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Harry swallowed nervously under the scrutiny of the adults and the Champions selected for the tournament. He didn't know what he was supposed or do or say, hadn't known what he was supposed to do with himself from the moment the Goblet had thrown out a parchment with his name on it. A parchment he was absolutely certain he hadn't put in the Goblet, thank you very much. He was only 11 and he had only started learning about magic in September! He couldn't logically have been selected to participate in a tournament where all the other contestants were older teens/young adults (since apparently, wizards were considered adults at age 17, a bit younger than Muggles, which was wicked, because with any luck he'd be able to leave the Dursleys behind for good faster than he had originally anticipated).
There was just no way he could win, or even survive in a contest that had been known to kill participants!
Fortunately for Harry, nobody seemed to be angry at him. Just... puzzled. And angry and general, true, but not at him. A lifetime spent with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had taught him how to differentiate between the two. When Uncle Vernon came back from Grunnings with a short temper because he had lost a client, he snapped at Harry, but because he was conveniently there, not because he thought it was Harry's fault. Same with Aunt Petunia when there was a drought that threatened her precious rosebushes; she could turn mean toward Harry, but that was because she her temper was already frayed, not because she blamed Harry for the weather.
So Harry supposed it was good that the adults in the room didn't blame him specifically for what was started to look like a disaster.
"You... You really don't believe I put my name in the Goblet, then?" he couldn't help but ask hopefully, which made the adults exchange bemused looks, as if Harry's question was absurd to them.
Snape huffed and gave him a nasty look, but apparently even him couldn't find a way to blame Harry for the way things were turning.
"Of course not, my boy," Professor Dumbledore said soothingly and Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. "I do not doubt your innocence. It is clear there has been fool play involved."
"But how is that possible, Dumbledore? You made that age limit yourself, did you not?"
The old wizard stroked his beard. "I did, I did, and I thought I had taken the appropriate protections, but some things may have slipped my mind. I do not doubt for a moment that Harry didn't enter his name himself, but mayhap someone did it for him?"
"I never asked anyone to, Sir, I swear," Harry begged immediately.
"Did you not, Potter?" Snape murmured in silky voice. "Not even one of your friend Weasley's older brothers?"
Harry frowned. "Fred and Georges are underage too and so is Percy, and even if he was, he would never do something like that," he pointed out, "and I don't know any of the older students that well. Sir," he added belatedly. He was being truthful, too. Most of his day-to-day interactions were with his agemates, be they Gryffindor, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs or Slytherins. He didn't have much contact with the other students. At least not to the point he could consider himself well-acquainted or friendly terms with any on them. The only older Gryffindor students he regularly talked to were the members of the Quidditch team, and only because Wood had decided he'd join the team next year when the Quidditch Cup would be reopen.
"Perhaps a jape from an older student...?"
"I suppose... It is possible someone wanted to joke. But if so, it's in bad taste, and I will have a stern talking-to with our students."
"Prank turned wrong or not," Karkaroff snapped, "we still have a problem; Hogwarts has now two Champions, and it is..."
"Excuse me, are you really saying the 11 years old in the room with barely two months’ worth of magical training should be counted as an additional Champion for Hogwarts?" Professor McGonagall said frostily, moving to stand behind Harry. He didn't need to turn to know she must have been glaring at Karkaroff, who had the good sense to cough in embarrassment.
"Well, I suppose that when you put it that way..."
"Dumbledore, you can't expect him to compete, can you? He needs to be removed from the competition!"
"I'm afraid it's impossible..."
"He's far too young to..."
"... little boy cannot be..."
"... going to do...?"
Everyone was talking at the same time and arguing about Harry and fairness, danger, mortal peril, public outcry, unfair advantages, handicaps, and all sorts of matter Harry didn't bother to listen to. He was too busy staring up at Cedric Diggory, the older student who had been picked by the Goblet before Harry's name came out (and who, to him, was already the only real Hogwarts Champion), who had come up to him and was now guiding him gently away from the teachers with a grim look on his face.
"I didn't put my name in..." Harry trailed off.
"Obviously," the French student, Fleur Delacour, said haughtily. She was also looking at Harry with a grim expression and trading looks with Cedric and the Durmstrang student, Krum (who was apparently a member of Bulgaria's national Quidditch team, despite still being a student; how cool was it?). "You be taking care of him, yes? We'll stay there, tell you all about it later." She smiled more kindly at Harry, who couldn't help but blush.
"Yes," Krum said curtly.
"Come, Harry. I think you need some hot cocoa. My Mom always makes me a cup when I'm sad or shocked," Cedric said, tugging him along -- when had he taken Harry's hand exactly?
"I'm not in shock," Harry protested.
"You're shaking, Harry," Cedric said gently. "And your pupils are dilated. What do you think it means?"
The green-eyed boy blinked. Oh. Oh. That was why he was feeling cold, then, he thought, dazed. "Can there be marshmallows in the hot cocoa?" he asked, feeling dumb for asking. Dudley always asked for marshmallows in his hot cocoa, but Harry never had any for himself before, and he wondered what it was like.
"Oh, yes," Cedric said evenly. "As many as you want. We're going to get you a big mug, and then we'll got see Madam Pomfrey if you don't feel better, how does that sound?"
"Oh," Harry murmured, dropping his gaze, avoiding answering.
He wasn't too sure about the school nurse, but the hot cocoa... Now that sounded really nice.
Well, at least Harry was getting something good out of this whole mess, he supposed.
End