Since it was Hallowe’en, there were no classes. Cassian and Bathsheda planted themselves at the staff table well before sunrise and declared they weren’t moving unless the ceiling collapsed.

They had plates. Tea. Scones. Three types of jam. And, more importantly, the perfect view of the Goblet of Fire.

It sat in the centre of the Great Hall, flickering from time to time, shifting blue and white. Around it, the Age Line shimmered faintly, rippling in soft rings of light.

By breakfast, the chaos had properly kicked in. Hogwarts students swarmed the Goblet, crowding close to the edge of the Age Line.

Elbows flew, parchments were waved, and someone somewhere definitely shouted, “Let me try first, you’ll mess it up!”

Fred and George had claimed prime position just shy of the line, pockets bulging with rejected plans.

“Right,” Fred muttered, crouched beside a pile of crumbled parchment. “My back!” He grimaced, getting up. “Wingardium’s no good.”

George stroked his long, grey beard. “Can’t nudge the Goblet either. Not that I was hoping to.”

“Nothing works,” Fred groaned, still holding his back. “What are we going to do?”

Behind them, a third-year launched a folded slip like a paper plane. It smacked into the barrier mid-air and burst into golden sparks before fluttering to the floor in pieces. Those golden sparks gathered around him, turning his ear into a donkey’s.

A knot of Gryffindors howled with laughter.

“Nice try!” someone yelled.

“You going to cry, or try a slingshot next?”

“Already did,” Seamus called back. “Didn’t get past the line either.”

Dean poked him in the ribs. “That was a toothbrush tied to a rubber band.”

Bathsheda poured herself more tea. “Should we stop them?”

Cassian took a bite of scone. “They’re learning.”

More attempts came. Someone tried sneaking a slip in attached to an enchanted toy dragon, one of those little charmed fire-breathers from the Diagon Alley stalls. The thing zipped through the air, puffed a bit of smoke… and immediately got blasted backwards by what looked like Maxime’s anti-flight rune.

It hit a pillar with a thud and clattered to the floor.

From the other end of the hall, someone howled in laughter.

“We’ve tried throwing it,” Fred muttered.

“Tried floating it.” George nodded.

“Bounced it off a wall.”

“Tried skimming it like a stone.”

“Bloody Age Line’s tighter than Aunt Muriel’s corset.”

Cedric Diggory strolled past, parchment already in hand. Just walked right up to the edge, stepped across, and dropped his name in.

The blue-white fire flared, swallowed the parchment.

The twins booed so loudly half the Hall turned.

“Months! We’re months younger than you! This is not fair!” Fred shouted.

Cedric threw them a smug little grin over his shoulder. “Try harder next time.”

The twins groaned in perfect harmony and got to their feet. Lee Jordan slipped an arm out to block them from storming the line again, laughing so hard he nearly toppled into a group of fourth-years.

“Leave it, lads,” Lee said. “He’s got the height advantage anyway.”

“Height advantage?” Fred spluttered. “He’s got a birthday advantage!”

“Same thing,” George muttered.

Fred was still trying to reach Cedric who hid behind the age line. “Diggory, you absolute traitor, come back here and show mercy to your elders!”

“You’re seventeen in April,” Cedric called back. “Little brothers.”

George flapped a hand. “Age is a social construct!”

Cassian nearly choked on his tea.

All in all, it was great entertainment.

When Aurora, Septima and Charity arrived for dinner and saw Cassian and Bathsheda still parked in the same seats, surrounded by crumbs and empty plates, they stared like they were looking at two crime scenes.

“You seriously sat here all day?” Aurora asked.

Cassian patted his very full stomach. “Don’t regret anything.”

Bathsheda dipped a scone into jam. “When’s dinner?”

The girls sat down, shaking their heads as if they were witnessing the fall of civilisation.

Dinner came. Dinner went. And then the moment finally rolled around.

The Great Hall dimmed as the last plates vanished. Torches steadied. The Goblet’s blue flame flared higher, throwing long shadows along the stone floor. Students started crowding in. The visiting delegations held their breaths, their heads turning toward the cup.

The Goblet crackled then spat the first burning scrap into the air. Dumbledore caught it neatly, the fire hissing out between his fingers.

He glanced at the name, then lifted the paper as he called, “Fleur Delacour.”

The Beauxbatons students burst into cheers. Fleur stepped forward with that light, floating walk of hers, chin up, hair catching the Goblet’s blue light. The girls behind her looked ready to faint from pride as Fleur walked to the side room.

The flame roared again.

A second scrap shot upward.

Dumbledore grabbed it. “Viktor Krum.”

Durmstrang erupted. Karkaroff actually smiled and Krum moved through the crowd, following Fleur.

The Goblet flared for the third time.

A slip arced out, Dumbledore snatched it before it hit the floor. He blinked, then pronounced, “Xu Mingyu.”

The Fenghuang delegation cheered loudest. Mingyu stepped after the previous two, smiling softly. His expression barely shifted, but the way the other Fenghuang students bowed their heads as he passed said enough.

The Goblet spat again.

“Cedric Diggory.”

