Author's Note: It's almost a pity to update after "Harry learns he can live forever... by becoming a bone marrow donor" [11-9-2018]...

Ripping off SeverlyLate's review on "Dumbledore Is An Idiot" (#10565601).

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

Harry's knuckles whitened as he clenched his hands into fists, almost not caring about the rest of Dumbledore's words. As everyone else rose and left, Ron nudged his shoulder, and Hermione peered at him curiously. "Harry? Harry, what's wrong?"

He took a deep breath. "Ron, Hermione - what was wrong about what Dumbledore said about the Age Line?"

The two looked at each other, perplexed. "Er... you could just attach the slip with your name to a fishing line and sling that across the Age Line?" Ron suggested.

Harry looked up at him, blinking, and shook his head. "That's... ingenious, but not what I was thinking. Here's a hint: it's got nothing to do with the Tournament. It didn't even happen this year."

He waited to see which one of them would get it first. Predictably, it was Hermione; from the way she was mouthing words silently, she had probably gone back through their misadventures in reverse order. It wouldn't have taken much time - most of the effort would be just figuring out what relevance the Age Line would even have had.

"Our first year - the locked room in the third-floor corridor," she said, her eyes widening. "It -"

"- had fewer protections upon it than a glorified entry box for a tournament," Harry completed. "I know the Triwizard Tournament's grand and all, but that or the philosopher's stone - I'd reckon one was a bit more important, don't you?"

"And more dangerous," Ron said darkly. "Or... it should have been, shouldn't it?" He blinked several times, and then his eyes narrowed. "What was going on there, anyway? First thing was Fluffy - pretty bad, but easy once you found out the trick. Then the Devil's Snare - a killer, but one that could be put off by a first-year spell." He nodded to Hermione. "Then a bunch of winged keys - which couldn't harm you, so I've got to conclude it was meant to waste time more than anything. Then the chess game - which a first-year could beat."

"You are pretty good," Harry said.

Ron scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks - but no twelve-year-old's that great. I reckon anyone reasonably skilled could beat it."

"And after that," Hermione picked up, "there was Quirrel's troll... but that was already beaten... and then Snape's logic puzzle." She shook her head. "It might work on many wizards - unfortunately - but it was definitely in range for a bright first-year. When I was younger, I would solve books full of those for fun."

"Yes," Harry said, drumming his fingers on the table. "There was nothing there that could keep out us 'ickle firsties'. Including the lock on the door, which was defeated, again, by a first-year. At least the Age Line would have cut out everyone below seventeen... though they could have beaten the protections sleepwalking." He took a breath. "Fortunately, none of them did. Just we three first-years... on the night that Dumbledore was conveniently absent, but not too absent... because he'd decided to respond to an urgent Ministry owl by traveling by broom rather than Apparation, Floo, or Portkey. Not exactly the fastest route, now is it?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. "Well," Hermione said weakly, "you can't Apparate within the grounds of Hogwarts, so..."

"So he could have Apparated as soon as he flew out of the grounds of Hogwarts?"

The uncomfortable silence resumed. "But... why?" Ron asked.

Harry looked from one of them to the other. "D'you remember what we thought back then?" he asked. "Even then - thinking something was a bit off?"

The three of them looked at each other...

"...D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"Well," Hermione exploded, "if he did — I mean to say — that's terrible — you could have been killed."

"No, it isn't," said Harry thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could…"

"...and yet we didn't understand the half of it, did we?" Harry mused, shaking his head. "We had no idea how inadequate the protections were - how it shouldn't have been possible for us to try in the first place, if he'd really used everything he could."

"What you're suggesting is absolutely horrible, Harry," Hermione said, but she ddin't sound angry at him. "If you mean to say that the whole thing was a set-up - that, somehow, all along, he intended for you to face You-Know-Who-"

"If you want to talk about 'absolutely horrible', Hermione," Ron said slowly, "what about you being the only one to figure out Slytherin's monster was a basilisk?" She stared at him; he held up a hand. "Hear me out. You were a second-year, right? Brilliant, yeah, but you don't hear Dumbledore letting second-years into this Tournament. Why didn't anyone else in the school figure it out? Dumbledore included!"

Hermione, who had been about to protest, looked pensive. "I honestly don't know, Ron. That's..."

"Ron," Harry said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, "you're ruining the beautiful story Dumbledore told me about his phoenix knowing to find me in the Chamber because I showed him true loyalty." It was second only to the one about the goodness of his mother's love burning a man's face off.

They sat in silence for a few restless minutes before Harry abruptly swore and banged his fist on the table. "Harry, language!" Hermione exclaimed at the same time Ron asked, "What's wrong?"

"Tomorrow is Halloween," he ground out. "Every single Halloween, something bad happens." He ticked off his fingers. "First year, Hermione nearly gets done in by a troll. Second year, the Heir shows up. Third, Sirius attacks the Fat Lady." He took a breath. "And this year, they're going to announce the Champions for a dangerous, difficult Tournament which will absolutely bind its victims - sorry, contestants - to see it through. A Tournament for which a fourth-year definitely isn't prepared. A Tournament where, as you pointed out, Ron, someone could just sling a name into the Goblet using a fishing line. What could possibly go wrong?"

His two friends looked a bit ill. "Harry," Ron began, "would it be - would it be so bad if you got to be the school's representative in an international tournament?"

"No, between a Headmaster oddly interested in making sure I get stuck facing Voldemort and Voldemort's 'faithful servant' at Hogwarts, whoever that is, I'm sure everything will be just fine."

"What faithful servant, Harry?" asked Hermione, peering at him curiously.

Harry sighed, pressing a finger against his scar, and wondered quite how to explain the matter. In retrospect, he'd have taken all the shrill and panicky advice in the world in exchange for getting out of the catastrophe which, he was increasingly sure, was soon to be upon him...

Author's Note: I am well aware that the usual excuse is that a certain amount of incompetence is required for the story to work. In-universe, however, there is no story - only a lot of oddly-specific incompetence on the part of the man with a plan. It is canon, not fanon, that summarizes said plan as "you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter".