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Harry stretched his legs under the Ravenclaw table, grateful to be sitting after shepherding Beauxbatons students through what felt like every drafty corridor and moving staircase in the castle. His throat felt raw from hours of explaining Hogwarts' peculiarities in his embarrassingly mediocre French.
Cedric dropped onto the bench beside him, looking equally exhausted but somehow still managing to appear effortlessly put-together. Harry had long suspected some kind of charm was involved-no one's hair should remain that perfectly tousled after climbing seventeen flights of stairs.
"So," Harry nudged his friend, "how was your afternoon with the Durmstrang delegation? Did you show them all the best broom closets for brooding in?"
Cedric groaned, reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "I've never met so many people who refuse to smile. It's like their faces might crack if they showed any emotion beyond grim determination." He poured himself a glass and took a long swallow. "I think it would be easier to make Professor Snape smile than to get a Durmstrang student to laugh."
"That's not a high bar," Harry snorted. "All Snape needs to smile is Hogwarts losing about three hundred house points in one go. Preferably from Gryffindor."
Luna, who had been arranging her peas in concentric circles nearby, looked up with her dreamy expression. "It's the nargles' fault, you know. Durmstrang students learn dark magic and practice it regularly. Using dark magic has a negative impact on the soul and magic of the user. It's why they all look like they've been sucking on lemon drops soaked in misery potion."
Harry bit back a smile. Luna's observations often veered into the realm of the absurd, but occasionally contained kernels of uncomfortable truth. He'd noticed how the Durmstrang students' eyes seemed to hold shadows that didn't match their age-like they'd seen things no teenager should.
The sharp tap of silver against crystal cut through the chatter as Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head table.
"Good evening," Dumbledore's voice carried effortlessly. "I wish to formally welcome our distinguished guests from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute. May your stay at Hogwarts be both educational and enjoyable." His eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles as he swept his gaze across the hall. "In the spirit of international magical cooperation, I believe some cultural exchange is in order."
Harry's attention drifted to the Beauxbatons students at his table. Most looked politely interested, though Fleur Delacour maintained her expression of indifference. The candlelight caught in her silver-blonde hair, creating a halo effect that Harry found annoyingly perfect. Everything about her seemed designed to draw attention-even when she was simply sitting still.
A harsh scraping sound drew his focus back to the front of the Hall. Igor Karkaroff had stood up, his silver furs rippling as he clapped his hands sharply.
"Durmstrang!" he barked. "Show them what you are capable of!"
Seven students, five boys including Viktor Krum and two stern-faced girls—rose from the Hufflepuff table and marched toward the front of the Hall. Their movements were military-like, as if they were soldiers marching to war, boots clicking against the stone floor.
Wands extended in identical gestures, the Durmstrang students began their display. Harry leaned forward, eager to see what Drumstrange students could do. Shadow smoke poured from their wands, spreading across the floor like liquid night. The darkness writhed and coalesced, forming serpentine shapes that slithered between tables before rising up in synchronized spirals.
The shadowy snakes twisted skyward, converging at a single point above the staff table. They merged into a massive serpent that hung suspended for one breathtaking moment before exploding into thousands of obsidian fragments that dissipated like dark stars.
Applause erupted throughout the Hall. Even Harry found himself reluctantly impressed by the technical control required for such coordinated spellwork.
"Bit theatrical, isn't it?" Cedric whispered, though he was clapping along with everyone else. "I could do better than that with a couple of seventh-years and fifteen minutes of practice."
"Says the boy who spent three hours perfecting a spell to make his hair look windswept for the Hogsmeade weekend last year," Harry replied.
Cedric's retort died on his lips as the Beauxbatons contingent rose gracefully from their seats. Four students moved to the front: three girls and one boy. Fleur Delacour was among them, of course, her blue uniform somehow looking more elegant than her classmates' identical attire.
As she passed Harry's seat, she caught his eye with a glance that felt like a gauntlet being thrown. Watch this, her expression seemed to say. This is what real magic looks like.
