Chapter Text
The longer the hall remained quiet, the more annoyed Draco felt.
Every face surrounding her- even the professors- hung slack jawed and shocked, as if this weren't the most predictable turn of events imaginable.
Of course Potter would throw his name in. He couldn't bear a minute without being the center of attention.
The only real mystery is how he'd slipped past the Age Line in a way that mattered. If Granger had somehow managed this- and undetectably at that... the thought was more troubling than Draco cared to entertain.
Or perhaps it was Dumbledore himself. Not impossible. Stupid teacher's pet Potter groveling with puppy eyes and messy hair- "Oh, please professor! I'd ever so like to be a champion and gain even more fame and attention and have all the girls clog the corridors while others try to reach their classes"- and sentimental Dumbledore would lap it up and ask for seconds.
However, if it was Dumbledore, he was doing an excellent job performing innocence. His gaze was low, calmly fixed on Potter in that tilted way he had of showing quiet disappointment. Professor McGonagall joined him now, expression taut, whispering in his ear, while Potter stood frozen, terrified (really!).
Then he was summoned to the teacher's table. He stumbled a little, graceless as ever - which did not make Draco even a mite happier - then was dismissed to join the other champions. No applause. No raucous Gryffindor's clapping his back- which did please her. Dumbledore followed him along with half the teacher's table trailing behind.
The shock began to ebb, and many students relaxed muscles they hadn't realized were tensed. No one had yet spoken. She might as well be the first. Loud enough that she hoped Potter could hear her, Draco scoffed, "This is absolutely ridiculous. Wait till Father-"
The Goblet burned red again.
The dimmed hall lights had just returned to their original brightness, so the flame was almost missed- but a tiny voice, a first-year, cried, "Look!"
Hundreds of heads turned and gasped as the Goblet's flames danced the same play of fire for the fifth time, unbothered. The remaining teacher's efforts to control the scene were drowned out by shouts of disbelief and a few blurted curses.
A flash of white-hot anger raced through Draco, and she thought, bewilderingly– Again? Potter's name, again?
Hagrid gathered his massive frame from his chair and moved to fetch Dumbledore with impossible speed.
"Er Professor!" he bellowed as he opened the door. "Come quick!"
The adults spilled out in the opposite order they entered: Crouch, Bagman, Snape, Karkaroff (utterly purple with rage), Maxime, McGonagal, and finally Dumbledore.
"What in Merlin's name-" McGonagall's voice pierced through the chaos. "Quiet! Everyone, please!" She waved her arms but was hardly noticed.
Dumbledore, calm as winter, strode past her to meet the long tongue of fire that held the familiar piece of parchment out. He retrieved it, and the flames immediately died down to a silvery blue and began to extinguish themselves. With the flames, so too did the students' cries soften and die.
For the fifth time, his eyes read the name. For the second time, he hesitated. Dumbledore did not sigh. His composure held firm. But his eyelids drooped just a little further- just a little more wearily.
"Draco Malfoy."
Oh. It worked.
____________________________________________________________________________________
"No! No, zis is a joke!"
The room was a tense study of fireplace light. Draco entered last, but as soon as she was spotted, the Beauxbatons girl rushed to her headmistress, spilling through several sentences of very animated French. Diggory and Potter stared uncomfortably. Krum frowned in his seat like a particularly peeved sack of wet dark cloth- not so unusual for him.
"'Ow can zere be two more? 'Ogwarts is allowed one champion. Durmstrang allowed only one champion. Beauxbaton only one! 'Ow can zere be a third?" Her voice trembled with barely controlled indignation, as she counted off her slender fingers.
“C’est impossible,” agreed Madame Maxime gently drawing her hand up to rest enormously on Fleur's shoulder. She smoothed a few blonde strands and cooed to her in their native language before addressing Dumbledore at full volume. “’Ogwarts cannot ’ave three champions. It is most injust.”
“We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,” Karkaroff accused in what he might have thought was a friendly tone. His large canines twinkled dully in the firelight like tarnished brass, "To have not one but two students circumvent this... This might look suspicious to some, wouldn't you say?" He choked out a laugh as false as it was grating.
“Don’t go blaming Dumbledore for his students' determination to break rules." Snape hissed from near the door. "Potter has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here—”
"And 'ze girl?" Maxime challenged.
"Potter likely egged her on," Snape replied, venomous and immediate. Draco almost smiled at the artfulness of the accusation.
“Thank you, Severus,” said Dumbledore with a finality that silenced the potions master. "Draco. Harry."
Her stomach flipped. For a time, she thought the argument over Potter might completely leave her unnoticed. Like he always does, she suddenly thought, sourly. Like a good Slytherin, she didn't let it show. Instead, she exhaled tightly and crossed her arms, feigning insult.
Dumbledore gestured to the space before him. Draco complied, but met the glittery, half-crescent judgement with her most defiant, upturned nose. She expected Potter to simper and wag his tail, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him meet that stare openly. The white-hot anger streaked through her again.
How easy it is for Saint Potter to play innocent when he has Dumbledore to wash away his transgressions.
“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” He asked Potter first.
“No,” the boy answered.
“Did you ask an older student to put it in for you?”
“No,” Potter replied with a convincing touch of righteous indignation. Draco disguised a cough as a laugh- just as convincingly.
“Ah, but of course ’e is lying!” Madame Maxime cried.
Seizing the interruption, Draco added her own suggestion. "Why don't you ask Granger, Professor? In no world, magical or not, could Potter have pulled this off himself. And perhaps Weasley, as well. He's far too dull to have made any real difference but could have served as the step stool to reach the Goblet."
"I didn't do it!" Potter shouted, too close. His breath disturbed the fine hair at her temple.
"Draco..." Snape drawled dangerously low before she had a chance to tell Potter to keep his putrid dinner remnants to himself. She stilled obediently, examining the floor, burning inside.
"Yes, what about Draco?" Came Karkaroff's large footsteps. Dumbledore graciously provided the man space -just in time, or he might have been pushed.
He dropped to one knee to meet her downturned gaze. A metallic detail in his fur coat scraped loudly against the stone floor startling her slightly.
He was closer than Potter now. She saw clearly how his yellow smile stretched his thin skin over hollow cheeks. Even in the fire light he looked faintly green.
"Draco. Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?" He asked, cold as the floor beneath them.
Draco managed to shake her head no - no more than that. She didn't want to open her mouth to breathe his poisonous air.
"How did you cross the Age Line?" Karkaroff pressed, unblinking. His mouth opened slightly, turning his yellow smile into a horrid jester's mask. The good Slytherin faltered slightly and shifted one foot towards the door. He meant to eat her alive in front of everyone, she knew it.
"That's quite enough," McGonagall's stern voice broke the spell, and several people exhaled. Karkaroff nearly snarled at her. "They could not have crossed the Age Line. I am sure we are all agreed on that."
“Dumbly-dorr must ’ave made a mistake wiz ze line,” Madame Maxime offered.
A new voice came now from the doorway- rough and certain. "There's nothing wrong with that line and everyone here knows it."
Mad-Eye Moody. Karkaroff jumped to a stiff standing position.
"You're sure of that?" the Durmstrang headmaster replied a little too brightly.
"As sure as Potter's telling the truth and the lass is lying."
"Wha- H-how dare you!" Draco cried. She spun to face Moody. The blue eye was eerily trained on herself, though he faced Karkaroff. "How dare you accuse me wh-when you've only just arrived!"
"You had an older student enter for you, didn't you? Simple as that." Moody said, still looking at Karkaroff.
"You listen here! Just because you're a retired lunatic doesn't mean my father can't make your life more miserable than it is!" Her voice cracked; a few blonde strands escaped her headband. Moody was unphased but finally turned to address her. He touched a filthy finger to his blue eye and leaned in.
"You listen. This eye sees more than your young mind can comprehend- than your father can comprehend- than even your dreams can conjure." He seized her by the shoulder and spun her round to face Dumbledore. "Now you stop wasting everyone's time and come clean."
She tried to throw him off, but he held tight, forcing her to face that hated calm, crescent judgement. A sneaking glance at Dumbledore told her he had patiently waited for her to implode the whole time. He hardly had to do any work at all.
"It wasn't supposed to work..." she mumbled to the floor. Only Moody and Potter were close enough to hear. He didn't speak, but she could feel the boy's surprise. Moody shook her.
"Speak up, Malfoy!"
"It wasn't supposed to work!"
