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

Gasps burst across the room. Then they thought. The idea settled. Faces shifted. One by one, they realised what he meant.

The logic was too clean to argue. Everyone in the room knew it.

Change the tasks, rebind the Goblet, and the whole bloody mess unspooled without a single duel or blood contract.

Ji’s mouth curled into a slow grin. “Genius.”

Cassian shook his head. “Not genius. I planned ahead. I was fully expecting someone to pull a stunt like this.”

Ji leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “You prewrote contingencies for a corrupted Goblet?”

“Of course I did,” Cassian said, like it was obvious. “It’s a magical contract written by a half-sentient artefact from a time when duels ended with body parts in jars. You think I trusted that thing to behave?”

Ji laughed. “You read all the records, didn’t you?”

Cassian didn’t even blink. “Every line. Including the ones the Ministry tried to redact.”

Karkaroff turned toward Dumbledore, bristling. “WE cannot change the tasks. What about the Tournament?”

Cassian looked at him. “You seem awfully keen on Potter joining, Igor.”

Karkaroff glared. “What are you implying? I’m saying the Tournament must go on.”

Cassian gave him a thin smile. “Oh, it’ll go on. After we change the tasks to something harmless, run them five minutes apart, then we hold a second selection.”

An uneasy murmur rolled through the hall.

Moody snorted. “And what if different names come out? Would be unfair to these five.”

Before Cassian could reply, Madame Ekwensi answered. “We put these five names in again. Why would it be unfair? They have already been chosen.”

Several representatives nodded. The logic was obvious. Too obvious.

Madam Ekwensi tapped the ground, seemingly annoyed that she couldn’t think of it. “Simple. Fair. Avoids international fallout. We don’t need a bloodbath to prove skill.”

Ji nodded. “And there are children watching this year. No disrespect to this young man, but tasks we picked aren’t for Fourth Years.”

Bagman, surprisingly, looked relieved. “I mean, it would save the Ministry the insurance headache.”

“Not to mention the headlines,” muttered Shacklebolt.

Cassian spread his hands. “There you go. No children tossed into the lava trench. No one screaming about cheating. Everyone gets the champions they started with, minus the homicidal bits. Everybody happy.”

“Except the prestige,” Karkaroff snapped. “The Tournament loses its grandeur!”

Cassian stared at him. “Oh no, not the grandeur. How will we cope without watching teenagers get mauled by force of nature.”

He glanced briefly at Harry, who looked like he didn’t know whether to thank him or hide behind him.

Moody slammed his staff against the floor. “You do realise this breaks centuries of-“

“Oh, spare me,” Cassian cut in. “The Tournament’s had more stoppages and rewrites than the bloody Ministry charter. Half the tasks in the 17th century got changed on the fly because someone let a Manticore loose and three contestants legged it home.”

Maxime folded her arms. “If eet removes the boy, I am in favour.”

Dumbledore gave a nod. “As am I.”

Ji dipped his head. “Same.”

Ekwensi smiled faintly. “Good. Let us give the children a proper Tournament.”

Karkaroff looked cornered. The others were united. But Moody was practically vibrating.

Turned out, it wasn’t bloody hard to change the tasks. The Goblet bound names, not logic. The actual challenges were all made up by humans, which meant they could be unmade just as easily.

After a solid session of Five School Heads, Kingsley, and Bagman flinging enough magic to light up a Quidditch pitch, the Goblet flickered, hissed, and… gave in. Just a sulky puff of smoke and a shimmer of altered bindings.

***

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. “Come now, let’s see who can pick a napkin from the table using only magic. That shall be your first task. We are not allowed to help, nor inform you how.” He sounded far too pleased with himself for someone assigning napkin duty.

The champions stood in a neat line, facing a long table with six napkins laid out like cursed artefacts.

“Begin,” said Bagman, who was clearly trying not to laugh.

One by one, the students raised their wands. Napkins flying in the air, dropping neatly into their hands.

