gryffindors was filled with whispered speculation as Hermione kept quiet, lost in thought.
Seeing the brooding expression of the youngest Weasley son, Hermione knew that she was not in the right mindset to deal with whatever slight he had imagined. She immediately darted for the stairs for the girls’ dormitories, knowing he couldn’t follow. She will deal with Ronald in the morning.
Tonight, she had a more important concern.
They needed to make sure their friend survived the school year.
~Hestia~
“Harry? Everything okay, do they need us back out there?”
Hestia just held up the singed piece of parchment with the wrong name on it, that Dumbledore had somehow gotten into her hand, too numb to even really notice the use of her deadname.
Cedric blanched before turning it to the other two Champions.
“Papa was right,” Fleur muttered to herself. “Something interesting would happen at the Champions choosing. But he said there would be a second witch.”
“It does not matter,” the Bulgarian Seeker grumbled, crossing his arms. “The Goblet chose. It is final.”
Hestia slumped into a chair, keeping an eye on Fleur, as the true Tournament Champions spoke amongst themselves, tuning them out, and began writing a letter to Sirius.
The door burst open and Hestia quickly pocketed the incomplete letter as she stood. Professors Dumbledore, Moody and McGonagall, Mr. Crouch, Ludo Bagman, Headmaster Karkaroff, Madame Maxine all stormed in.
Ludo Bagman strides over and grabs at Hestia’s hand to shake it, “Congratulations! Four Champions! Wonderful!” Hestia backed up quickly to avoid him, tugging her silk gloves tighter onto her hands, murmuring, “please don’t touch me.” Cedric stepped in front of Mr. Bagman to protect the youngest Champion.
Dumbledore steps up to Hestia, “Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” Hestia grimaced at the words but hid her reaction.
“No sir.”
“Did you ask one of the older students or a professor to put your name in?”
“No sir,” a little more curtly than she wanted. “I actually wanted a quiet year this year.”
“Yes, I imagine you would, wouldn’t you?” McGonagall chuckled. Turning to Mr. Crouch, “now what are we going to do to get Potter out of the Tournament?”
“Can’t,” barked Moody. “Magically binding contract, and Magic like this punishes oathbreakers. Though, if you do survive the whole thing, you will be emancipated in the eyes of the Ministry.” Smirking at the pointed glare Dumbledore gave and barely hid.
“Professor McGonagall, you know I didn’t put my name in the Goblet. That would not be the name I would use.”
“I know my dear, but as Professor Moody stated, this kind of Magic is dangerous, powerful, and final. I will be working to try and make this right. Or at least find ways for you to be safe.”
“Thank you Professor.”
As the adults continue to argue and pass blame of how such a violation could occur, Hestia slowly and silently worked her way closer to the door, waiting for an opportunity to escape. She needed to escape. The other Champions watched this all unfold in silence.
“The boy must compete. His name came out of the Goblet, it is final.”
“Do not sound so excited, Ludo! We had several measures enacted to prevent this very thing. The fact that you seem giddy, rather than appalled, is concerning,” the Head of Transfiguration retorted.
“Exactly. The strength of magic required to hoodwink the Goblet is not something a fourteen year old boy is capable of performing,” the magical eye of the former Auror bounced from face to face of the occupants of the room as he searched for a reaction. Hestia could feel the bile rising in her throat.
“Of course, you would jump to this being some dark plot, Moody.” Karkaroff sneered.
“I don’t believe anyone said anything about a ‘dark plot,’ Karkaroff. Is there something you’d like to admit to doing?” That same shit-eating smirk returning.
“Excuse me?” Unable to be heard over the bickering, “EXCUSE ME?” Silence comes quickly as everyone in the room turns their attention to Hestia, who has her wand pointed at her throat.
Canceling the Sonorus she had to use to be heard, “thank you. Now, if I was going to put my name in, which I didn’t, but if I did, I would have used my legal name, rather than a short form. Is that still binding?” Asking pointedly to Mr. Crouch.
“Did you ever respond to this so-called ‘short form’ version of your name?” Hestia grimaced again, this time unable to hide her reaction. “Judging by that face, yes it is still binding. Magic will see that as one of your identifiers since you do respond to it.”