That was the truth.
-
It had been Crabbe's idea. Like him, it was stupid and crude, but effective all the same.
Two days ago, he'd boasted over breakfast about how easy it would be. "It doesn't block parchment, only bodies," he'd said, mouth full of toast and egg. Goyle had laughed.
"If it was that easy, what makes you think they wouldn't just write their own name? How can you be sure?"
Crabbe thought for a long time. He stopped chewing with the effort.
"I'll... write it down and follow 'em to the Goblet. Won't let 'em out of my sight."
"Please," Draco had interjected. She'd long finished breakfast and wanted to shut the conversation down quickly. "That's a fine way to get a month's detention. Someone will be watching the Goblet. If they see you skulking around, it'll raise suspicion."
"I can hide! I can be unsuspicious as anybody."
"You are the exact shape of a large thumb, and you'll stick out like one."
Goyle laughed so hard he shot beans out of his nose, which made Crabbe laugh for a minute straight- and the conversation was forgotten.
Well, not exactly forgotten.
She had found Rory Kebbe yesterday in the library. Seventh-year Slytherin. Quite slim. Shorter than most. Not the best student. His father worked in the ministry's Department of Magical Transportation, so it was almost nothing to 'coerce' him. She’d asked, half‑mocking, half‑serious. When he informed her the mission had been completed after dinner that night, she had forgotten all about it.
"Oh, right. Good. My father will be glad to hear that we can count on the name Kerre."
-
Now in this room, she cursed the name Kerre. Kebbe.
"You had another student enter your name, Draco?" Dumbledore asked.
"How was I supposed to know he'd actually go through with it?" She said, still struggling against Moody's grip. "He could have lied! He should have lied. I didn't think it would work!"
McGonagall's patience thinned. "Who is the young man that helped you, Ms. Malfoy?"
Draco hesitated. "I don't know his name," she lied. "I've only seen him in the halls."
Moody's hands tightened. "That's enough lies out of you, missy!"
He lifted her off the ground and shook her until her wand fell out of her pocket and her hairband clattered to the floor beside it.
"Alastor!"
"Shake the lies out -"
"Alastor, stop!" McGonagall's demand cracked like thunder. "You cannot shake the students!"
Moody glanced a silent question at Dumbledore, who nodded once and Draco was released.
She retrieved her headband and wand and furiously stuffed them into her robe pockets. Father was going to get a letter that night. She would describe every bruise, every humiliation in exquisite detail. First the ferret and now this... she'd have his head, broken mind and all.
McGonagall's sharp tone cut through the room. "Ms. Malfoy, don't you believe you are in trouble enough? Who is the boy that helped you?"
Draco said nothing.
McGonagall smoothed her gray hair. "Suit yourself, Malfoy. One hundred points from Slytherin for your antics and another hundred for your refusal to name your accomplice. "
"200 points!? But-but it was a Gryffindor!"
"Do you wish to make it 300, young lady?"
Draco stayed silent but vibrated with rage. Or maybe it was aftershocks of being shaken like a child.
"We forget one zing," Madame Maxime began, "Ze girl fooled ze line, but 'ow are three champions allowed for 'Ogwarts?"
Her words hung like a spell. That was... an excellent point. Draco seized upon the pause.
"Clearly the cup is broken. If it hadn't been-"
“I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students! My students deserve proper recognition!” interrupted Karkaroff, loudly, but Moody stepped forth and silenced them both.
“It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy’s name in that goblet. Ms. Malfoy was lucky, or unlucky, as a result." He continued, mostly to himself, completely ignoring the disbelieving noises from the others. "Yes... the boy is clearly the target... a very skilled wizard... to hoodwink a very powerful magical object would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament… I’m guessing they submitted Potter’s name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category…”
"Harry Potter's entry listed no school," Dumbledore offered, mildly. Moody nodded, unperturbed by the interruption.
"Then that's what he's representing. Nothing. Well... what of Malfoy?"
As Dumbledore drew the parchment from his robe- the one Kebbe had written Draco's name on not a day before- the room seemed to hold it's breath. He examined it and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly.
"Hogworts," he read.
"Eh? So, it was Hogwarts?" Moody was surprised to hear his theory might be wrong.
"H-O-G-W-O-R-T-S. Hogworts."