Harry walked into Snape’s room a couple weeks later, silently sitting in the same chair with his book bag. So consumed by his thoughts he barely even noticed Snape sit on the sofa or the tea tray he placed on the coffee table. He slowly pulled out his Charms homework and set to work…well, more set to staring blankly at the textbook and his notes.

He had written and sent his letter to Sirius and, once again, failed to receive a reply. He knew it was probably difficult for his godfather to write especially since he didn’t even know where Sirius was staying, but Sirius was his family and loved him. Surely he would’ve made an effort to write Harry back, especially after three letters all containing his concerns about his strange dreams and painful scar. It seemed important, like stuff Sirius would want to know. Even Ron and Hermione had said Sirius would want to know. But maybe they were wrong. Maybe Sirius didn’t care as much as he thought. Maybe he was disappearing the way Lupin had.

The thought hurt. A lot.

Sirius was all he had, the only thing left of his parents, his family.

He thought Sirius had felt the same, had wanted them to be a real family. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he’d never have a family.

Maybe it was just how it was meant to be.

“Potter!”

Harry jumped at the shout and looked over at the professor.

“While I certainly enjoy being ignored,” Snape sneered, gaining a small glare from Harry, “I would appreciate some manners. Such as answering my offer of tea.”

Here Harry blushed slightly. He hadn’t intentionally been rude for once. “Sorry, sir. Was just thinking. I’d like some tea.

“I do hope you don’t think too hard. Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself,” Snape said, pouring and handing Harry a cup of tea.

Harry glared. “I was thinking about my homework.”

“So you do know how to do your homework properly. Funny, I never would have guessed,” Snape said.

Harry’s glare deepened. “Well, I’m sorry that most of the time I’m more focused on saving my life rather than my Potions essay. Be glad you get any work from me at all.”

“Sometimes I think no work would be preferable to the pathetic work you give me,” Snape said. “Besides, you wouldn’t be in life-threatening situations if you learned to control your hero complex.”

“I don’t have a hero complex,” Harry growled.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Snape drawled.

Harry wanted to say more, but he knew things would only get worse if he did. He just wanted to be silent and think. So that’s exactly what he did. Instead of responding, he just shook his head and looked back at his notes. How he wished Sirius would answer, would give him advice on his dreams and his situation with Snape.

He probably wouldn’t get much from Sirius in regards to Snape. His godfather absolutely despised the Potions master.

Harry sighed and tapped his quill on his parchment, not noticing the professor’s stare.

Snape frowned as he observed the boy. He was much more forlorn and distraught than he had been only a week earlier. Something had clearly happened, but what? On second thought, why did he care? Whatever it was, was keeping the child quiet and that was perfectly fine with him.

Although Potter’s sudden change was odd. Quite frankly he seemed to be in the beginning stages of depression.

He snorted. What would Potter have to be depressed about? His fame? His fortune? His adoring fans? His loving relatives?

Snape just shook his head and sneered at Potter. “Anything to say?”

Without looking up, Harry snapped, “Is there ever?”

“This is the Goblet of Fire,” Dumbledore announced as he revealed the large ancient, intricate goblet. “For those of you who wish to enter, write your name on parchment and place it in the goblet before the start of the Halloween feast tomorrow evening. No one under the age of seventeen may enter the tournament.”

Protests were shouted out.

Harry looked around at all the protestors, all from Hogwarts. The students that had come from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were all clearly of age and so it was mostly just fifth and sixth year Hogwarts students voicing complaints. He was slightly surprised to see Fred and George arguing with the crowd.

He just shrugged when he looked at Ron. He was perfectly fine with the age limit. He never had a desire to enter the tournament and the Age Line meant he absolutely couldn’t. It was all fine with him. He would be perfectly happy sitting in the stands watching the death-defying events from the sidelines for once.

“The money would be nice, have to admit,” Ron said. “Hell, even eternal glory sounds pretty damn good.”

Harry just laughed. “You can have it all, mate. I’m good.”

“Your loss,” Ron said and they laughed. “Guess it’s not really worth it, a potentially deadly tournament just for some money.”

