Categories > Books > Harry Potter > One Wizard Too Many
The Goblet of Wizarding Stupidity
3 reviewsHarry is entered into the Triwizard Tournament against his will. He is somewhat upset by this. OOC Harry, HHr, Violence, Naughty Language, and Mayhem
5Exciting
A/N: Don’t own it; movies, books, merch, etc.
One Wizard Too Many
“And the fourth champion for the Triwizard Tournament: Harry Potter.” Dumbledore announced to shocked silence in the Great Hall.
“I knew it! Shit!” Harry thoughts were eloquent on the matter. He did ‘know’ it though, as soon as a fourth piece of parchment fluttered from the Goblet, he had that fey feeling that he’d get caught up in some massive-potentially-fatal -to-him clusterfuck of epic proportions. It happened every damned year like clockwork. “Christmas, Easter, summer bank holiday, Kill Harry Day. This is starting to get really annoying!”
“Harry!” Hermione’s harsh whisper brought him back to Earth. “They want you up there!”
Harry nodded absently and stood. His stroll across the Hall was greeted with continued silence; just the creak of benches as spectators turned to follow his perambulations.
“Dead man walking. Awesome.”
He entered the room where the champions and school heads had gathered, and promptly accosted by the French champion.
“Av they need of us, leetle boy?” the witch named as Fleur Delacoeur asked.
“Leetle boy?” Harry didn’t usually hold with the general Dursley opinion of the French as being hygienically backward, lazy, and rude. But for Fleur, he’d make an exception.
The ugly Bulgarian guy Krum (as opposed to the ugly Russian guy Karkaroff) just stood there glowering, but that could just be his default expression as there had been no noticeable difference to how he looked at everything. “Like a Perfectus Totalis to the face!”
Cedric Diggory at least looked somewhat sympathetic, but that was probably just Hufflepuff House for you; they’re sympathetic to anyone.
Just then, he was treated to being; as Dudley might say, ‘jacked up’ by Dumbledore and pinned to a column. Visions of shattering old man hips whirled through his mind.
“Did you put your name in the Goblet, Harry?” the old man asked stridently.
“No! Of course not! Why would I?” Harry was trying to decide between sputtering outrage and total bafflement as his final response. Either would be quite appropriate given his mental state.
Dumbledore released him from his ‘death grip’ and turned to address the others. Harry straightened his robes and was treated to a discourse on magical contract law and how this was being used to potentially kill him this year.
When the words ‘unbreakable’, ‘binding’, and ‘inescapable’ were uttered through Crouch’s toothbrush mustache, something made a little ‘pinging’ noise in Harry’s brain.
“The Ministry and the grabby old man are going to stand by and let someone try to kill me! Again! “ Harry now knew what it was like to have had quite enough. He really wanted to start shooting blasting hexes into the merry little group, maybe transfigure Dumbledore’s head into the back end of some barnyard animal. (“Goat, definitely a goat.”) The urge to say something in his defense became irresistible. The protests from the others, while in theory aiding his cause, were kind of annoying and hurtful.
“What do you mean, ‘I have to compete’? I didn’t enter this competition, I didn’t sign anything, I didn’t do anything but sit there!”
It was gently explained to him that, since a very super special magical thingy shot out a piece of paper with his name on it, he had to play their stupid games or else something very, very bad would happen to him in a bad way. Harry was not amused.
He restrained himself from replying, but noted his self-control was taking a beating today.
“Fuck fuck fuckity fuck! I can’t believe this shit!”
Some instructions were given, indicating that further instructions would be forthcoming or whatever. Harry was really too busy trying not to tremble in rage at his predicament to pay attention.
“Why does this crazy shit always happen to me? That could be the title to my yearbook from this place!”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Harry gave the password and climbed in through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. He usually felt a small sense of relief upon entering the cozy haven. Today though, he was trying to suppress thoughts of bloody murder and mayhem. Anyone accosting him would be in for a rude surprise. Naturally, it looked like Ron would be the first guest at ‘Harry’s Surprise Party of Pain’, if the glares emanating from the ginger were any indication.
“So, how’d you do it?” Ron asked, less than politely.
“Do what?” He snapped. Harry was not in the mood for this.
“How’d you beat the Goblet? You could’ve given me a shot too!” Stupid whinging Ron!
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes “Lord, give me the strength to suffer fools gladly!”
“Ron. What makes you think I wanted any of this?”
“You always get everything! It’s not fair!” Ron shouted.
“What the…” “Ron! Douchebag! I. Didn’t. Want. To. Enter. Somebody’s trying to off me again! This is just the way they’re going to try it this year!”
“Yeah, whatever. Enjoy your eternal fame and glory; like you need more!” Ron huffed as he turned to walk away.
It took all of Harry’s willpower to not hex the ginger prat into something slimy and disgusting (or at least more disgusting than his baseline form!)
As Harry stood there fuming, his right hand flexing and inching towards his wand, Hermione came down from the girl’s dorm stairs and approached him.
“Harry, are you all right?” Her brown eyes honestly concerned.
He huffed, “No, I’m pretty f-ing far from all right.” He always tried to ease up on the profanity around his female best friend, saving himself glares and reproaches in the process.
He turned to her. “Hermione, I think I’m going to kill Ron. Do you think I can pin it on Malfoy if I do?”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “If you can’t get away from sitting quietly in the Great Hall without controversy, what makes you think you’ll get away with something you actually do?”
Harry laughed. “At least someone believes me. Thanks Hermione.”
“Any time Harry. What happened in there?”
“Well, I learned that I’m stuck competing in this tournament, the French girl is kind of a stuck up b-, Krum is just as unpleasant up close as he is from a distance, and now we know how ‘Oldie Volde’ is going to try and kill me this year.”
