It was Halloween Eve. Normally, Hogwarts would have begun preparing for the celebrations, and excitement over Halloween would have filled the air.
This year, the atmosphere was just as lively—so lively that Harry could barely concentrate. All he could think about was the Goblet of Fire. His stomach churned. Would he really be chosen?
Was he suited to this tournament? Could he handle its challenges?
After listening to Hermione go on about how many people had died in past Triwizard Tournaments, he began to regret entering. Had he been too reckless?
"They say one year, when the tournament was held at Durmstrang, the Second Task took place on an ice field. The Champions faced hordes of Trolls released onto the ice. One Champion was smashed flat and left stuck to it."
As Hermione read aloud from A History of the Triwizard Tournament: Selected Deaths, Ron's face went white.
Ron looked pale as paper. "Oh, Merlin's stomach medicine. I think I've got a stomachache."
"I told you not to put your name in," Hermione said, glancing at Ron. "Have you forgotten what Professor Dumbledore told us last night?"
"Everyone put theirs in." Ron looked distinctly unwell. "Harry, how are you feeling?"
Harry forced himself to nod and gulped down Pumpkin Juice to suppress the nausea rising with his nerves. "All right."
Good grief, Harry really is brave. He seems even hungrier than usual, Ron thought.
George and Fred had bought a huge pile of Filibuster Fireworks, ready to celebrate if either of them was chosen as a Champion.
"You don't need to worry, Ron," Ginny said bluntly. "As far as I can tell, you've got almost no chance."
"Ginny!"
"Don't argue with me yet. Think about it—why would you be chosen as a Champion? Are your grades good enough? Are you