Harry found himself sitting straighter, his criticism momentarily suspended by curiosity. What would the princess of Beauxbatons consider impressive magic?
He wasn't disappointed. With synchronized movements that looked more like a choreographed dance than the military precision of Durmstrang, the four students began manipulating the flames from the Hall's many candles and fireplaces. The fire responded like a living thing, stretching and flowing toward them in ribbons of gold and crimson.
Harry's analytical mind noted that while all four students were clearly talented, Fleur was handling the bulk of the magic. Her wand movements were subtly more complex, her control more precise as she shaped the fire into living creatures—phoenixes, hippogriffs, and creatures Harry didn't recognize from any textbook.
The fiery menagerie danced through the air, casting warm light across upturned faces. A phoenix swooped low over the Ravenclaw table, close enough that Harry felt the heat brush his cheeks. It felt oddly personal, as if Fleur had directed it specifically his way.
Around him, Harry noticed many of the boys watching with expressions ranging from awestruck to embarrassingly besotted. A fourth-year Hufflepuff was actually drooling slightly, a line of saliva catching the firelight. Harry shook his head, grateful that whatever Veela heritage Fleur possessed did not seem to affect him.
When the fire creatures finally dissolved into a shower of golden sparks that rained down harmlessly over the tables, the applause was thunderous, particularly from the male population. Even the stern-faced Durmstrang students looked grudgingly impressed.
Harry joined in the applause sincerely. Whatever his feelings about Fleur's personality, her magic was undeniably beautiful—controlled power shaped with artistic flair rather than brute force.
As the Beauxbatons students returned to their seats, Fleur slid gracefully into place across from him. Her cheeks were flushed slightly from the exertion, making her look momentarily more human and less like a perfect marble statue.
"That was amazing magic," Harry said.
Fleur's eyebrows rose slightly, clearly caught off-guard by the compliment. A small smile played at the corner of her lips—not her usual cool, superior expression, but something that looked almost genuine.
"Better zan anything Hogwarts can produce, non?" she asked, her smugness returning a little.
Harry felt a competitive smile spread across his face. "Hogwarts hasn't had its turn yet."
Before Fleur could respond, Dumbledore's voice rang out once more. "Magnificent displays from our guests! And now, to represent Hogwarts, may I call upon Mr. Harry Potter?"
Harry felt a jolt of surprise. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned this part of the evening to him. Across the table, Fleur's expression mirrored his own astonishment, her perfect composure slipping for just a moment. Unlike her school's coordinated display, he would be performing alone.
No pressure, then, he thought wryly, rising from his seat.
As he walked toward the front of the Hall, his mind raced through possible spells. Fleur had demonstrated beauty and control; Durmstrang had shown power and precision. What could he do that would represent Hogwarts' unique magic?
Taking his position before the staff table, Harry felt hundreds of eyes upon him. Fleur was watching with curiosity. Well, if she wanted a show, he'd give her one.
Harry raised his wand and began casting. He started with a modified version of the weather charm they'd learned in Flitwick's advanced study group, but twisted it with elements of transfiguration. "Caelum Argentum," he murmured, then added, "Astrum Vivere."
Silver rain began falling from the enchanted ceiling, but instead of reaching the tables, each droplet transformed mid-air into a tiny, glittering star. The stars hovered and multiplied until the Great Hall was filled with a galaxy of silver pinpoints that cast everyone in gentle, ethereal light.
With another flick of his wand, Harry began shaping the stars into animals—not the standard classroom transfigurations, but creatures that seemed to represent the essence of the people they approached. A graceful doe pranced toward Professor McGonagall. A wise-looking owl perched in mid-air near Dumbledore, who chuckled appreciatively.
A mischievous lion cub formed near Fleur, pouncing playfully on starlight. Harry hadn't consciously planned that particular shape, and he noticed her eyes widen slightly as it batted at her sleeve with silver paws.
Near Snape, a particularly grumpy-looking bat materialized, causing the Potions Master to direct a withering glare at Harry. Harry kept his expression innocently focused on his spellwork.
With a final sweeping motion, Harry gathered all the silver creatures into a swirling vortex that coalesced into a magnificent stag. The silver stag galloped through the air, leaving glittering hoof prints suspended like constellations. It leapt from table to table, circled the entire Hall, then charged upward in a burst of radiant light.
The light separated into four distinct streams—red, yellow, blue, and green—that transformed into the symbols of Hogwarts houses: a roaring lion, a mighty eagle, a badger, and a sinuous serpent. Each creature descended to hover above its corresponding house table before rising again to merge into the Hogwarts crest, which hung suspended in the center of the Hall.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Harry said simply, lowering his wand as the spell completed itself.
The applause was immediate and enthusiastic, especially from the Ravenclaw table, where several students had risen to their feet. Even some of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students were clapping with genuine appreciation.
As Harry returned to his seat, he was met with congratulatory slaps on the back and impressed comments from his housemates. Luna was beaming at him, her radish earrings swinging as she bounced excitedly in her seat.
"That was very impressive magic," came Fleur's voice, cutting through the chatter around him.
Harry looked up, certain he'd misheard. Fleur Delacour was regarding him with what appeared to be genuine respect—a far cry from her previous disdainful glances.
"You're surprised?" he asked, unable to keep a hint of smugness from his voice.
"I know good magic when I see it," she replied simply. "Even when it comes from a too-clever Hogwarts boy with an annoying smile."
Before Harry could formulate a suitable response to this backhanded compliment, Dumbledore reclaimed everyone's attention by unveiling a large, roughly-hewn wooden cup that emitted blue-white flames.
"The Goblet of Fire," the Headmaster announced. "Those who wish to compete in the Triwizard Tournament should submit their names to the Goblet within the next twenty-four hours. The champions will be selected tomorrow evening."
Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled as he surveyed the room. "However, I understand that many of you may feel disappointed at being unable to participate in the Tournament, whether due to age restrictions or simply not being selected by the Goblet, since only one can be selected from each school. Therefore, I am pleased to announce a secondary competition open to all students in their third year or above."
Excited whispers erupted throughout the Hall.
"A Duelling Race," Dumbledore continued, "with progressive rounds throughout the year. The final round will take place two weeks before the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, the one in third place will receive 100 gallons, the one in second place will receive 200 gallons, and the one in first place will receive 500 gallons and a cup, the best student duellist of United Kingdoms. Even those chosen as Triwizard champions may participate, though I caution that competing in both events would be exceptionally demanding."
Harry felt a surge of anticipation. This was unexpected—and perfect. At fourteen, he couldn't enter the Tournament, but a duelling competition? That he could do.
"Hogwarts students wishing to participate should submit their names to Professor Flitwick within the week," Dumbledore explained. "Durmstrang students will register with Headmaster Karkaroff, and Beauxbatons students with Madame Maxime."
Harry's eyes met Fleur's across the table. There was no mistaking the challenge in her gaze, nor the answering competitive fire that ignited in his chest. If he couldn't compete against her in the Tournament, the duelling competition would provide ample opportunity to see which of them was truly the more skilled magical practitioner.
"Planning to enter, Potter?" Fleur asked, her accent making his name sound more exotic than it had any right to.
"Wouldn't miss it," Harry replied. "Though I hope you won't be too disappointed when you lose to a fourteen-year-old."
Instead of the sharp retort he expected, Fleur's lips curved into a genuine smile that transformed her face from merely beautiful to something that made Harry's breath catch embarrassingly in his throat.
"I look forward to ze challenge," she said. "Perhaps you will even make it to ze final round before I defeat you."
"Confident, aren't you?" Harry found himself smiling back.
"I am simply stating facts," she replied with a delicate shrug. "But I suppose we will see, non?"
"I suppose we will," Harry agreed, raising his goblet in a mock toast.
The excited buzz following Dumbledore's announcement of the Duelling Race barely had time to settle before the Great Hall erupted into a different sort of chaos—the frantic strategizing of potential champions. All around the Ravenclaw table, students were turning to each other with wide eyes and hushed voices.
"Roger, you're entering, right?" Anthony Goldstein nudged the Quidditch captain. "You've got the best reflexes in Ravenclaw."
Roger Davies puffed up visibly. "Of course. Been practicing advanced shield charms all summer."
The seventh-years were already huddled at the end of the table, comparing notes on which spells might be most impressive to the Goblet. Harry caught snippets about "demonstrating leadership qualities" and "projecting confidence onto the parchment," which seemed like exactly the sort of overthinking one would expect from Ravenclaws.
Across the Hall, Harry noticed a similar scene playing out at the Hufflepuff table, where a crowd had formed around Cedric. The Hufflepuff was handling the attention with his usual easy grace, though Harry could spot the slight tension in his shoulders that appeared whenever too many people focused on him at once.
"Oi, Diggory!" Harry called out, seizing the opportunity to rescue his friend. "Come settle a debate!"
Cedric shot him a grateful look and extracted himself from the group. "What's the debate?" he asked, sliding onto the bench next to Harry.
"Whether you'll be entering the Tournament," Harry replied. "Though I think the real question is whether the Goblet will be foolish enough to choose you."
Cedric clutched his chest in mock offense. "Foolish? I'll have you know I'm the pride of Hufflepuff."
"That's like being the spiciest dish at a British restaurant," Harry deadpanned. "The bar isn't exactly high."
"Says the boy who can't even enter," Cedric retorted. "But yes, I am entering. Someone has to bring glory to Hogwarts when you're busy in detention for antagonizing an oversized bat."
"My detention schedule is completely unrelated to the Tournament," Harry insisted. "Besides, you should be thanking me. With me out of the running, your chances just improved dramatically."
"Your modesty continues to inspire," Cedric said dryly.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the Ravenclaw table, the Beauxbatons students were engaged in similar discussions, though with considerably more elegant hand gestures. Harry couldn't understand all of their rapid French, but he caught Fleur's name repeatedly. The blonde witch seemed to be the clear favorite among her peers, a fact she acknowledged with gracious nods that somehow still managed to convey absolute certainty in her own superiority.
"You know," Harry said to Cedric, lowering his voice, "if you get chosen, you'll have to compete against her." He nodded toward Fleur, who was now explaining something to a rapt audience of both Beauxbatons and Hogwarts students. "I'm not sure the Tournament rules allow for competitors to be distracted by excessive hair-flipping."
Cedric snorted. "Please. I'm nearly immune to Veela charm."
"That's not what I saw during the Quidditch World Cup," Harry reminded him. "Weren't you the one who nearly climbed over the railing when the Bulgarian mascots came out?"
"That was—" Cedric flushed. "Different circumstances."
"Mhmm." Harry nodded sagely. "I'm sure Cho would love to hear all about these 'different circumstances.'"
"Speaking of things people would love to hear," Cedric changed the subject smoothly, "how about that spell you cast? Since when can you do weather manipulation combined with animation transfiguration?"
"Since I spent the summer with my nose in advanced Charms texts because Sirius thought I needed 'constructive hobbies' after he caught me trying to enchant his motorcycle." Harry grinned at the memory of his godfather's face when he'd found Harry elbow-deep in the motorcycle's engine, wand dangerously close to the fuel tank.
Their banter was interrupted by a soft voice with a French accent. "Excuse me?"
Harry looked up to see one of the Beauxbatons students—the petite brunette who'd thanked him for the warming charm. Sophie's friend, if he remembered correctly.
"Margaret, right?" he asked.
She looked pleased that he'd remembered, and her face turned a little red. "Oui. I was wondering, would you enter ze Tournament if you could? If you were old enough?"
Harry considered the question, aware that several nearby students had paused their conversations to hear his answer. Fleur, he noticed, was pretending not to listen while somehow angling her body perfectly to catch every word.
"Why not?" he said with a casual shrug. "It can't be worse than facing a Basilisk."
Margaret giggled, assuming he was joking. Most of the listeners did the same, though Harry noticed Fleur's eyes narrow slightly, as if trying to determine whether he was serious.
Cedric and Luna, however, didn't laugh. Cedric winced almost imperceptibly, while Luna nodded as if Harry had just commented on the weather.
"The Basilisk's scales were quite lovely," Luna said dreamily. "Though I imagine they'd be even prettier if attached to a living snake rather than a dead one."
Now Margaret looked confused, her laughter faltering. "You are... serious?"
"Second year was eventful," Harry said vaguely, waving off the question. "Anyway, I could still enter if I wanted to."
"Non," Margaret shook her head. "Dumledory said—"
"The age line," Cedric interrupted. "You can't cross it, Harry. Not unless you've suddenly aged three years overnight."
"Don't need to cross it," Harry replied, leaning back with the air of someone who'd already solved a puzzle everyone else was still struggling with. "I could just write my name and 'Hogwarts' on a piece of parchment, crumple it into a ball, and throw it through the opening from outside the line."
The silence that followed was almost comical. Several students' mouths dropped open.
"Keep throwing until I score," Harry continued, warming to his idea. "Or better yet, I could give the parchment to Hedwig and have her drop it in from above. Like a feathery bomb."
"Merlin's pants," Cedric groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "Did you have to say that out loud? Now every underage student is going to try it."
As if on cue, Harry heard excited whispers spreading outward from their spot like ripples in a pond. A second-year Gryffindor was already scribbling something on a scrap of parchment, while the Weasley twins exchanged the kind of looks that generally preceded chaos.
Fleur had abandoned all pretense of not listening and was now openly staring at Harry with an expression of disbelief.
"It won't work," she declared, joining their conversation uninvited. "Ze Goblet is an ancient magical artifact. It cannot be fooled by something so... childish."
"Maybe," Harry conceded. "But isn't that the fun of magic? Finding out what works?"
"By breaking ze rules?" Her tone was disapproving.
"By thinking creatively," Harry corrected. "Besides, I'm not actually going to do it. I'm just pointing out that Dumbledore's age line only stops people from crossing it—not objects moving through the air above it."
A small crowd had gathered around them now, hanging on every word of this unexpected debate. Even some of the stern-faced Durmstrang students had drifted closer, though they maintained their customary scowls.
"Anyway," Harry added with deliberate casualness, "I've got the Duelling Race to look forward to. No need to enter the Tournament too. Wouldn't want to be greedy."
"How considerate," Fleur replied, her voice rich with sarcasm. "Leaving ze Tournament to those of us with both ze age and ability to compete properly."
"Exactly," Harry agreed cheerfully. "I'd hate to embarrass the older students by outperforming them."
Luna, who had been observing the exchange with serene interest, suddenly spoke up. "I think the Goblet would choose Harry if it could," she said matter-of-factly. "It's attracted to people with interesting destiniess."
This statement, delivered with Luna's typical dreamy conviction, was met with bemused looks from the foreign students and fond eye-rolls from the Hogwarts crowd, who were accustomed to Luna's unique perspectives.
"Is she always like zis?" Margaret whispered to Harry, not quite quietly enough.
"Luna sees things the rest of us miss," Harry replied simply, his tone making it clear that while Luna's observations might be unusual, they weren't to be dismissed.
The awkward moment was broken by the loud, theatrical voice of Fred Weasley from across the Hall. "Oi, Potter! How high d'you reckon an owl would need to fly to drop something into the Goblet?"
"And do you think a fanged frisbee would work if we wrote a name on it?" George added.
Cedric shot Harry an accusatory look. "See what you've started?"
Harry grinned unrepentantly. "Just adding some excitement to the selection process."
"As if a tournament with a history of deaths needs more excitement," Cedric muttered.
"Deaths?" Margaret squeaked, her eyes widening.
"Historical footnotes," Harry assured her, though he noticed Fleur's expression had grown more thoughtful. "The modern Tournament is perfectly safe, I'm sure. They've probably removed all the Bloodsuckers and man-eating plants."
"There were never any man-eating plants," Cedric corrected.
"Are you sure?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Because I distinctly remember reading about the Tournament of 1792 where a champion was consumed by a—"
"He's joking," Cedric interrupted, seeing Margaret's increasing alarm. "The Tournament has been redesigned with safety in mind."
Fleur, who had been watching this exchange with growing amusement, finally spoke. "You 'ave an interesting way of reassuring people, Potter."
"I find that realistic expectations lead to fewer unpleasant surprises," Harry replied.
"And what are your realistic expectations for ze Duelling Race?" she asked, a challenge in her voice.
Harry met her gaze directly. "That it'll be a chance to see what Beauxbatons' finest is really capable of—beyond pretty light shows."
Instead of taking offense, Fleur's lips curved into a smile that contained equal parts amusement and competitive fire. "I look forward to showing you. Perhaps you will even learn something useful."
"I'm always eager to learn," Harry assured her. "Especially about different ways to lose gracefully. I could demonstrate for you after I win."
A ripple of "ooohs" spread through the listening students. Cedric rolled his eyes heavenward, as if asking for divine patience.
"Children," he sighed. "I'm surrounded by children."
"Says the boy who's entering a tournament that hasn't been held in two centuries because it was too dangerous," Harry pointed out.
"Fair point," Cedric conceded. "Though at least I'm not suggesting creative ways to circumvent magical security measures in front of the entire school."
"No," Harry agreed. "You save your rule-breaking for more private venues. Like that time with the prefects' bathroom and the—"
"And I think that's enough reminiscing," Cedric said hastily, clapping a hand over Harry's mouth. "Don't you have some first-years to terrify with basilisk stories or something?"
Harry removed Cedric's hand. "Already checked that off my to-do list for the day. Right after 'cause international incident' and 'earn detention with Snape.'"
"Productive day," Luna observed.
"I try," Harry said modestly.
As the evening wore on and students began drifting toward their dormitories, Harry noticed that his casual suggestion had indeed sparked a wave of creativity. Already, several students were testing the distance from the age line to the Goblet, while others were sketching what appeared to be elaborate delivery mechanisms involving everything from enchanted paper airplanes to trained mice.
Fleur paused beside him on her way out. "You enjoy causing chaos, don't you?"
"I prefer to think of it as encouraging innovative problem-solving," Harry replied. "A valuable skill for any champion."
"Let us hope ze Tournament tests more zan just how well one throws paper," she said dryly.
"If it comes down to that, my Seeker training gives me an advantage," Harry pointed out.
"Always so confident," Fleur shook her head.
Cedric, who had watched this exchange with interest, nudged Harry's shoulder. "You know, for someone who claimed to find her insufferable, you two seem to be getting along suspiciously well today."
"We're not getting along," Harry protested. "We're establishing the parameters of our rivalry."
"Right," Cedric nodded, clearly unconvinced. "That's definitely what that was."
"What else would it be?" Harry asked, genuinely confused.
Cedric just laughed and stood up. "You'll figure it out eventually."
"What? Why would she—" Harry began, but Cedric was already walking away, leaving Harry with far more questions than answers and the distinct feeling that he was missing something obvious.
Luna patted his hand consolingly. "Don't worry, Harry. The nargles are just making things foggy. They'll clear eventually."
Somehow, that wasn't as reassuring as she probably intended.
The Great Hall had emptied gradually, students filtering out in excited clusters still debating Tournament strategies and paper-ball trajectories. Harry lingered at the Ravenclaw table, pretending to gather his things while actually watching Fred and George Weasley conduct what appeared to be impromptu target practice with wadded parchment at the far end of the Hall.
