The Great Hall was already alive with chatter when Eira took her usual place at the Slytherin table beside Tracey Davis. Golden morning light poured through the enchanted ceiling, casting warm hues across steaming platters of eggs and toast. The hum of voices and clatter of cutlery filled the air. Yet beneath the ordinary din, an undercurrent of excitement buzzed, sharp as a live wire.
Everyone was still talking about the events of the previous night.
Eira calmly buttered her bread and reached for marmalade, listening without comment as her housemates whispered. Snatches of conversation carried across the table.
"Did you see Dumbledore's face when the Goblet spat out Potter's name?" a boy in the year above laughed. "Like Christmas had come early."
"Bet he was the one who put it in," another muttered darkly.
"It's obvious, isn't it? He always protects Potter."
Tracey leaned in, lowering her voice so only Eira could hear. "It was Dumbledore. Has to be. The man's grooming Potter as his heir. Everyone knows it. What better way than to make him champion of Hogwarts?"
Eira lifted her cup of tea and regarded Tracey over the rim. "His heir?"
"Of course," Tracey said matter-of-factly. "You think we don't hear these things? Every pure-blood family has been talking about it. Potter's his golden boy, his little project. Dumbledore probably whispered the Goblet open for him."
Eira arched a brow, amused. "And where exactly did you hear that?"
Tracey smirked. "From half the common room last night. Everyone knows. The Goblet's supposed to be foolproof, but foolproof doesn't mean Dumbledore-proof."
Eira stirred her tea lazily, lips curving faintly. "Well, maybe you are right. Perhaps it was Dumbledore who wanted his protégé in the spotlight."
Before Tracey could reply, a sudden hush rippled across the Great Hall. Eira turned her head just in time to see Harry Potter enter through the doors.
He looked pale, tense, and utterly miserable, as though the stares of a hundred students pressed down on him like weights. His hair was as untidy as ever, his tie crooked, and his steps hesitant.
The silence broke quickly. Whispers spread like fire, sharp and cutting.
"There he is, the Boy Who Cheated."
"Can you believe it? He must have tricked the Goblet."
"Seeker for Gryffindor, Triwizard Champion—does he always have to be the center of everything?"
From the Hufflepuff table came louder voices, edged with real anger.
"You could have let Cedric have his moment, Potter!" a Hufflepuff sixth-year called out.
"That's right," another chimed in. "For once it wasn't about you, and still you found a way to steal it."
"Cedric earned it, fair and square. You just had to take it away, didn't you?"
Laughter broke out at the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy stood up, cupping his hands to his mouth like a herald. "All hail Potter, the Boy Who Needed More Glory! Couldn't handle not being in the spotlight, eh, Scarhead?"
His housemates howled with amusement. Pansy Parkinson leaned across the table, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Poor Harry, always so desperate for attention. Maybe next week he'll try to wrestle a dark wizard in the courtyard, oh where is my memory actually he has already done it."
Harry's jaw clenched. He quickened his pace, but the words followed him.
Hermione, seated at the Gryffindor table, looked worried as she watched him approach. She shifted her books to make space for him, clearly intent on standing by his side. Ron, however, had his back turned. He hunched over his plate, stabbing at his food, deliberately ignoring Harry as if he were invisible.
Harry slid into the seat opposite them, the whispers and sneers still humming around the hall. He kept his head down, eyes on his plate, though his ears were red.
Hermione leaned forward. "Harry, don't listen to them," she whispered urgently. "We know you didn't—"
But Ron continued to eat in silence, refusing to look at him.
At that moment, Ginny Weasley appeared beside Harry with her satchel. She hesitated for a moment, then gave him a small, genuine smile. "Congratulations, Harry," she said softly.
Harry blinked at her, clearly taken aback, then mumbled a quiet thanks. She slipped away quickly, leaving Hermione to glare at her brother.
More voices rose from Hufflepuff.
"At least Cedric won't cheat," one boy said loudly.
"Exactly," another agreed. "Potter just wants fame, like always. Let a real Hogwarts champion represent us."
"Attention-seeker," someone else muttered.
Harry's fists tightened around his fork. He said nothing, but his shoulders were hunched, his face drawn tight with the effort of ignoring them.
Eira rested her chin in her hand, watching from the Slytherin table. She felt no particular sympathy, but she was faintly intrigued. The speed with which the student body turned on him was remarkable. A boy who only yesterday was Hogwarts' celebrity now sat alone at his own table, scorn weighing on him from every direction.
Draco sauntered over toward Gryffindor, smirking. "Enjoying yourself, Potter? How many aging potions did it take to fool the Goblet? Or did Dumbledore just pat your head and slip your name in himself?"
Hermione bristled. "Leave him alone, Malfoy!"
"Why?" Draco sneered. "He wants to be a champion, doesn't he? Then he should get used to being judged."
Laughter erupted again from the Slytherins.
Harry's face burned. He looked ready to snap, but Hermione reached across the table and grabbed his wrist. "Don't, Harry. It's not worth it."
Ron said nothing, only pushed his eggs around his plate, face stony.
When Draco noticed Ron's reaction, how he ignored Harry and did not rush to his defense as he always had, the sight amused him greatly. He leaned forward with a cruel smirk, his voice carrying across the tables for others to hear.
"Tsk, tsk, Potter. You truly are selfish. You managed to slip your name into the Goblet of Fire, but you did not even think to help your poor little sidekick. Not that it would have mattered. He could never have been chosen, and even if he had, he would not have survived the first task. Still, it burns to see you hoarding all the glory for yourself. You might have been generous and shared a little with him, but instead he is left behind, sulking and angry like a child denied a toy."
Harry's jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist under the table. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug grin off Draco's face, but his anger was swallowed by the sting of Ron's silence beside him.
Hermione's eyes flashed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she shot Draco a glare sharp enough to cut stone. "You're pathetic, Malfoy," she hissed, her voice shaking with fury. "You wouldn't last a moment if it were you out there."
Draco only smirked wider, clearly delighted with the effect of his words.
From all around the hall came more mutterings, more whispers, more sideways glances. Ravenclaws exchanged thoughtful looks, some skeptical, others impressed, but most doubtful. Hufflepuffs shook their heads, muttering about Cedric's stolen glory. Slytherins gleefully fanned the fire. Gryffindors sat in tense division, half uncertain, half openly resentful.
Eira picked up another piece of toast, biting into it with calm detachment. Tracey leaned closer again, eyes glittering.
"You see? Exactly what I said. The whole school knows something's off. No way he did it alone. This has Dumbledore's fingerprints all over it."
Eira smiled faintly, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "And perhaps that is exactly what Dumbledore wanted. To make everyone believe Harry is destined for greatness, even if the world mocks him first."
Tracey nodded firmly. "Exactly."
Across the hall, Harry stared into his porridge, his spoon unmoving. The weight of a hundred eyes pressed on him, every whisper slicing like a knife. His only allies at the table were Hermione, fretful and defensive, and Ginny, who had already gone. Ron sat silent, a cold wall at Harry's side.
It was only the first morning, and already Harry Potter was all alone even his most trusted friend was angry at him or jealous of him.