Once the Goblet of Fire chose you, the magic binding it ant you had to compete.
That was why, in the original story, even knowing it was a trap, they had still been forced to push Harry in.
Ethan mused to himself, "The Goblet of Fire feels a lot like a sacrificial altar. Ancestors carefully screen the candidates, then a series of trials selects the strongest offering."
"Would not be surprising if that was literally what it was used for in ancient tis."
He snapped his fingers and burned the letter to ash.
A glance at the clock told him it was nearly ti.
He rose, pinned on his gleaming prefect badge, and strolled out of the dormitory as if he owned the place.
There were perks to authority.
"I am very curious," he thought, "what thod Barty intends to use that could possibly get killed in a Tournant I designed."
It was deep night, quiet as the grave.
A door creaked.
A gap just wide enough for a person opened in the wards around the classroom, then sealed again.
No one noticed.
Disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, Barty Jr exhaled in relief. Wrapped in the blur of a Disillusionnt Charm, he lifted his head cautiously.
He saw the golden cup brimming with ghostly blue fire.
And the figure standing beside it.
He would never forget that pure white mask as long as he lived.
Mr Lamp.
Barty's eyes went wide. He had not expected Mr Lamp to co in person tonight.
That letter was ant only to outline the next step and make coordination easier.
Yet Mr Lamp had simply slipped through Hogwarts' layers of protection and invaded the castle, coming and going as he pleased, as if he lived here.
A chill crawled up Barty's spine. Mr Lamp's strength felt more unfathomable than ever.
Then a low, elegant voice resonated in the empty classroom.
"Mr Crouch. What are you waiting for?"
Barty flinched and hurriedly dropped the Disillusionnt Charm.
He stepped forward respectfully. "My apologies. I was only… surprised to see you here."
Of course, a re Disillusionnt Charm could not fool Mr Lamp.
That sharp gaze reminded him of Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye.
Although at the mont, that very eye was still fixed firmly in his own scarred face.
"Begin," Mr Lamp – Ethan – said with a slight nod, every inch the superior.
"Yes."
Barty raised his ever-present wand and recited a long, intricate incantation.
As the spell took hold, his whole presence shifted, becoming hazy and indistinct, the sort of thing that made the eye slide off and the mind go foggy.
To soone as perceptive as Ethan, it was especially obvious.
Perception had been altered.
He arched a brow.
It was like seeing a boy walk into the girls' bathroom and sohow feeling that nothing at all was wrong.
This was a high-tier Confundus Charm, strong enough to fool the protections Dumbledore had laid down.
Interesting.
Ethan's eyes glinted. A plan began to form.
The pale fla roared, swallowed the slip of parchnt, and flickered a few tis before settling into its usual steady burn.
When nothing else happened, Barty let out a slow breath.
Success.
Triumph lit his eyes, and he grinned, sharp with satisfaction.
Now, Ethan would have to be chosen and forced to compete.
If the Goblet failed to select him, Barty might as well stand on his head and eat snow.
Just as he was savouring his success, Mr Lamp spoke.
"Write that Confundus Charm down for ."
Barty looked up, eting the black holes of the white mask.
His heart lurched. "This…"
The powerful Confundus Charm was sothing the Dark Lord himself had taught him. Without it, he could never have slipped past Dumbledore's magic.
It was precious and dangerous.
He had no wish to hand it over.
"What is it, you refuse?" Ethan's tone cooled.
"N-no, of course not."
Gritting his teeth, Barty lifted his wand and traced the incantation in the air, word by word.
It would be fine. A bare incantation was nothing. Without the corresponding spell model, no one could master it from theory alone.
[You have learned: Powerful Confundus Charm – Cognitive Impairnt.]
Behind the mask, Ethan smiled.
With his polished encyclopaedic talent, he could reconstruct the spell model from the wording alone.
Not to ntion, Barty Jr. had just chanted it out loud.
The pattern of the charm was already etched into Ethan's mind.
It might prove very handy at the final mont.
He tipped his head. "That will do."
"Y-yes."
Barty lowered his wand, unease crawling over his skin.
Sothing felt wrong, though he could not say what. In the end, he could only bla Mr Lamp's very nature.
When it ca to "unnerving," Ethan and Mr Lamp had a great deal in common.
Ethan, as Mr Lamp himself, asked mildly, "How exactly do you plan to get rid of Ethan during the Tournant? You do realise he is running the event?"
Barty pushed his doubts aside and smiled, sly and pleased with himself. "I have a plan for that."
On the day the champions were announced, the Great Hall was packed.
Students from all three schools crowded together, eyes fixed on the Goblet of Fire at the front.
Since almost all the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students had chosen to sit with Ravenclaw, that side of the Hall was cramd shoulder to shoulder.
Compared to that, the other three House tables looked rather forlorn.
"First, let us welco the delegations from our two guest schools to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "And welco as well two departnt heads from the Ministry of Magic, Mr Ludo Bagman and Mr Barty Crouch, who will be serving as judges."
"That Crouch bloke looks awful," Michael whispered.
Ethan glanced over.
It was true. The man looked as if a Veela had drained him dry. His face was ashen, his cheeks sunken, dark shadows pooled under his eyes, and anxiety clung to him like a fog.
Ethan knew why.
His Death Eater son had gone missing.
In other words, he had thrown a live bomb into the world and had no idea when it might go off.
In a crisis like that, he had still chosen to conceal it and hope for the best.
In the end, he paid with his life, and Cedric died indirectly because of him.
Ethan shook his head. "Everyone in the Ministry is mad."
Michael stared at him.
Ethan's smile flashed bright. "Fortunately, all the mbers of the Morning Star are perfectly normal, decent people."
Who could, in due ti, be slotted into the Ministry.
Understanding the implication, Michael shivered and whipped his head back toward the front, wisely keeping his mouth shut.
Ravenclaw indeed.
"Now, we shall announce the champions chosen by the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore said.
The Hall drew a collective breath.
Every gaze locked on the burning cup, hearts pounding.
Blue fla surged up and spat out slip after slip.
"The champions for Durmstrang – Viktor Krum."
A roar of rough cheers and applause shook the hall.
Krum's bear-like bulk rose from his seat. He pumped a fist in the air.
"Show them what you can do," Karkaroff said, clapping his shoulder and not even glancing at the other Durmstrang candidates.
"The champions for Beauxbatons – Fleur Delacour."
Fleur gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. Her blue-green eyes blazed, bright enough to steal the souls of every boy nearby.
She stood with effortless grace, tilting her chin toward Ethan's table with cool pride.
After the six Beauxbatons champions were announced, it was finally Hogwarts' turn.
"The champion for Hogwarts – Cedric Diggory."
For a heartbeat, the Hall went still.
Then cheers exploded like a storm.
"Cedric! He's one of ours, Hufflepuff!"
"He's a Hufflepuff hero!"
Face flushed, Cedric stood. His handso features shone with fierce confidence.
Watch , Father. I will make you proud.
"And Harry Potter, George Weasley, Fred Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom," Dumbledore continued.
He looked up into a sea of stunned faces.
Who?
Third-year Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom, who could barely manage basic spells?
How was that reasonable?
Hermione slamd a fist on the table, cheeks burning, tears standing in her eyes.
It had never once crossed her mind that Luna would be chosen when she was not.
She knew so much more than Luna.
In the middle of it all, Luna's expression did not so much as ripple. She only smiled, eyes curving. "Wonderful, Ethan, I was chosen."
"I never doubted you would be," Ethan said gently, ruffling her hair.
As for Neville Longbottom, he looked as if the parchnt were not his at all, frozen in total shock.
Only when Dumbledore kindly reminded everyone to applaud their champions did the Hall jolt back to life and offer clapping that was at least passable.
"Hmph," Karkaroff scoffed. "So these are Hogwarts' choices. Looks like victory is ours."
"Each school has six, eighteen champions in total," Dumbledore said. "To those not selected, do not lose heart. This does not an you lack talent."
He gave shell-shocked Hermione a reassuring wink.
"Each school is free to decide which three of its six champions will take part in each of the three tasks…"
Before he could finish, the Goblet behind him gave a sharp crack.
Another slip of parchnt shot out.
Dumbledore's brows lifted.
In full view of the Hall, he reached out and caught the charred scrap.
Slowly, he read, "Ethan Vincent."
Silence fell like a curtain.
Karkaroff sprayed tea and nearly choked himself, eyes bulging.
Who? Who did you say?
"Wasn't the selection finished? How is there another na?" Bagman muttered, looking around in confusion.
"It should not be Ethan Vincent," Crouch said heavily.
He leaned forward, fingers knotting together, a powerful sense of dread rising in his chest.
"Ethan Vincent," Dumbledore repeated, raising his voice.
He looked toward the Ravenclaw table, where a figure was slowly rising.
"Mr Vincent," he asked calmly, "did you put this slip into the Goblet yourself?"
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