“No, not quite worth it,” Harry said, eating a few fried mushrooms.

“It’s horrific that this tournament was ever brought back,” Hermione said in disgust. “It’s barbaric and just asking for trouble.”

Harry and Ron just smiled at each other. The tournament would be fun to watch.

Harry looked around, wondering who from Hogwarts would enter the tournament. He couldn’t really imagine anyone in Hogwarts willing to risk their lives in such a way. Well, regardless, it was their choice and he had nothing to do with anything.

His eyes were drawn up to the staff table and they settled on Professor Moody. He felt a strange jump in his stomach, the same feeling he got every time he saw the man. Something about the old Auror made him uneasy and it was not a feeling that was going away.

“You okay, mate?” Ron interrupted, dragging Harry’s attention back to him.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Harry said, watching Ron cast a quick glance at the staff table.

“Thinking of ways to kill Snape in your next meeting?” Ron said and Harry laughed.

“No, nothing like that,” Harry said. “You know, he actually hasn’t been quite as bad lately. I mean, he’s still Snape, don’t get me wrong, but he’s seemed to have toned it down a touch.”

Ron gave him an incredulous look. “You sure you’ve been meeting with the right professor? Maybe you’ve been seeing Karkaroff.”

Harry grinned and shook his head in amusement. “I’m pretty sure Karkaroff is worse than Snape. I’ll choose Snape any day.”

Ron glanced up at the Durmstrang highmaster who was sneering at his food as though it had greatly offended him. “I might be with you on that one.”

They both laughed quietly.

“But, seriously, Snape’s been okay?” Ron said.

“He’s been okay for Snape,” Harry said, nodding. “We still end up fighting every time but it feels more…forced, like he’s making himself come up with things for us to fight about. We don’t seem as vicious anymore.”

“Damn Dumbledore was right,” Ron said in surprise and Harry looked at him. “You two are learning to tolerate each other. Never thought I’d live to see the day,” he said dramatically, laughing when Harry tossed a spoon at him.

“I’m not sure we’ve gotten that far,” Harry said, “but I guess he might be heading that direction.”

“Y’know,” Ron said, swallowing his mouthful of potatoes, “Dumbledore might not be wrong about all this. Bet Snape knows how to fight. He probably would be a good guy to have on our side rather than against us.”

Harry blinked in shock. “Are you, Ron Weasley, defending and accepting Snape?”

Ron rolled his eyes with a grin. “Shut up, Harry. I can come around sometimes.”

“So if Snape and I become the best of friends, we have your approval?” Harry said.

“Well, let’s not push it too far,” Ron said and they both burst out laughing, drawing the attention of two sets of eyes at the staff table.

“Harry Potter!”

Silence descended on the Great Hall and Harry’s eyes flashed between three key people. He gazed at Dumbledore who held the little piece of parchment that apparently had his name on it and had been expelled from the Goblet of Fire. The headmaster’s expression was a mixture of fear and anger. His eyes jumped to Snape whose eyes were unreadable but they did hold something that Harry would have recognized had it come from anyone else. Finally, he turned to look at Ron next to him. His best friend had a look of absolute fear but it was also intermingled with strong support.

“You’ll be okay,” Ron said encouragingly. “Go. I’ll be here for you.”

Harry gave him a thankful smile and nodded before pushing himself up from the Gryffindor table. All eyes were on him and most were accusatory and angry. Others were confused and curious. A select few were actually nervous, unsettled, and worried. He tried to ignore them all as well as the whispering that began as he walked up to the podium and Dumbledore.

He wasn’t completely sure why but once he was in front of Dumbledore, the headmaster roughly shoved the scrap of parchment into his hands. He supposed Dumbledore wanted to see his reaction or wanted him to see the impossibility that had taken place. Harry looked down and felt himself pale even more, felt his stomach drop even further. It was definitely his name and it was even his writing.

His eyes flew back up to Dumbledore’s hard ones. How was this possible? Why was it happening?