“Oh, Harry.” She seemed to say that more and more each year…
[//]
One Wizard Too Many
“And the fourth champion for the Triwizard Tournament: Harry Potter.” Dumbledore announced to shocked silence in the Great Hall.
“I knew it! Shit!” Harry thoughts were eloquent on the matter. He did ‘know’ it though, as soon as a fourth piece of parchment fluttered from the Goblet, he had that fey feeling that he’d get caught up in some massive-potentially-fatal -to-him clusterfuck of epic proportions. It happened every damned year like clockwork. “Christmas, Easter, summer bank holiday, Kill Harry Day. This is starting to get really annoying!”
“Harry!” Hermione’s harsh whisper brought him back to Earth. “They want you up there!”
Harry nodded absently and stood. His stroll across the Hall was greeted with continued silence; just the creak of benches as spectators turned to follow his perambulations.
“Dead man walking. Awesome.”
He entered the room where the champions and school heads had gathered, and promptly accosted by the French champion.
“Av they need of us, leetle boy?” the witch named as Fleur Delacoeur asked.
“Leetle boy?” Harry didn’t usually hold with the general Dursley opinion of the French as being hygienically backward, lazy, and rude. But for Fleur, he’d make an exception.
The ugly Bulgarian guy Krum (as opposed to the ugly Russian guy Karkaroff) just stood there glowering, but that could just be his default expression as there had been no noticeable difference to how he looked at everything. “Like a Perfectus Totalis to the face!”
Cedric Diggory at least looked somewhat sympathetic, but that was probably just Hufflepuff House for you; they’re sympathetic to anyone.
Just then, he was treated to being; as Dudley might say, ‘jacked up’ by Dumbledore and pinned to a column. Visions of shattering old man hips whirled through his mind.
“Did you put your name in the Goblet, Harry?” the old man asked stridently.
“No! Of course not! Why would I?” Harry was trying to decide between sputtering outrage and total bafflement as his final response. Either would be quite appropriate given his mental state.
Dumbledore released him from his ‘death grip’ and turned to address the others. Harry straightened his robes and was treated to a discourse on magical contract law and how this was being used to potentially kill him this year.
When the words ‘unbreakable’, ‘binding’, and ‘inescapable’ were uttered through Crouch’s toothbrush mustache, something made a little ‘pinging’ noise in Harry’s brain.
“The Ministry and the grabby old man are going to stand by and let someone try to kill me! Again! “ Harry now knew what it was like to have had quite enough. He really wanted to start shooting blasting hexes into the merry little group, maybe transfigure Dumbledore’s head into the back end of some barnyard animal. (“Goat, definitely a goat.”) The urge to say something in his defense became irresistible. The protests from the others, while in theory aiding his cause, were kind of annoying and hurtful.
“What do you mean, ‘I have to compete’? I didn’t enter this competition, I didn’t sign anything, I didn’t do anything but sit there!”
It was gently explained to him that, since a very super special magical thingy shot out a piece of paper with his name on it, he had to play their stupid games or else something very, very bad would happen to him in a bad way. Harry was not amused.
He restrained himself from replying, but noted his self-control was taking a beating today.
“Fuck fuck fuckity fuck! I can’t believe this shit!”
Some instructions were given, indicating that further instructions would be forthcoming or whatever. Harry was really too busy trying not to tremble in rage at his predicament to pay attention.
“Why does this crazy shit always happen to me? That could be the title to my yearbook from this place!”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Harry gave the password and climbed in through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. He usually felt a small sense of relief upon entering the cozy haven. Today though, he was trying to suppress thoughts of bloody murder and mayhem. Anyone accosting him would be in for a rude surprise. Naturally, it looked like Ron would be the first guest at ‘Harry’s Surprise Party of Pain’, if the glares emanating from the ginger were any indication.
“So, how’d you do it?” Ron asked, less than politely.
“Do what?” He snapped. Harry was not in the mood for this.
“How’d you beat the Goblet? You could’ve given me a shot too!” Stupid whinging Ron!
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes “Lord, give me the strength to suffer fools gladly!”
“Ron. What makes you think I wanted any of this?”
“You always get everything! It’s not fair!” Ron shouted.
“What the…” “Ron! Douchebag! I. Didn’t. Want. To. Enter. Somebody’s trying to off me again! This is just the way they’re going to try it this year!”
“Yeah, whatever. Enjoy your eternal fame and glory; like you need more!” Ron huffed as he turned to walk away.
It took all of Harry’s willpower to not hex the ginger prat into something slimy and disgusting (or at least more disgusting than his baseline form!)
As Harry stood there fuming, his right hand flexing and inching towards his wand, Hermione came down from the girl’s dorm stairs and approached him.
“Harry, are you all right?” Her brown eyes honestly concerned.
He huffed, “No, I’m pretty f-ing far from all right.” He always tried to ease up on the profanity around his female best friend, saving himself glares and reproaches in the process.
He turned to her. “Hermione, I think I’m going to kill Ron. Do you think I can pin it on Malfoy if I do?”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “If you can’t get away from sitting quietly in the Great Hall without controversy, what makes you think you’ll get away with something you actually do?”
Harry laughed. “At least someone believes me. Thanks Hermione.”
“Any time Harry. What happened in there?”
“Well, I learned that I’m stuck competing in this tournament, the French girl is kind of a stuck up b-, Krum is just as unpleasant up close as he is from a distance, and now we know how ‘Oldie Volde’ is going to try and kill me this year.”
“Oh, Harry.” She seemed to say that more and more each year…
[//]
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