As the Prior Incantato spell took effect, a strange phenomenon erupted from the tip of Karkaroff's confiscated wand.
A wisp of dark gray smoke spiraled upward, curling twice in the air before coalescing into a translucent puddle of liquid, faintly scented with the woody aroma of wand timber.
The liquid glistened under the light, but before anyone could examine it closely, a thin veil of white light enveloped it.
With a flash, the liquid vanished without a trace.
Clearly, this was a cleaning charm Karkaroff had recently cast, now being replayed in reverse by the spell.
"Give it back!" Karkaroff's eyes blazed red as he lunged forward, arms flailing like a frenzied vulture trying to snatch his wand.
But Moody was ready. With a nimble sidestep—surprising for someone with a wooden leg—he dodged effortlessly.
Karkaroff stumbled, nearly crashing into the wall.
"Headmaster!" The three Durmstrang champions reacted instinctively, reaching for the wands in their pockets.
But the moment their fingers grazed their wands, they froze, muscles locked as if turned to stone, their eyes unable to even flicker, faces etched with shock.
Dylan glanced at them briefly before looking away.
Cedric caught his eye and gave a small smile.
Moody, unwavering, kept his wand steady, sustaining the Prior Incantato spell.
Karkaroff's wand continued to emit smoke, which hit the floor and morphed into various hazy shapes—sometimes the faint afterimage of a wand's movement, other times flickering runes. Finally, a cloud of smoke rose slowly, forming the distinct outline of the Goblet of Fire.
Its rim shimmered with blue-white light, identical to the Goblet in the Great Hall.
"Karkaroff," Moody's voice rumbled like gravel, his eyes fixed on the smoky Goblet, "that's a Confundus Charm, no mistake."
The moment the smoky Goblet appeared, Karkaroff seemed to deflate, his knees buckling. He barely caught himself against the wall, shoulders slumping, his face pale as paper, all his earlier bravado gone.
The Durmstrang champions' paralysis lifted, but they didn't dare move. Their limbs still tingled from the spell, and the clear image of the smoky Goblet was undeniable proof of Karkaroff's tampering. Helping him now would only make them accomplices.
"So it was him!" Harry slapped his forehead, turning to Dylan and the others with sudden realization. "I knew it! How else could there be extra champions? He used a Confundus Charm to mess with the Goblet!"
Madame Maxime's lips tightened, her mouth curving downward in a sharp scowl.
She took two long strides toward Dumbledore, her heavy velvet robes brushing the floor with a soft rustle. Towering over the slouched Karkaroff, her deep eyes burned with disgust, her voice icy. "No wonder you looked so shifty earlier. Guilty conscience, huh?"
"Now this is interesting," Moody chuckled roughly, tapping his wooden leg on the floor twice, his eyes glinting with mockery. "Care to explain why you felt the need to cast a Confundus Charm on the Goblet?"
Karkaroff clamped his mouth shut, his eyelids drooping, his earlier defiance against Barty Crouch completely gone. He leaned against the wall, fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white, refusing to say a word.
Moody snorted, tossing the wand back with a flick of his wrist.
It hit Karkaroff's chest with a dull thud. He scrambled to catch it, clutching it tightly.
"I took a stroll around the castle earlier," Moody said, his voice rising sharply. "The Hufflepuff kids were diligent, keeping watch in the entrance hall all night, noting down who entered and where the headmasters stood."
"Two things stood out," he continued. "Beauxbatons' headmistress stayed far from the Goblet during their sign-ups. But Durmstrang's Karkaroff…"
"Enough! This is outrageous!" Karkaroff cut him off, his voice shrill and piercing. "A Hogwarts professor daring to lay hands on a visiting headmaster!"
"This is disgraceful! Are you trying to force me to withdraw?"
"Calm down, please," Dumbledore said slowly, stroking his long beard. "As far as I know, the Triwizard Tournament's history is full of little hiccups like this."
"Besides, the rules are clear: once chosen as a champion, you must complete all tasks." He looked at Karkaroff, his tone softening. "Breaking the Goblet's magical contract has consequences no student could bear. I hope you'll consider the students and not let adult disputes affect them. That said, Professor Moody's approach was, perhaps, a bit heavy-handed."
"Then I owe Mr. Karkaroff an apology," Moody said casually, as if discussing the weather. "Feel free to complain to the British Ministry. I'm sure they'd be thrilled to see you—oh, the deserter from back then, now a headmaster? Quite the glow-up!"