He swallowed thickly as Dumbledore gestured for him to go through the same door behind the staff table that the other champions had disappeared through. He passed the other staff members, gaining an extremely unsettling frown from Moody. He took a subtle step back and around the strange man, heading past Snape next. Their eyes connected. Being that it was Snape and their relationship was still on questionable terms, he fully expected to see pure rage and accusation in Snape’s face. Neither was present, however. Instead, he could see confusion as well as that same unknown emotion. Whatever it was, it helped ease the tension and fear inside him very slightly.

Finally cutting the contact, Harry continued on and walked into the Trophy Room to join the other champions, all of whom gave him looks of great confusion. He didn’t blame them. The situation should be impossible. It should be impossible for there to be a fourth champion. There were only meant to be three and definitely not two from the same school.

Before any of them could ask any questions, the door opened and Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, Moody, Karkaroff, Madam Maxime, and Barty Crouch all entered the room and instantly cornered Harry. Dumbledore reached out and tightly gripped Harry’s wrist, making him wince at the pain. The headmaster paid no attention, his expression hard. Harry flinched in pain and fear.

“Did you put your name in the Goblet?” Dumbledore said, his voice accusatory.

“N-no,” Harry stuttered. “I-I didn’t want to enter and I wouldn’t even know how to get past the Age Line. I’m only fourteen!”

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t enter!” Harry argued. “I almost die several times every year as it is, why would I enter a tournament where I would most likely die?”

Dumbledore’s grasp tightened and Harry gasped out loud. “How did you enter?”

“I-I didn’t!” Harry shouted. “Let go! You-you’re hurting me!”

“Headmaster!” Snape, of all people, swooped in and stepped between Harry and Dumbledore, his hand encircling Dumbledore’s wrist. “Release him,” he said quietly, his own grasp tightening on the headmaster’s wrist until Dumbledore released Harry. Snape moved subtly until he was almost completely blocking Harry, glaring at Dumbledore. “He did not put his name in. He is fourteen and would not have known the magic it would take to fool the Age Line. Someone else has entered the boy.”

Harry peeked around the professor at all the angry faces. He would never admit it but the headmaster had honestly frightened him and he was having a hard time handling the shaking in his body. Almost unconsciously and not caring just who it was, he reached out and grasped the back of Snape’s robes. He had questions and he was confused about so many things, but he didn’t care at the moment. All he knew was that Snape was protecting him and he felt almost safe with the man.

He would examine his sanity later.

“The contract is magically binding regardless,” Crouch said. “Despite the circumstances and unconventionality, Mr. Potter has been chosen and he is a Champion.”

Everyone turned to stare at Harry who shrunk behind Snape.

So much for his normal year.

Harry sat in the chair, staring at the little piece of parchment that held his name and had now changed everything. He was now one of the contestants in a tournament that could potentially kill him, particularly because it was a tournament for seventeen year olds and adults, not fourteen year olds.

What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to survive? Why did everyone think he put his name in the Goblet? Why did no one believe him?

Except Snape.

He glanced up at the Potions master who was quietly reading a book on the sofa. The man hadn’t said anything when he showed up in the office except for a quiet, civil, “Good evening.” Harry had been surprised. He had expected questions or for the oddly protective nature the man had exuded earlier in the evening to fall and for Snape to just start yelling like he usually would. But none of that had happened. He simply let Harry in, got the usual tray of tea, and then grabbed his book and settled on the sofa.

Harry hadn’t felt like being around the Gryffindors, knowing there would be many who would be angry and bombard him with questions. He had only spoken to Ron, telling his friend where he would be and also to quickly ensure Ron knew he had not entered the tournament. A huge load had been lifted, though not all of it, when Ron reassured him that he knew Harry never would have entered, especially not without telling Ron. And so Harry had headed down to the dungeons and Snape’s rooms.

“I guess I should go back to the common room,” Harry said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Snape looked up from his book. “There is nothing you would like to discuss?”

Harry blinked, surprised Snape was offering. “Not sure there’s anything to talk about.”

“You don’t want to talk about what happened tonight?”

Harry shrugged. “It happened. Shouldn’t be surprised.” He got to his feet with a sigh. “There’s always someone that wants me dead.”

“Potter…”

“Thanks for letting me come down here,” Harry said. “Have a good night, Professor.”