[113] Into the Iron Maw

After saying he wanted to run away, Harry sighed and lowered his head. He knew it was impossible. If he did, how could Hogwarts maintain its standing in the wizarding world?

"Did you hear what he just said? Not only will there be a panel of judges, but also classmates, and it's open to the public. Everyone will be watching. If I don't finish the competition — oh, that would be so embarrassing!"

Harry dejectedly counted on his fingers, muttering incantations that Hall recognised as the few spells he had learned so far. At only a second-year student, participating in the Triwizard Tournament was indeed too much for Harry at his current level.

"Harry, don't worry. I can help you." Hall smiled. "Just a small sacrifice —"

Harry looked at him, confused.

Hall extended his right hand, crossing his thumb and forefinger, and gently rubbed them together. Harry had seen this gesture before. He understood immediately.

"Of course, but I don't have my wallet with me right now." Harry hesitated, holding up two fingers. "Is this okay?"

Though Barty hadn't mentioned the details of the task, Hall already knew everything. What they needed to do was retrieve the golden egg protected by a dragon. He just didn't know if the task would change with the tournament being moved forward. They needed to be prepared for both possibilities.

Hall smiled broadly. "Of course, my dear Harry. Two hundred Galleons, first task, sold." That dragon would be easy to handle — invisibility and concealing his scent were a simple matter of two potions.

Harry swallowed the words he was about to say. What he had really meant was twenty Galleons. He silently wept inside, doing the math in his head: one task, two hundred Galleons; three tasks would cost six hundred Galleons. That was enough for ten school years' worth of expenses. But this was Hall. A promise made by him would be resolved perfectly and safely. It was just a little painful.

Harry gritted his teeth, clutched his chest, and nodded.

They agreed on a time for the transaction, and Hall waved goodbye. Harry ran towards Gryffindor Tower with a smile — though Hall thought his smile looked more like crying.

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Hall certainly remembered that Snape was waiting for him. He reached the cellar door, and as if on cue, the office door swung open. The corridor was quiet. Hall hesitated, then pushed the door open and went inside.

Snape sat behind his desk, elbows propped on the surface, chin resting on his hands, his dark eyes fixed on him. A smile played on his lips. The office was a bit chilly, and Hall instinctively pulled his robe tighter. "Professor."

"Hall, you really didn't put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

Hall had expected that question. "I promise I didn't."

"You promise?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, in the name of Galleon."

A flicker of surprise crossed Snape's face. He knew all too well how close Hall and Galleon were. He nodded. "I believe you."

Now it was Hall's turn to be surprised. He was unused to this side of Snape. Just one sentence, and he believed him? He had prepared a whole speech outside the door.

A noise came from the storeroom, followed quickly by the sound of shattering glass. Snape ignored it, rolled up the corner of his robe, and went inside.

"Excuse me, Severus. The poor old man's limbs are a little weak. What's this potion? Let me see... Is it the anaesthetic you made for the infirmary?"

It was Dumbledore's voice. Hall walked to the door and watched Dumbledore wave his wand, restoring the glass bottle to its original state and cleaning up the spilled anaesthetic.

"Headmaster, I'll prepare some more," Snape said through clenched teeth.

Dumbledore seemed oblivious, putting the items on the table into his ring. Then he looked at Hall. "Good evening, Hall. I'm truly sorry if I've disturbed your rest."

He wore dark blue robes, and he walked over and placed his hand on Hall's shoulder. "Actually, I wanted to see you. Thanks to Severus for calling you." He winked at Snape, who snorted coldly in response, showing no intention of leaving.

Dumbledore sat down on the stool and gestured for Hall and Snape to sit, but Snape stubbornly stood to one side.

"My child, I know participating in the competition isn't what you want to do. I've come to make a request."

A request. That word was intriguing. What could possibly require the Headmaster of Hogwarts to use such a word? Hall had just made a small sale — and now a big client had come knocking.

He nodded, a thoroughly businesslike smile on his face. "My dear Headmaster, please speak."

"The Triwizard Tournament is an extremely dangerous competition." Dumbledore's eyes turned serious. "In past tournaments, some champions have suffered grievous wounds, their limbs torn apart, their blood staining the arena. Some have lost their way in magical traps, their bodies scalded by triggered fire. And others have had their minds corrupted in illusions, forever driven mad." He paused. "I'm not saying this to frighten you into backing down. I'm telling you that the Triwizard Tournament is a truly dangerous competition — not a school mock exam."

Hall understood. Dumbledore was referring to the rigorous training Grindelwald had given him, which, while demanding, was not life-threatening.

Dumbledore continued. "But I know you would be more than capable of handling this. The competition, however, is far too much for Harry. He's only twelve. He shouldn't be participating at all."

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