Cassian coughed. “Good enough.”

The five Heads of School, plus the two Ministry-appointed referees, gave points. Six perfect scores.

Next task, splitting said napkins into symmetrical halves using only magic.

A table was conjured. Six fresh napkins laid out.

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Karkaroff.

Cassian looked delighted. “Wait till you see Task Three.”

Cedric let out a breath through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “When the Headmaster said the tournament would be deadly, I was expecting more than paper cuts.”

Fleur gave him a sidelong glance. “You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not,” Cedric said. “Just… surprised.”

Krum was squinting at his napkin, his eyes twitching. “Ve do this instead of battles?”

“Much safer,” said Amara, folding the edge of her napkin like a surgeon on holiday. “And arguably harder. Origami’s brutal.”

“Was the napkin thing your idea or Dumbledore’s?” Bathsheda asked with barely suppressed laughter.

“Bit of both. He said ‘Something simple, yet dignified.’ I heard ‘make it stupid.'”

She gave him a sidelong look. “That tracks.”

Each student gave it a go. Slicing spells, charm work, even a Vanishing technique that reassembled the pieces once separated.

Again, perfect scores all around.

Last task, fold the halves into a recognisable shape. Magic only.

“You have one minute,” Dumbledore said cheerily. “And seven judges. We expect originality.”

Fleur folded hers into a lily. Krum made a rectangle, squinting like he wasn’t sure how folding worked.

Mingyu conjured an origami dragon that blew smoke from its mouth. Yeah, smoke was paper too.

Cedric made a badger. It wiggled its paper nose.

Amara crafted a perfect leopard with spots.

Harry stared at his napkin, gave it a flick, and ended up with something that might’ve been a hat. Or a boot. Or a rabbit if you squinted from a distance and lied about it.

Cassian gave him a slow clap. “It’s interpretive.”

The judges gave full points anyway. Professors cheered like it was a Quidditch final.

With no clear winner and the Goblet’s bind lifted, Harry stepped down. Officially out. His name never should’ve been in there to begin with, and now it was gone for good.

The Goblet’s flame sputtered, turned a dull blue, and then went out entirely. The contract was done.

***

When the Cup shimmered and lost its lustre, the glow retreating inward like breath sucked from a dying flame, Cassian paced around it slowly.

The earlier magic the Cup was emitting was nowhere to be seen. Previously, when Dumbledore first unboxed it, it had been overwhelming, grand in a way that didn’t belong in rooms built by human hands. Cassian struggled to describe it, even now. It felt like standing before something ancient and immense, like a mountain that knew your name.

He’d read everything there was to read about the Cup. Knew it wasn’t just a glorified trophy. It had to bind the Champions, and not just them, everyone in proximity. That was how it kept the Tournament fair. It was a contract, tethered through leyline intersections, drawing power so dense it could warp time around it. No wonder even Dumbledore and other Heads had hesitated to challenge it.

But now?

Now it looked… dormant. Just small. The thing that had once pulsed with enough magic to make the castle creak was now just a gilded cup, over-polished and forgotten.

“So it’s dead now?” he asked, looking at the thing with a squint.

Dumbledore chuckled softly behind him. “More like sleeping.”

Cassian hummed, not convinced. His fingers twitched at his side.

Moody stepped in between, boot scraping over cracked stone. “Don’t touch it.”

Cassian turned, already scowling. “I wasn’t going to.”

Behind him, Bathsheda made a noise that might’ve been a cough, but sounded far too amused. Exposing his lie.

Cassian shot her a narrow look. “Too much,” he muttered.

Moody didn’t blink. His magical eye whirred, staying locked on Cassian’s hand even as the other one glared dead ahead.

“Fine,” Cassian snapped, stepping back a half pace. “Not touching. For Gods’ sake. It’s not like it’s going to break.”

The Cup sparked.

Cassian froze.

“Okay,” he added, slowly backing away, “maybe a little insecure.”