"Mr. Potter."
The quiet voice behind him belonged to Dumbledore. Harry turned to find the Headmaster standing with his hands clasped behind his back, blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. Despite the late hour, the old wizard looked as alert as ever.
"A moment of your time, if you please."
Harry nodded, rising from the bench. "Of course, Professor."
They walked together toward the staff table, their footsteps echoing in the now-empty Hall. The Goblet of Fire stood on its pedestal. Dumbledore's age line encircled it—an innocent-looking golden thread on the stone floor that contained magic far more complex than its appearance suggested.
"I couldn't help but notice," Dumbledore began conversationally, "that you've introduced a rather creative interpretation of my age line's limitations to your fellow students."
Harry attempted to look contrite, but the effort was undermined by the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The paper ball method, you mean?"
"Indeed." Dumbledore's tone was mild, but there was an undercurrent of amusement that Harry had long since learned to recognize. "I find myself curious why you would suggest such a strategy, knowing full well it won't actually work."
Harry's pretense at innocence dissolved into a full-blown smirk. "It'll be the best prank of the year, Professor. By breakfast, half the underage students in the castle will be hurling paper balls at the Goblet."
"And when they discover their efforts are futile?"
"That's the beauty of it," Harry explained, warming to his subject. "They'll try increasingly ridiculous methods. Enchanted paper airplanes, levitation charms, slingshots made from the Weasleys Twins ..." He gestured enthusiastically. "By tomorrow night, this place will be a war zone of failed delivery systems."
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "All while you sit back and observe the chaos you've unleashed."
"For purely educational purposes," Harry assured him. "Nothing teaches the limitations of magical workarounds like firsthand failure."
"How very... pedagogical of you," Dumbledore observed dryly. "Though I suspect your motives may not be entirely academic."
"I've always been interested in experimental magic," Harry replied with wide-eyed innocence.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled more intensely. "I see Sirius continues to be a terrible influence on your development as a responsible young wizard."
"Sirius?" Harry said as if he was insulted that Dumbledore would suggest such a thing. "He specifically told me not to get into trouble this year."
"Did he, indeed?"
"His exact words were 'Don't get caught doing anything I wouldn't do,'" Harry confirmed. "Though in fairness, that doesn't rule out much."
A chuckle escaped the Headmaster. "Your godfather always did have a unique approach to rule-following. I recall a particularly memorable incident involving enchanted snowballs and the entire Slytherin Quidditch team."
"He mentioned that," Harry grinned. "Said it was worth every detention."
"As I recall, he was still serving those detentions at graduation." Dumbledore shook his head, but his expression remained fond. "I trust you'll at least ensure no one is injured during this... educational experiment?"
"Of course, Professor." Harry nodded solemnly. "Chaos, not casualties."
"A motto your father would have appreciated." Dumbledore gestured toward the entrance. "Off you go, then. I suspect you'll want to be well-rested for tomorrow's entertainment."
Harry turned to leave, then paused. "Professor? Just out of curiosity—what would happen if someone did manage to get a paper ball into the Goblet?"
"Nothing whatsoever," Dumbledore replied serenely. "The Goblet requires direct placement by hand. A detail I'm certain you were aware of when you suggested your creative method."
"I may have read something about that," Harry admitted.
"Indeed." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again. "Good night, Mr. Potter. Do try to look surprised tomorrow when your classmates report their failures."
"I'll practice my shocked face tonight," Harry promised, walking backward toward the door.
"See that you do," Dumbledore called after him. "Your current expression suggests anticipation rather than innocence."
Harry's laughter echoed in the empty Hall as he slipped out the doors, already imagining tomorrow's spectacle of increasingly desperate paper-throwing attempts. Sometimes, he reflected, the best magic wasn't in spells at all, but in knowing exactly how people would react when challenged by what seemed like a simple loophole.
Sirius would definitely approve.
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