In the Great Hall, Beauxbatons were seated with the Hufflepuffs, Durmstrangs with Slytherins, Fenghuang students alongside Ravenclaws, and Uagadou with the Gryffindors. The long tables had stretched themselves out, benches doubling in width to squeeze everyone in without toppling onto each other.
Filch came in panting, arms full of chairs, two at a time, six of them. He huffed up to the staff table and started wedging them in wherever he could without taking someone's foot off.
Bathsheda slid in beside Madam Ekwensi, the two immediately falling back into whatever discussion they'd left hanging since summer. Ekwensi asking if Bathsheda had finally cracked the theory on Beast Bonding, and Bathsheda asking in return about the ghost elephants.
Before Bathsheda could ask more, the doors opened again.
Two more figures walked in.
One was, of course, Ludo Bagman. As Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, he had to show up, more for the spectacle than anything else.
The other was Kingsley Shacklebolt. After Barty Crouch's spectacular fall from grace, locking up Sirius Black without trial, which, given the whole 'Most Ancient and Noble House of Black' thing, went down about as well as setting fire to Gringotts, Fudge had sacked him before the ink was dry. Kingsley, on the other hand, had handled the World Cup mess with "great insight and brilliant coordination." That earned him a quiet shuffle upwards. He was now Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.
The two men took their seats at the far end of the staff table, Bagman already halfway through a flagon of something foamy.
Dumbledore raised his hands. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and, most particularly, guests." He smiled around at the sea of foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.
"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," he added. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"
The golden plates filled instantly. Steam rose, platters clinked, and conversation bubbled up in a dozen languages.
Dumbledore must've updated the recipe books, because the spread tonight looked spanned half the known continents. Cassian spotted dishes he hadn't seen since his last visit to the East, bao buns, lacquered duck, sticky lotus rice rolled in leaves. Closer down the line, there were what he hoped were Uagadou honey-crusted plantains, a few French sugar-dusted pastries doing their best to look smug, and... whatever Durmstrang called food. Something grey. Possibly meat. Probably moved once.
Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore rose again. "The moment has come," he said, smiling at the mass of faces turned his way. "The Quintic‑Magicks Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
A polite little scattering of applause followed.
Dumbledore continued, "Mr Shacklebolt and Mr Bagman have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Quintic‑Magicks Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Headmaster Ji, Headmistress Ekwensi, Headmaster Karkaroff, and Headmistress Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."
The moment he said "champions," the air changed. Students leaned forward. A few elbows hit ribs.
Perhaps Dumbledore noticed it too, because he gave a knowing smile.
"The casket, then, if you please, Mr Filch."
Filch, who'd been lurking by a pillar as though waiting to ambush a child with muddy boots, shuffled forward carrying a wooden chest crusted in gems. It looked like the sort of thing a pirate would try to bury and immediately get cursed for touching.
"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Shacklebolt and Mr Bagman," Dumbledore said, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year. They will test the champions in many ways, magical ability, daring, powers of deduction, and of course, their ability to cope with danger."
"As you know," Dumbledore went on, his tone almost conversational, "five champions compete in the tournament, one from each school. They will be marked on their performance in the tasks. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector, the Goblet of Fire."
He tapped the chest three times. The lid creaked open, slow as anything, and he reached inside.
Out came a rough wooden cup, simple, carved like someone had shaped it with a blunt knife. Blue‑white fire swirled inside, splashing bright light all the way to the rafters.
Dumbledore placed it atop the casket so everyone could see.
"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty‑four hours to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the five it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. It will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, freely accessible to those wishing to compete."
He paused briefly. "To ensure no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. Nobody under seventeen will be able to cross it."
That earned a ripple of whispers, none of them subtle. Every eye in Hogwarts flicked from the Headmaster... straight to Cassian.
Fred and George Weasley were practically glowing.
Cassian dragged a hand down his face. "Headmaster."
Bathsheda sighed beside him. She'd clearly seen this coming ten minutes before he had.
Dumbledore turned slightly. "Yes, Professor Rosier?"
Cassian gave him an innocent smile that fooled absolutely no one. "You do remember my cup and Age Line quiz for the first‑years, right?"
Dumbledore froze.
It was the exact expression of a man who'd suddenly realised he'd left the cauldron on at home.
Every student who'd ever been in Cassian's class tried, and failed, not to grin.