He let out a slow breath, crouched a little. With all that impossible power drained out of it, it really did look harmless. Almost sulky.

He tilted his head at it, voice dropping into something light and coaxing, like he was speaking to a frightened toddler clutching a tantrum.

“Hey now… you’re not going to take away my magic out of spite, are you?”

***

Moody walked over to Harry, clapping a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Good job, Potter. Relieved?”

Harry nodded, still wide-eyed and rattled from the whole ordeal. From the moment his name came out of that Cup, every stare, every accusation, every demand had been pressing on him. He hadn’t understood half of what the Tournament was about, only that he didn’t want to be in it.

Now, at least, it was over.

Moody pointed toward the Cup. “See how its magic died down?”

He started walking, not dragging Harry, but nudging him along in that quiet, insistent way adults used when pretending something was still your choice.

Harry glanced back at the Cup. The difference was striking. Before, it had felt crushing. Like just looking at it made his skin buzz. Now? It just looked like a cup. A little too polished, but otherwise… normal.

Still, something in it pulled at him. His feet started drifting forward without meaning to.

A hand caught his shoulder.

“Careful there, Potter,” Cassian said, voice cold. “Don’t touch magical artefacts. Might bite you.”

Harry blinked up at him.

Then Cassian’s gaze flicked past him. Hard. Directed straight at Moody.

Moody scoffed, gaze flicking between Cassian, Dumbledore, Ji, Ekwensi, then Potter, then said, “Damn right.”

***

Once the old binding had clearly collapsed, they fed the five champions’ names back into the Goblet.

Cassian didn’t move from his spot until the final slips went in and came out again. Five. No more. He counted them aloud just to be annoying. And certain.

When it was done, when the last flicker of the Goblet died down and the thing stopped pretending it had sentience, he let out a slow breath.

“Now,” he said, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. “We can return to our regular boring lives.”

He gave a pointed look at Moody and Karkaroff. Neither looked thrilled.

“Potter. With me.”

Harry didn’t argue. Just nodded and trailed after him and Bathsheda, as they left. The hall was still buzzing.

As they made their way through the crowd, heads turned. Students leaned in, whispers trailing after them.

“Did he put his name in?”

“Was it really him?”

“Is he still competing?”

Cassian raised his hand. “It was a misunderstanding. Potter is not participating. Five contestants will compete, end of story.”

The noise dipped. Hogwarts never shut up, but at least no one was yelling anymore.

Cassian guided Harry out through the front doors, one hand on the boy’s shoulder to keep him moving. Harry kept glancing back at the hall, cheeks pink from all the stares.

When they reached the corridor, the doors closing behind them, Harry finally let out a breath. “Sir… people think I did it on purpose.”

Cassian snorted. “People think centaurs run an underground gambling ring in the Forbidden Forest. Students talk. Ignore them.”

Harry tried for a smile and didn’t quite make it.

He looked up at both of them, tired but grateful. “Thank you… for helping me.”

Cassian let out a breath. “Go and rest. Your name shouldn’t have come out to begin with.”

Harry nodded and headed off, shoulders hunched, trying not to look like he was escaping.

The moment he turned the corner, Bathsheda grabbed Cassian’s hand and hauled him down the corridor. “Room. Now.”

“Oh, romantic,” Cassian muttered as she dragged him along. “Mind the stairs.”

She didn’t slow. The second his door shut behind them, she rounded on him.

“So… how long before they accuse me of sabotaging the Tournament on purpose?” He chuckled.

“I am surprised he didn’t already. Would be perfect time when you suggested to change the tasks.”

He snorted. “Probably too durmbstruck. Got it?”

“Still doesn’t explain who got Potter in,” she muttered, ignoring the pun.

“I know,” Cassian said. “I just can’t figure out why.”

She didn’t argue. “Do you know how it happened?”

Cassian rubbed at his brow. “I don’t know. But I’ve got two ideas.”

(Check Here)

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