A Ruse

“Harry Potter!” The hall, alight with shouts of glee only moments ago, lay silent. His name was never supposed to come out of the goblet. This was going to be the year where calm reigned. By Merlin’s sagging beard, can we not have a few sane semesters? For what it was worth, Harry did look like someone had just sucker punched him. His lips, normally curved upward, were now drawn together, and nary a sparkle lay in his green eyes. Instead, fear swam in the murky depths. No, there could be no way he was to blame for this catastrophe.

Giving my best friend a squeeze, I threw my legs off the bench and rushed out of the Great Hall. I had to figure out what happened. Harry did not put his name in the enchanted glass but someone did; the goblet was forged by the very creatures who pay in blood and allow no one to escape their confines. The goblins had to know how someone could do this. But first, I had to visit the library.