No Sane Way

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore read out. Everyone in the hall stared at him, at the glowing Goblet of Fire, or at the Boy Who Lived.

Draco scowled into his empty glass. Potter. Of course.

Never mind that the Triwizard Tournament was supposed to involve three contestants, hence the 'tri' at the beginning of the name… Never mind that Dumbledore was supposed to have drawn an Age Line impossible to pass for those younger than seventeen… Never mind how much Draco had been looking forward to a school-sponsored event, finally, that wasn't all about Potter…

Of course, as Draco made certain to make abundantly clear to everyone within earshot over the next several weeks, there was absolutely no way Potter would win. Probably wouldn't even manage the first task. Supposed to be dead dangerous. Any sane person would hesitate before volunteering to be practically murdered three times over one year.

If the rumors are true, Potter didn't volunteer—but that's nonsense. Everyone knows no Gryffindor would pass up a chance to prove their bravery (ie, stupidity) in front of the whole school. Potter must be loving this.

Still—there's no way he's winning. Absolutely no way.

Even if all the Professors, bar Snape and Sprout, are quite shockingly partisan for everyone's favorite hero. Whatever happened to Diggory, the Golden Boy?

Draco has never understood what makes Potter so special. Okay, so there's that thing with him defeating the Dark Lord as a tiny baby, but honestly, it could happen to anyone.

There's no way Potter is going to get this, too. Every prize or glory there is—no. There's absolutely no way. Not again.

Not if there's any justice in the world, Draco thinks.

But his glass isn't even half-full.