Dumbledore blinked. "Ah."
Cassian raised his brows. "Yes. Ah."
A few Gryffindors snorted. One Ravenclaw choked on a mint.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and tried his best to look dignified again. "Well. I suppose... that particular... educational exercise may have been slightly influential."
Master Ji's gaze ticked toward him, brow raised. "What've you done this time, Cassian?"
Cassian let out a low groan. "Apparently, I've corrupted the youth again."
Dumbledore chuckled, far too pleased with himself. "Professor Rosier has a habit of introducing imaginary Age Lines and a mug of tea to first-years. A little lesson in how to overcome magical restrictions without actually using magic."
Ji's eyebrows went up. "Imaginary?"
"A conceptual trap," Dumbledore clarified. "The students are told there's an invisible barrier keeping them from reaching a mug. Their task is to put their names into it, without crossing the line. The purpose is to teach problem-solving without defaulting to a wand."
Ekwensi tilted her head, clearly intrigued. "I wonder if anyone's succeeded?"
Cassian grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Some. Eventually. A few tried charming the mug. Some dropped books on it. One attached a spoon to a sock and tried to fish it out."
Ji laughed, holding his belly. "That's brilliant."
Madame Maxime looked amused. "It is clever. Though I imagine you have given your Headmaster a bit of a headache."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Not at all. In fact, I'm inspired to rethink the Age Line myself."
"Mm," Cassian hummed, already hearing the wheels turning in Fred and George's heads. "Let's see how many manage not to throw themselves across it headfirst."
Dumbledore tapped his chin, eyes bright behind his half-moon glasses. "So, what were the usual methods? Lifting a slip with Wingardium, tossing it from behind the Age Line, what else?"
Cassian made a face. "One tried to sneeze it across. That was new."
"That worked?" Ji asked, clearly amused.
"Not even close. One wrapped it in bacon and convinced a dog to fetch it. That's interesting."
Maxime blinked. "A dog?"
"He thought the spell wouldn't account for animals," Cassian said, stabbing a dumpling. "It didn't work. The dog got distracted halfway and ate the bacon. Then vomited on the mug. It was a very educational afternoon."
He glanced down the rows of students, then looked back with a deadpan expression. "They've already started drawing schematics."
At that moment, Fred Weasley stood up, slowly walked over to the Goblet, stopped just short of a meter, and began pacing.
George followed, arms crossed, studying the floor.
Cassian pointed with his fork. "Exhibit A."
"I'll sort it out," Dumbledore said, raising his voice again, "I must impress upon those wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered lightly. Once a champion is chosen, they are bound to see the tournament through. It is a magical contract. There can be no change of heart. Please be absolutely certain you are prepared before placing your name in the goblet. Now, it is time for bed. Good night to you all."
Students rose in a loud, shuffling wave.
Cassian leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "Baths, remind me next term to stop giving clever quizzes."
She patted his arm lightly. "No. This is far too entertaining."
Cassian groaned. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I've armed an entire generation with loopholes."
From across the hall, Fred cupped his hands around his mouth. "WE LOVE YOU, PROFESSOR R.!"
***
Cassian had officially had it. With Hogwarts. With magical politics. With one Harry James Potter.
Shouldn't have been a surprise. He did know he was living in a world called Harry Potter, after all. But knowing it and living it were different beasts entirely, and somehow, the kid managed to end up dead-centre of anything dramatic. Every year. Last year had been a circus already, and this year... well, with the tournament back, it was only a matter of time before the goblet spat out that name.
Cassian had no intention of letting it happen again.
So that night, once Dumbledore had sent the students to bed with a twinkle and a warning, the grown-ups gathered.
The school heads. Bagman. Kingsley. The house heads. Cassian. Bathsheda.
Dumbledore's office was already too warm, Fawkes watching the crowd from his perch like he'd seen all this before.
Master Ji was scratching under the phoenix's beak. "I can't believe you managed to take this from us."
Cassian turned, halfway through pouring himself something dark into a teacup. "Sorry, what now?"
Ji nodded toward the bird, eyes narrowed.
Cassian blinked. "You're saying Fawkes... came from you?"
Ekwensi chuckled under her breath, clearly already in on it.
Ji shrugged. "Our school is called Fenghuang for a reason."
Cassian looked at Dumbledore as if he'd personally staged a heist.
Master Ji chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. "He even learned how to hide from Fenghuang guardians, dragons themselves. It was Mingyu's grandfather who taught you that, yes? That old goat Xu."
"It was a very long time ago." Dumbledore's smile was entirely unapologetic. "Why, is Deputy Headmaster Xu still causing you problems?"
Master Ji scoffed, "He is too... ambitious."
Bathsheda gave the bird a curious glance. "Did you steal a phoenix?"
Dumbledore coughed into his hand, the picture of innocence. "I won it. Fair and square."
Master Ji stared at him, flat as a brick. "Fair and square, he says."
Cassian nearly dropped his teacup. He wanted every detail, preferably written down and footnoted, but McGonagall cut across the growing chaos with a look sharp enough to shave stone.
"What are we going to do about the Goblet?" she said. "Since the Age Line is no longer reliable."
The room sobered quick.
Cassian set his drink down. "Right. We need something the students can't wiggle out of. They've already got ideas. I caught Weasley and Weasley drawing up blueprints on pudding."
He gave Bathsheda a look. She gave the same look back, half "go ahead" and half "this is absolutely your fault."
"How about you leave it to us?" Cassian said. "I'll build an illusion. Bathsheda can lay runes over it. We'll see anyone trying to slip through the Age Line before they even get a toe over it."
Bathsheda added, "And we can check intent as they approach. If someone's trying anything clever, we'll know."
Kingsley nodded. "That could work."
Karkaroff let out a low scoff. "Of course it could, but I'm not trusting you with it."
Cassian blinked. "Why? Because I used the word illusion?"
"No," Karkaroff said, chin lifting. "Because the Goblet is impartial. You-" he waved a hand at Cassian, Bathsheda, and half the group "-are not. I will not have Durmstrang's strongest students kept out so Hogwarts can give itself an advantage."
Cassian stared at him for a long second. "You think I'm going to rig a magical cup so Hogwarts wins?"
"Yes," Karkaroff snapped. "You are a Rosier."
Bathsheda's jaw clicked. The temperature in the room dipped slightly.
Cassian lifted his brows. "You're going to have to pick a better accusation. My family barely let me attend reunions. I can assure you, sabotaging school games isn't on my schedule."
Karkaroff folded his arms. "Intentions are not always clear."
"Mine are," Cassian said. "I don't want the Goblet chewing up a child. Any child. Yours included. The idea is simple. We keep the line fair. Not clever-proof, just fair."
Ekwensi nodded from her side. "Headmaster Karkaroff, if their illusion only alerts us to questionable attempts, not blocks them, where is the bias?"
Karkaroff scowled, but he didn't give an answer.
Master Ji raised his hand. "Let Cassian handle the perimeter."
Maxime raised her head. "Agreed. As long as no one interferes with legitimate entries."
Cassian pressed his palm over his heart. "Cross my heart and hope not to get eaten by a magical cup."
Dumbledore gave him a mild look, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. "I trust Cassian and Bathsheda to craft a boundary suitable for our needs. One that does not favour any school."
Karkaroff looked away. "Durmstrang refuses this method. If you're set on ignoring my say in this, we'll gladly return home."
Cassian shot him a glare. "You're welcome to pack tonight."
Dumbledore raised a hand before it escalated. "Then each Headmaster will add their own defence to the Age Line. Between that and my most recent adjustments, I doubt anyone underage will make it through. Still, no harm in being cautious."
Karkaroff didn't reply, just sneered.
Cassian leaned back in his chair, arms folded. "As long as it doesn't involve flinging curses at anyone under seventeen, be my guest.
"Fair warning though," He said, as he stood up, tone flat. "If, by any means, your defences fail and some underage student comes out that Goblet, I'm bringing this tournament down. One way or another."
Karkaroff's chair scraped back as he stood too, face twisting. "I allowed you to run your mouth because this is your home. But don't forget, you're just a teacher. Friends with Ji and Ekwensi or not, that doesn't mean you can speak as you please."
Cassian didn't flinch. He smiled, not a hint of warmth in it. "Igor, just because you're Headmaster of Durmstrang doesn't mean you can speak as you please. See, my post doesn't define my worth. Yours does. And that carpet under you?" He tipped his head. "Not as solid as you think. Keep that in mind before raising your voice again."
The room went still.
He turned. Held out his hand.
Bathsheda took it without a word.
The two of them walked out together, not looking back.
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