“Potter, dear,” the cat animagus started. “Would now be a good time?”
“No. Maybe. Probably. I don’t know. I really don’t want to do this right now.”
“Dans le mauvais corps!” Fleur gasped quietly from the back of the small group as the Gandalf wannabe spoke over her. “Good time for what, Mr. Potter?”
“Nope. Definitely not addressing that now,” she quickly changed the subject. “So, this conversation seems to be going nowhere. Is there truly no way for me to get out of this?” Bagman, Crouch, and Dumbledore all confirm. “Well, then I’m going,” as she moves towards the door.
“Mr. Potter! Wait!” Crouch shouts.
Pulling the door open, Hestia stormed out into the deserted Great Hall. The long tables sat empty. The last of the students had already been ushered back to their dormitories.
Mr. Crouch called after him, “Mr. Potter,” inward cringe, “you can’t back out, you have to-”
“I don’t HAVE to do anything,” snapped Hestia, as she whipped around to stare directly at the man, her intense Killing-Curse-green stare causing him to stumble and flinch. “I wanted a quiet, peaceful, academic school year. Now, I’m going back to my dorm, to lie in my bed, and hopefully wake from this nightmare where I was entered into a death game against my will. Now, goodnight.”
She turned to leave, muttering, “why is it always Samhain?”
One step.
Two.
Three.
The Goblet flared and conversation died instantly.
The blue-white flames darkened.
For the first time that evening, Dumbledore looked genuinely alarmed.
Then darkened further.
Dumbledore took a half step towards the raven haired witch, “Mr. Potter, please wait!”
Black liquid-fire began to roll over the edge of the ancient cup.
Turning back around to face the Headmaster without halting her retreat, “What now?” she asked tiredly before coming to a stop when she saw the ball of black fire that had engulfed the Goblet.
The black fire surged.
Several people shouted out warnings.
Hestia never heard them as the flames crossed the distance in an instant.
Then, she screamed.
Agony exploded through every nerve in her body.
Hestia collapsed before she could even process what happened.
Something invisible squeezed around her chest as a single word burned into her mind.
Champion.
The pressure increased.
Champion.
A fist squeezed on something deep inside her.
Her Magic.
It was being pulled out of her.
Champion.
The small crowd of Professors and Ministry employees split as McGonagall sprinted to Hestia, Dumbledore only a step behind. Finding her curled and tensed up in the fetal position, panting, blood running from her nose and the corners of her eyes, face frozen in a silent scream of pain.
“Fine!” She screamed out through the pain. She visibly relaxed as the pressure lessened, “fine. Fuck. FUCK. I’ll do it. I’ll compete. I’ll play your stupid game.”
She pushed herself onto her hands and knees, spat blood, then forced herself to stand. “Still not as bad as the Cruciatus from Quirrell.” She flashed a pained and blood-soaked grin. The gathered Professors and Ministry workers blanched at this revelation.
Looking at Mr. Crouch, “fine, I’ll play.” Pointing at Dumbledore, Crouch, then Bagman, “but this is on all of your heads. Not you, Professor McGonagall, you are truly wonderful,” causing the Hogwarts Transfiguration teacher to blush and murmur a thank you. “Can I go now?” Not waiting for a response before she turns towards the exit of the Great Hall.
Hestia refused to limp. Refused to stumble. Now fully aware of the consequences of not competing, she was determined to not show how hollow she felt.
Every footfall felt wrong.
Twenty-five steps from the door.
The world seemed strangely distant, as though she were looking through broken glass.
Twenty steps from the door.
The toe of a shoe scuffed the floor. She never dragged her feet.
Fifteen steps from the door.
The large door of the Great Hall was right there.
Ten steps from the door.
Her vision swam, her legs no longer cooperated, her knees buckled, and the floor rose up to meet her.
McGonagall was too slow to catch the green-eyed witch, as Hestia collapsed to the floor for the second time that evening, blood pooling under her face, nose definitely broken as she had been unable to make an attempt to catch herself.
McGonagall scooped Hestia up and carried her out of the Great Hall, towards the hospital wing. No one made a comment about how easily the Deputy Headmistress picked up her charge nor about how lightweight the student seemed in the older witch’s arms.