Hogwarts broke into cheers so loud one of the torches flickered out. Cedric stepped up with a bright smile. The twins booed dramatically, but Cedric only grinned at them on his way past.

The fifth scrap came almost immediately after.

Another plume of blue-white, a spark, a drifting slip. Dumbledore caught it between two fingers. “Amara N’Doye.”

Their champion stepped forward, a tall girl with close‑cut hair, dark brown skin, and gold paint sweeping across her cheekbones in polka patterns. Her robes were a deep maroon, wrapped and pinned with a carved wooden clasp shaped like a horned moon.

The Uagadou students stomped their feet in rhythm, palms drumming against their chests.

“All excellent picks,” Bathsheda murmured.

Cassian hummed. “Five schools, five champions at the age. Nice and tidy. For once.”

He was still worried that fate would somehow include Potter, but maybe not this time.

Students crowded closer, buzzing with excitement.

Then the Goblet’s flame turned red. A deep, rolling flare. The kind that made the hairs on Cassian’s arms stand up.

The hall went quiet fast.

Bathsheda set her teacup down very slowly.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking,” Cassian muttered.

The Goblet spat out one more scrap. The sixth.

It hovered in the air longer than any of the others, drifting like it wanted the entire castle to look at it.

Every student leaned forward.

Even the flames seemed to hold their breath.

***

“What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” Maxime’s voice boomed over as she came near Fleur, resting her hand on her shoulder.

“I’d rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” Karkaroff added. His smile was thin and sharp, the kind that usually came with a knife. “Two Hogwarts champions? I don’t remember anyone telling me the host school was allowed two champions, or have I not read the rules carefully enough?” He gave a short, mocking laugh.

“That’s impossible,” Maxime said, voice rising. “Hogwarts cannot have two champions. It is most injust.”

“We’d have brought more candidates from our own schools, if that were allowed,” Karkaroff added, already spinning up into outrage.

“It’s no one’s fault but Potter’s, Karkaroff,” Snape said softly from the shadows. His eyes gleamed, mouth already curled. “Don’t go blaming the Headmaster for-“

“Shut up, Severus,” Cassian said without looking at him.

Snape’s face twisted, jaw tight. His eyes still glittered with something unpleasant, but he didn’t speak again upon seeing Cassian’s face.

Dumbledore looked at Harry, billowing with anger like he didn’t read his script right. “Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?”

“Calmly, Albus.” Ji said from the side. “You should be calm.”

“No,” Harry said quickly. Everyone was watching him now, like waiting for the punchline to a very bad joke.

“Did you ask an older student to put it in for you?” Dumbledore asked, eyes still fixed on the boy.

“No,” Harry said again, louder this time.

“Ah, but of course he is lying!” Maxime snapped.

Master Ji and Madame Ekwensi didn’t move. They stood there watching the mess unfold.

Cassian, on the other hand, had gone very still. And whatever was leaking off him made the space around him feel tight.

He swept his gaze across the room. “I told you to let me put precautions in place,” he said. “I told you to let me cover the Age Line, and none of this would’ve happened.”

Karkaroff snapped his head around. “Hogwarts is cheating, and you would’ve made it even more favoura-“

Cassian lifted his wand. “Igor, say one more word and I’ll turn this into an international scandal.”

Dumbledore stepped in fast, hands raised. “Cassian, please.”

Cassian snorted. “There is no way in hell am I allowing Potter to participate in this Tournament. I told you yesterday, I’m saying it again tonight.”

From the edge, Moody gave a rough scoff. “We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Cassian turned toward him, eyes dark. “I don’t give a single fu-“

Bathsheda grabbed his arm.

He let out a breath, redirected. “-a single scrap of that rule. There is no rule worth watching a child get shoved into a coffin with fireworks.”

A few gasps went up. Moody’s magical eye spun toward Cassian, but he didn’t push it.

Cassian rounded back on the room. “This is a set-up. Someone’s meddled with the Goblet. Potter didn’t put his name in, and I’ll drag every single one of you through a pensieve if I must to prove it.”

Maxime threw her hands up. “Then remove him! Eet is simple. Remove him!”

“Finally,” Cassian said. “A sensible suggestion.”

“She doesn’t understand the binding magic,” Karkaroff said smugly.

Dumbledore tried again. “Cassian, the bindin-“

“No,” Cassian cut in, eyes never leaving the visitors now. “This tournament is dangerous enough for adults, let alone fourteen-year-olds. And I’m not letting this one become collateral because everyone refuses to admit the obvious.”

Moody limped forward, eye spinning wildly. “Boy’s name comes out. Boy competes. That’s how it works.”

Bathsheda squeezed Cassian’s arm, hard enough to make him shut up before he launched himself across the table.

He dragged in a breath through his teeth. “Fine. You all think this is unfair, right?” He swept the room, daring anyone to disagree.

Dozens of heads bobbed.

Cassian nodded. “Brilliant. Then it’s simple. We change the three tasks.”

(Check Here)

“Tell my story,” I said on my deathbed, my voice thinning with my final breath.

They didn’t.

The End.

—

To Read up to 50 advance Chapters and support me…

patreon.com/thefanficgod1

Please drop a comment and like the chapter!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep