Author's Note: After over a decade of reading Harry Potter fanfiction, I decided to try my hand at a fic of my own: my take on how Harry could have responded to the "Great Goblet Debacle." Be gentle. - Lord Barinthus

Dumbledore cleared his throat again.

"As I was saying," he said smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.*

Nearly. Nearly everyone laughed, as Harry very much wasn't. It doesn't matter what precautions are put in place—I'm going to somehow end up in this bloody tournament. Tuning out the rest of Dumbledore's speech, Harry focused once again on something he was becoming progressively good at: not dying.

In the weeks leading up to the Drawing of the Champions on Halloween, The-Boy-Who-Lived could be mistaken for The-Boy-Who-Studied, as he was rarely seen without a book in hand, determined as he was to prepare for what he saw as inevitable. While Ron was annoyed at having fewer chances to play chess, Hermione was thrilled at Harry's new studious attitude, even if she didn't realize the cause for it.

Fortune smiled on him on one particular evening, when—realizing he'd read the same passage several times—Harry decided he very much needed a stroll through the castle under his beloved invisibility cloak.

He had meandered unnoticed through the halls and over the stairs, when he found himself outside the girl's bathroom on the third floor, home to one Moaning Myrtle, who was (thankfully) off moaning elsewhere.

I never have properly explored the Chamber, and the "monster" is dead... And after the incident with Sirius the previous school year, Harry never went anywhere without his Firebolt shrunk and in his pocket, so escape would be easy. You can't always count on a hippogryph being around to save your arse, now can you?

Hissing at the sink, Harry stepped back to allow the entrance to the Chamber to open, and considered his options. Settled, he mounted his broom and lowered himself a dozen feet into the chute, at which point he hissed for the entrance to close so no one would happen upon the gaping hole in the girl's bathroom, even if it was after curfew.

The journey down to the Chamber was more pleasant, though he admitted to himself that it was much slower and less fun than his previous experience. Reaching the bottom, he approached the wall of fallen rock that Lockhart had caused. He could probably squeeze through the hole Ron had dug, but didn't want to chance something shifting and him being crushed to death. Time to use what you've been learning, Harry, he thought.

"Mutare petram," he intoned, and focused his will on the rocks re-shaping and forming into a rudimentary archway. He had to cast it more than once, and the large-scale transfiguration was tiring. Fortunately he had plenty of power to draw on and his visualizing was improving. Needs work, but it will do for now.

Reaching the final obstacle between him and the inner chamber, he once again hissed for the door to open. Aren't the metal snakes as a locking mechanism a bit much, Salazar?, Harry derided to himself. He certainly wasn't expecting one of the serpents to turn and hiss loudly at him, causing him to step back.

"No bad mouthing Slytherin, got it," he announced aloud, eyes wide.

The door now open and the inner chamber finally before him, Harry couldn't help but be stunned by the massive beast he had slain at the end of his second year at Hogwarts. It was as if time had stopped in the Chamber, as there didn't look to be any deterioration of the corpse. I should talk to Dobby about that. Might be able to make a pretty knut off basilisk parts. Dobby could buy himself a whole room full of knitting supplies, he laughed to himself, noting that making this particular journey while sleep-deprived might not have been one of his greatest ideas.

There didn't seem to be much to the Chamber, beyond the passageways and the large bust of Slytherin. He slowly made his way around the edge of the vast room, looking for anything that stood out, or might indicate a secondary room. Harry turned and considered the hole Tom had called forth the basilisk from. Having exhausted everywhere else he might search, he approached the wall and mounted his broom, making his way to what he assumed was the basilisk's sleeping chamber. The inner room was large, round, rough, and dirty.

"Hello there."

Harry froze.

He slowly turned, and certainly was not expecting a portrait of a balding man with a grey goatee, and wearing extravagantly green robes to be speaking to him in what amounted to a snake's nest.

"Don't even say it, Boy. Let me guess, you were expecting a hidden library or an office that I hid away in? Do you truly believe I would travel to and fro, hauling books and the like, so I could maintain an office in my serpent's nest? No, I only even left this portrait so my descendants might learn the secrets of the basilisk."

I might have hoped for more, Harry conceded, if only to himself.

"You are my descendant, or else you wouldn't be able to enter here."

"I don't believe I'm your blood descendant, but the previous one did transfer some of his power to me when I was a child." And if that didn't open a cask of flobberworms. Harry told the portrait his own story, from start up until that moment. It was actually quite liberating to get all of it off his chest.

"That's quite the tale, youngling. You don't look like much, do you? But apparently enough of a man to conquer my line..." The man in the portrait appeared thoughtful. At Harry's perplexed look he continued. "What are they teaching at this school these days? You met someone of my line in combat three times and survived each time. You conquered the Line of Slytherin."

"What does that mean for me?" Harry wasn't exactly scared of the portrait, but one never knew when it came to Salazar Slytherin.

"For one, it explains your ability to speak Parseltongue. That muddle about my descendant transferring power to you on his death is a load of dung. You, inadvertently or not, are the magical heir of my line. And based on what you've told me of your life thus far... a worthy heir."

The two continued to speak, and Harry promised to return the next night. He expected to get used to making the journey through the Chamber. What he didn't expect was to form quite a strong rapport with the portrait. He found himself returning every few nights, sometimes with a shrunken chair or small table he'd found in an out of the way classroom, sometimes with a collection of the books he'd been studying. It didn't take long until the boy spent a great deal of his free time conversing with Salazar, asking advice on the books he studied, and unexpectedly finding in the sarcastic portrait a kindred spirit.

And during one of these such talks between the two, Salazar mentioned a certain Goblet.

*At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute."

Always with the dramatics, Headmaster, Harry silently chided.

"Now, when the champions are announced, I'd ask that they please come up and stand with us near the Head table."

Harry watched intently as first Krum, and then Delecour were selected to represent their schools. Diggory. Pick Diggory, or better yet—Angelina. Just not my name. Please.

A final piece of parchment exploded out the goblet. "Harry Potter!"

Uproar. Even the stoic Krum lifted his eyebrows, and Delacour seemed to be vacillating between pity and annoyance. It was difficult to hear anything in the moments following the reading of Harry's name. The flame of the Goblet extinguished and apparently took with it all logic and reason.

I bloody knew it. And Dumbledore doesn't look overly surprised either. Probably planned this to be another one of his precious tests for me. (Suffice it to say that Harry had spent quite a bit of time in the Chamber reflecting on his years at Hogwarts and the roles others played in it. It didn't leave him overly fond of the dear Headmaster.)

Harry stood, resigned, ignoring the faces of Hermione and Ron, and made his way to the gathering at the front of the Great Hall.

"I did not enter my name in this tournament, Headmaster, and I would very much like to know who did."

Appearing disappointed, Dumbledore looked down his bespectacled nose at the young man. "How else do you explain your name coming out the Goblet, Harry?"

"This is preposterous! Of course the boy entered himself!"

"He would not survive it, Albus!"

While the professors of Hogwarts struggled to be heard, Karkaroff and Maxime didn't see the problem. If the Hogwarts champion was a bit younger than planned, all the better the chances of their own champion.

Conversely, the four long tables of students had quieted and were listening with rapt attention.

"Can you not simply have it draw another name?" Minerva offered.

"Impossible," cut in Barty Crouch. "The fire has gone out and will not re-light until the next tournament. The boy must compete."

"That...is not precisely true." All eyes turned to the individual being discussed so vehemently who still stood just outside the circle of his elders.

"I assure you, nothing can be done. Your name exited the Goblet, therefore you are magically-bound to compete. If you choose to forgo participation, your magic will be forfeit," Crouch insisted.

"Yes. That is mostly correct. But there are at least two individuals I know of who could bargain with the Goblet." Dumbledore looked consternated and Barty rolled his eyes. "You see, I know who invented the Goblet, or at least, had a hand in creating it."

"Impossible," Crouch insisted a second time. "It has been in Ministry custody since it was created for the first Triwizard Tournament in the 13th century."

"It may have been in Ministry custody at that point and used for that purpose, but it was created around 400 years previously for a very different reason." Harry was thrilled that he'd happened upon Salazar's portrait, for many reasons, but especially for this exact situation. "The Goblet was actually created by the very founders of this school."

You could have heard a quill drop.

"And," Harry continued, as Crouch became more flushed than was probably healthy, "Slytherin left an out for his descendants should the Goblet ever be used against one of his own."

"Liar!" Unable to continue holding his tongue, Draco rose from the Slytherin table. "You could never be the Heir of Slytherin!"

Before Dumbledore could stick his beak further into the matter, Harry answered the boy. "You would have been correct, Draco, two years ago. But when I slew the basilisk and defeated his shade in the Chamber of Secrets at the end of Second year, I had my third interaction with Voldemort"—nearly the entire hall flinched—"and here I am. I may not be the blood heir of Salazar, but I very much am his magical heir through Right of Conquest."

The look on the headmaster's face at this news was quite grave. "Harry..."

He was cut off, however, as Harry continued. "And that leaves us here, with this legendary Goblet being used as a tool to assassinate me—for what else could this be? A 14-year-old in the Triwizard Tournament? I'm good, but I wouldn't bet on me to make it through all three tasks in one piece."

Eyebrows rose almost as one around the hall at Harry's pronouncement. He had a point, after all.

"That's a very interesting story, Mr. Potter, but even if what you believe about the Goblet is true, you couldn't have attained the position of the Slytherin magical heir, as V-V-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was destroyed the night he visited your house in Godric's Hollow," Crouch intoned.

"Destroyed? Oh, no. Not destroyed. Merely... displaced. After all,"—Harry turned to Dumbledore, "was Voldemort not possessing Quirinus Quirrell a few years back? Which lead to his death in this very school? And then a shade of Voldemort possessing another the following year to let loose the monster in the chamber?"

The headmaster looked positively pained that those particular secrets were secret no longer. Especially as Amelia Bones, who had accompanied Crouch and Bagman that evening so as to see her niece, was in danger of breaking her monocle with the way her face had contorted at hearing this news.

"But enough of this. We need to solve the mystery of my name coming from the Goblet, yes?"

"Even if someone else entered your name, which I do not believe for a moment Mr. Potter, it won't change that the Goblet creates a magically-binding contract with the individual whose name exits it. Even if there was something you could do as "Slytherin's Heir", the fire has gone out and cannot be ignited." Crouch couldn't decide which emotion he was feeling at the moment, annoyed or very annoyed.

"Yes, back to that." Harry approached the Goblet as the professors and Ministry personnel fanned out from him.

"Harry, I must insist"—whatever the Headmaster was going to insist was cut off as Harry hissed—hissed!—at the Goblet.

"Guardian Serpent, Awaken!"

The hall broke into shrieks and gasps at such a blatant display of obviously dark magic.

The uproar dropped to absolute silence as the Goblet re-lit itself, rearing up and taking the shape of a basilisk, red plume and all. You and your snakes, Sal.

"Blood of Slytherin, what is your sacrifice?"

The previous silence was pierced by more shrieking, and gasping, and honestly Harry was getting tired of it. Though I suppose seeing a large fire-snake speaking and not knowing what it's saying would be disconcerting...

"Actually, I'm not the blood desc...you know what? Sure. I'm Slytherin's bloody blood heir. I'm not explaining this again." The fiery serpent focused its gaze on Harry and waited for his answer.

"Harry! You don't know what you're doing!" Dumbledore was panicked, having no idea what the boy thought he was up to, openly using Parseltongue, as well as publicly embarrassing his supposed-mentor.

"Just a moment, Headmaster, I'm in the middle of something. You see, I'm only partially bound to the Goblet at this time. It's not fully bonded to me because—while my name was on the parchment dropped into it—I was not the one to enter it. That gives me certain leeway to bargain."

Harry turned back to the burning gaze of the basilisk, which had perked up at his last word, completely oblivious to the state of the students and professors watching this unexpected display.

Amelia Bones hadn't ascended to Britain's Director of Magical Law Enforcement by being an idiot. She had known Albus had been hiding things from her over the recent years, but to this extent? A possessed professor? A death in the school? A bloody basilisk?!

She removed her monocle and rubbed her forehead. She knew nothing would stick to the old man; he could murder someone in Diagon Alley and come out smelling like roses. But if she could talk to Potter, she might be able to close some files she still had open in her office.

She tuned back in when the serpent grew out of the Goblet and took on the visage of another bloody basilisk. Because of course it would. Hearing that the boy planned to bargain with an apparently sentient goblet had her stepping in.

"Mr. Potter, what exactly are you planning to do?"

"Madame Bones! I'm pleased you could be here for this, as I'm sure you'll have questions for multiple people once I have this squared away. As for what I'm doing? Quite legal, I assure you, the laws on magical contracts being sacrosanct as they are."

Amelia turned her gaze to Alastor Moody, who—while retired—was still the best of the best in law enforcement, at least when he could set his paranoia aside. Strangely, he was looking quite peaky.

Turning back to the burning basilisk, Harry finally answered its question, dropping the Parseltongue so the others could understand.

"I bargain magic for magic. Take that which was meant taken from me."

Before anyone could voice their annoyance, concern, or fury, the flame bowed to the boy, then extended to a greater height, looking down on the gathering beneath it. Shrieks came from the students nearest it, and even the professors looked faint. Unexpectedly, it dove down and dragged its fiery fangs through Alastor Moody, pulling two ropes of color from the man, each where a fang had entered. The room exploded in sound as Moody fell to the ground screaming, and the serpent returned to its original place inside the Goblet.

"Magic for magic. It is done," could barely be heard as Moody's magic was continuously ripped from his thrashing body, spooling into the Goblet. Nothing the professors did could shut off the conduit, and in moments the pale man lay gasping without a shred of magic in his body.

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "What have you done, my boy?"

Harry merely pointed back at Moody, whose body was even now reshaping itself as the Polyjuice potion could not be sustained in a body free of magic.

Bones turned to Crouch. "Barty. Why exactly is your son lying in Hogwarts, alive?" Barty looked as if a ghost had flown through him, which—granted—was a possibility at Hogwarts.

The professors, ministry guests, and students were all attempting to talk at once, allowing Harry to make his way covertly to the doors of the Great Hall and out into the castle itself, though he was followed shortly by Ron and Hermione.

"Harry! Bloody hell!"

"Harry... were you expecting all that to happen?" Hermione softly asked. At his nod, she continued, "But seriously, how did you anticipate any of that? I guess the map would have told you about Crouch (and don't think I'm going to forget that Harry James Potter,) but the rest? I don't even know where to start. How did you know?"

"It's very easy, Hermione. Halloween. It's Halloween. Something was going to happen, so I just helped direct it along instead of getting blind-sided by it this year," Harry laughed and continued toward Gryffindor Tower, leaving behind a very irate Ms. Granger.

When the stairs stopped on the third floor, the boy paused, then changed directions. There was a certain portrait who would get a kick out of the night's happenings.

*Taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling.

Mutare petram - Rock Change