"Thank you, Alastor," Dumbledore interjected, his smile warm as he addressed the room's tense headmasters. "I believe there may be a misunderstanding here. Perhaps… this wasn't entirely Headmaster Karkaroff's intent?"
He stretched out the word "Headmaster," his gaze lingering on Karkaroff. "Some headmasters might approach the Goblet or use magic out of concern—say, worrying it's too old to function properly?"
"Exactly! That's it!" Karkaroff seized the lifeline, nodding eagerly, his voice urgent. "I was just worried the Goblet might malfunction, so I tested it with a spell to see if it could be tampered with."
"If I really meant to cheat, why would I let Hogwarts end up with an extra champion? We've got three, you've got four! It was an accident, pure and simple!"
"Thank you for your understanding, Headmaster Karkaroff," Dumbledore said with a slight smile, waving his hand. The slips of paper that had flown from the Goblet floated over, and with a flick of his wand, they expanded to newspaper size, neatly arranged by school and surname, hovering for all to see.
The arrangement immediately revealed an anomaly.
Every slip clearly listed its school—except the one bearing "Dylan Hawkwood," which had a blank space where the school should be.
"Perhaps some magical interference caused this," Dumbledore said, his eyes on the odd slip, his tone measured. "Mr. Karkaroff's Confundus Charm likely went awry, causing this whole mess."
"Because of the charm, Dylan's name was excluded from any school's roster. Yet he completed the entry process, and through a series of magical missteps…" He paused, then continued, "Since he entered but doesn't belong to any competing school, perhaps we can consider him a champion of a fourth, 'temporary' school. Does that sound reasonable? Do you agree with my analysis?"
Karkaroff's lips twitched, the anger in his eyes fading to unease. He cleared his throat, his voice dry. "Of course… that's plausible. It was all a misunderstanding."
Moody had exposed Karkaroff's scheme, and Dumbledore's tactful mediation eased the room's tension. Madame Maxime's eyes flicked over Karkaroff, a knowing glint in them.
It was clear now: Karkaroff's goal was to keep Dylan off the champion roster, preventing him from representing Hogwarts.
From a school's perspective, it was a shrewd move.
Dylan's reputation in the wizarding world had been rising fast, though little was known about him at other schools. He was like a sudden prodigy from Hogwarts. Dumbledore had praised him effusively, and Karkaroff had likely done his homework, aiming to block Dylan's participation.
The Triwizard Tournament wasn't just a student competition—it was a showcase of each school's strength, impacting their reputation, future enrollment, and international ties.
But Karkaroff hadn't counted on Hogwarts having a professor like Moody, who'd use Prior Incantato to expose his plot on the spot.
Madame Maxime sighed softly, her fingers tracing the embroidered patterns on her robe. The storm seemed to have settled—for now.
But a bigger issue remained unresolved.
The other headmasters clearly realized it too.
Karkaroff broke the brief silence, redirecting the conversation. "Since the Goblet misunderstanding is cleared up, let's move on. It was an accident, after all."
He paused, scanning the champions in the room, his tone turning serious. "But Hogwarts having an extra champion creates a serious imbalance. That's the real issue we need to address."
"The rules have always ensured equal numbers from each school. Hogwarts' extra champion throws off scoring and task fairness!" He straightened, regaining his confidence, conveniently forgetting he'd caused the chaos.
Madame Maxime stayed silent, her eyes on Dumbledore, waiting to see how he'd handle this tricky problem.
The champions exchanged glances. Dylan leaned against the wall, tapping it lightly, his gaze thoughtful as it rested on the floating slips.
Barty Crouch adjusted his glasses, pulling out his notebook to record the discussion.
"He's got a point," Madame Maxime said, her eyes sweeping over Hogwarts' four champions. "The extra champion disrupts the tournament's fairness. That's the priority."
"It's a tough one," Dumbledore agreed, his gaze lingering on Karkaroff and Madame Maxime before shifting gears. "But before we tackle numbers, perhaps we should revisit the planning meeting where the Triwizard Tournament was finalized. Let's reaffirm our shared understanding. What do you think?"
"Clear communication is key. Didn't we just see how hidden agendas caused this mess?" He paused, his tone leisurely. "Mr. Karkaroff, you could've just said you were trying to protect your school's interests—maybe a bit too zealously—and accidentally made a mess."
He lingered on "accidentally," his words dripping with meaning.
Madame Maxime's lips twitched into a scornful smirk, letting out a soft huff of disdain.
Karkaroff's face darkened, his fists clenching, but he couldn't retort, knowing he was in the wrong.
Dumbledore, still smiling, didn't press him further and turned to Madame Maxime. "So, Madame Maxime, what's your final take?"
She had little patience for Karkaroff's antics but knew she couldn't let Beauxbatons' champions be disadvantaged. Shaking her head slightly, she said, "I'd like to hear which points of consensus you're revisiting before I agree."
"Of course," Dumbledore nodded, clearing his throat, his voice steady. "At the planning meeting, we agreed each school would nominate candidates, and the Goblet would select their champions. No one objected then."
"Correct," Madame Maxime nodded, her back ramrod straight. "The Triwizard Tournament hinges on the Goblet's selection. The champions are its choice—that was our agreed rule."
"But Hogwarts still has one too many," Karkaroff pressed, his brows knit tightly, clinging to his point. "Since the Goblet decides, why not let it pick another champion to balance the numbers?"
"That won't work," Barty Crouch said, adjusting his glasses and tapping a page in his notebook. "We made it clear: once the Goblet selects for a tournament, its flames die out until the next one."
"Mr. Crouch is right," Dumbledore added. "And let's reaffirm: only the Goblet's chosen champions can compete for the trophy. That's been the rule since the tournament's founding."
"Hmph, the Goblet isn't a toy to be tinkered with," Madame Maxime chimed in, eyeing Karkaroff. "Your suggestion sounds awfully… Muggle-like."
Karkaroff paled further.
She pressed on. "Your approach reminds me of those Muggle bureaucrats in North America, just trying to patch things up with numbers. Maybe we should focus on what actually interfered with the Goblet, not chase pipe dreams."
"When it comes to checking wands, I know a thing or two," Moody laughed gruffly, his wooden leg thumping the floor, his magical eye scanning the room. "Before I retired, I was an Auror, dealing with dodgy spells for half my life."
Karkaroff muttered under his breath, barely audible, "I've got no objections…"
His voice was so low he hoped no one heard, but in the quiet room, it carried clearly.
"Why not hear from the champions?" Dumbledore suggested, his smile warm as he turned to Dylan. "Mr. Hawkwood, what's your take?"
"Exactly!" Madame Maxime agreed. "He went through the entry and selection process. He deserves a say."
All eyes turned to Dylan—headmasters with scrutiny, champions with curiosity.
Cedric, Harry, and Draco looked at him too, eager to hear his solution.
Dylan wasn't surprised. Dumbledore's push to revisit the consensus was clearly to help him piece together the situation and offer a targeted fix.
He nodded, his voice clear. "I recall at last night's feast, Professor Dumbledore mentioned that Mr. Bagman, Mr. Crouch, and the headmasters would form the judging panel to score the champions."
"Correct," Barty Crouch confirmed, checking his notebook. "That's part of the consensus. We score each champion's performance after every task."
"I also remember you saying," Karkaroff added, trying to stay composed, "that champions must complete tasks independently, without helping each other."
"Since we now have four groups of champions, the panel should score each group separately," Dylan continued, glancing at the other Hogwarts champions. "But if you add the scores of both Hogwarts groups together, it'd give an unfair advantage."
He paused, pointing to Cedric, Harry, and Draco. "Here's an idea: combine the scores of all four Hogwarts champions and take the average."
"Of course, as Mr. Karkaroff said, we'd still compete separately, no interference."
"No way!" Cedric, Harry, and Draco protested in unison.
Cedric frowned, his voice urgent. "That's too risky! Averaging scores puts way too much pressure on you."
Harry shook his head. "The tasks are already tough. Going it alone is dangerous!"
Draco, dropping his usual smugness, looked grim. "Only a lunatic would agree to that!"
He glanced at Dylan, rephrasing, "I mean, it's not feasible."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with approval as he stroked his beard, his smile widening.
"Mr. Hawkwood's clever," he said. "He's turned what some saw as an 'advantage' into a potential disadvantage."
"That does ensure fairness," Madame Maxime said, turning to Karkaroff. "Any objections?"
"It's… fair," Karkaroff admitted, spreading his hands. He tried to look serious, but his lips twitched upward. With this, Hogwarts lost its edge and might even lose out due to the averaged scores.
"Slimy git," Draco muttered, loud enough to be heard, his eyes full of disgust.
Harry nodded, then shook his head, finally shrugging. He didn't like Draco, but the insult was spot-on.
"Mr. Hawkwood, I must warn you of the risks," Barty Crouch stepped forward, his tone grave. "With a change in champion numbers, we'd need to adjust task difficulty per the tournament's magical contract."