Authors note: This will desperately need an editor. Also im lazy, so you'll likely find tons of artefacts from various storylines i've explored.

1. The Goblet of Fire

The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as students gathered for breakfast, the morning light filtering through the enchanted ceiling. Harry, Ron, and Hermione found their usual seats at the Gryffindor table, where plates of toast, eggs, and sausages shimmered invitingly under the golden light of the enchanted candles. Ron immediately began piling his plate high, while Hermione sipped her pumpkin juice, already scanning her timetable for the day.

Harry, on the other hand, couldn't stop overhearing the chatter around him. Everyone was talking about the same thing: the Triwizard Tournament. The Goblet of Fire had been placed in the Entrance Hall the previous night, and already, the school was buzzing with speculation about who would be brave enough—or mad enough—to enter. But for Harry, the idea of entering the Tournament felt more like a headache than an adventure. After everything he'd been through in the last three years, he had zero interest in risking his neck for a trophy.

"Think Krum'll enter?" Ron asked through a mouthful of eggs, his eyes flicking toward the Durmstrang table, where Viktor Krum sat, barely acknowledging the fanboys and fangirls sneaking glances at him.

"Definitely," Hermione replied. "He's got the experience. He's a world-class Seeker—he'd probably be brilliant at the tasks."

Harry nodded absently, reaching for some toast. He didn't care who entered, so long as it wasn't him. The last thing he needed was to get involved in another life-or-death competition. His mind wandered back to the Age Line Dumbledore had drawn around the Goblet of Fire—an enchanted barrier to keep students under seventeen from entering.

Ron, apparently sensing a lull in the conversation, suddenly leaned forward, his face lighting up with excitement. "I've been thinking, though," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "What if we figured out how to get past the Age Line? Just for fun, you know?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, lowering his goblet. "Fun?" he echoed, the word sounding ridiculous in his mouth. "You do remember that people have died in this tournament, right?"

Ron waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, but Dumbledore's here, isn't he? It's bound to be safer this time! Anyway, there's got to be some way to sneak in. What if we—I don't know—just jumped over the line? Dumbledore probably didn't think of people, you know, jumping."

Harry stared at Ron, dumbfounded. Hermione snorted into her pumpkin juice, trying and failing to hide her laughter. "You've got to be kidding, Ron," she said, shaking her head. "It's a magical barrier, not a piece of string you can just hop over."

Ron looked mildly offended. "All right, all right. But there's got to be some way past it!"

Harry sighed. The truth was, he was a bit curious—not about entering, but about how the line worked. Could you really trick it? "Well, if you're so keen," he muttered, poking at his toast, "why not just get someone older to put your name in for you? Someone who's already over seventeen."

Ron's eyes widened as if Harry had just revealed the secret to eternal life. "That's it!" he said, slamming his hand on the table with such enthusiasm that the nearby jug of pumpkin juice wobbled dangerously. "That's brilliant! Fred or George could do it! I mean, they're already planning on getting in somehow—why wouldn't they help us?"

Harry wasn't sure how to respond. He hadn't actually intended for Ron to take the idea seriously. He didn't want to enter the tournament, but now Ron was looking at him as though he'd solved all their problems. "I was just... saying it could work. Not that I'm interested."

"Come on, Harry," Ron pressed, grinning. "It'd be amazing! Imagine—you, me, champions of Hogwarts! We could show everyone up."

"Or," Harry replied dryly, "we could both end up in the hospital wing. Or worse."

Before Ron could argue, Fred and George appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the seats across from them. "Did someone say champions?" Fred asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. He reached for a slice of toast and took a bite, as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"I think I heard something about sneaking past Dumbledore's Age Line," George added, smirking. "And here we thought you lot didn't have the guts."

Ron immediately perked up. "You heard Harry's idea, didn't you? About someone older entering for us?"

Fred raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Interesting," he said, leaning forward. "But we've got something even better."

George pulled a small, corked vial from his pocket and set it on the table between them. It was filled with a shimmering, silvery liquid that seemed to glow faintly in the candlelight. "Ageing Potion," George said proudly. "Couple drops of this, and you'll be old enough to cross the line."

Harry blinked, staring at the vial. He immediately felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. "No way," he said firmly, pushing his plate aside. "I'm not interested. I don't care how much magic or potion or whatever you come up with, I'm not risking my life for a stupid competition."

Ron's face fell, and even Fred and George seemed a little taken aback by Harry's flat-out refusal. "Come on, Harry," Fred urged, his grin faltering slightly. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Gone, after nearly getting killed by a Basilisk, Dementors, and a Death Eater," Harry replied, his voice hard. "Seriously, no thanks. You can keep your potion."

"Well, your loss," George said happily, pocketing the vial with a shrug. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find us."

Fred grinned again, "We'll be crossing that line by tonight. We'll even save you a spot, Harry, in case you get bored of playing it safe."

Fred and George sauntered away, their excitement apparent.

"Are you serious, Harry?" Ron asked, his disappointment clear. "You're really not going to try?"

Harry met Ron's eyes, trying to make him understand. "No, I'm not," he said quietly. "I don't want to be a champion, Ron. I don't care about all the glory and stuff—it's just... I've had enough near-death experiences to last a lifetime."

Hermione, who had been silently observing the whole exchange, nodded approvingly. "Good for you, Harry," she said. "It's refreshing to hear someone with some common sense for once."

Ron groaned, shoveling more eggs onto his plate. "Fine. But you'll regret it when I'm the one winning eternal glory, and you're sitting on the sidelines with Hermione."

"I think I'll manage," Harry replied.

As they finished up breakfast, Ron took off heading for the bathroom, and almost on cue Hermione piped up

"Wait here," before running off. With a sigh, he settled himself on a windowsill, his gaze drifting to the castle grounds beyond the frosted panes. There was a chill in the air, but it did little to settle the growing restlessness in his chest. The Yule Ball, the looming second task, and now Hermione had darted off on some errand, leaving him to wait. As always.

He reached into his bag and pulled out one of the library books Hermione had insisted he borrow. He wasn't really in the mood for more theory—his head was already buzzing with enough to fill three days of exams—but he absentmindedly flipped through the pages anyway. Something about the intent required for Summoning Charms, and the subtle differences between silencing and suppression spells. The words blurred in front of him as his mind wandered, focusing instead on the muffled voices coming from a nearby group of students. Their conversation, though in hushed tones, was hard to ignore.

"Are you entering?" a voice asked, the accent immediately giving away its owner as one of the Beauxbatons students.

"Of course! Why else would I be in zis dreary place?" replied another, her voice dripping with disdain.

Harry glanced up over the top of his book. A small group of younger Hogwarts students had gathered near the large arched window, clearly captivated by the figure standing in the center—Fleur Delacour. Her silver-blonde hair shimmered in the light, cascading over her robes like a waterfall. She was surrounded by admirers, both Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students alike, all hanging on her every word.

Her expression was effortlessly aloof, as if she couldn't care less about the attention, yet Harry could tell by the slight tilt of her chin and the faint smirk on her lips that she was basking in it.

Harry rolled his eyes and tried to refocus on the book, but found himself involuntarily mimicking her French pronunciation under his breath, "...zis dreary place."

"Excusez-moi?" came a sharp voice.

Harry froze, his eyes widening as the murmuring around him stopped. Fleur was looking directly at him, her cool blue eyes narrowed in mild irritation. The crowd of admirers went silent, their eyes darting between Fleur and Harry as though anticipating a showdown.

"Er—what?" Harry said, blinking in confusion.

"You 'ave something to say about me being chosen as champion?" Fleur's voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it now, her French accent more pronounced in her annoyance.

Harry flushed under her piercing gaze. "No, I just—" He stammered, trying to find the right words. "I just meant... I don't really need to be champion. It's not my thing."

The corner of Fleur's mouth twitched, though whether in amusement or disdain, Harry couldn't tell. She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a practiced motion and let out a short, derisive laugh.

"Ah," she said, turning slightly back to her entourage, "so, 'e is a coward zen?"

The group of students tittered, and Harry felt heat rising to his face. His hands clenched into fists in his lap, and he suddenly felt very small, sitting there on the windowsill while Fleur stood tall, bathed in the glow of admiration.

A sharp retort rose in his throat before he could stop himself. "I just find it a bit fanciful—someone from France talking about bravery," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "You know, given your country's... history with adversity."

For a second, there was silence. Then, to his surprise, a few of the younger students stifled giggles, their eyes flicking nervously between Harry and Fleur.

Fleur's expression froze, her eyes narrowing. She turned fully towards him, her chin lifting as she fixed him with a look that was half challenge, half amusement.

"Zen perhaps you should enter," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Show us some of zat famous 'Eenglish courage, non?"

Harry stared at her, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He wasn't even old enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament, but something in her tone, in the way her eyes glinted in the afternoon light, made him feel like he couldn't back down. Not in front of her.

Before he could fully process what he was doing, Harry found himself reaching for a scrap of parchment from the notebook beside him. His hand moved on autopilot, scribbling his name and "Hogwarts" onto the corner. He tore off the paper, heart pounding, and thrust it toward her, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance. In reality, his hand was shaking slightly.

Fleur raised an elegant eyebrow, her lips curling into a small, dangerous smile. She didn't say anything as she stepped forward and plucked the note from his hand, her fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. Harry felt a jolt at the contact, his pulse quickening.

Without a word, Fleur turned on her heel and strode gracefully toward the Goblet of Fire, her silver hair shimmering behind her like moonlight on water. Harry watched, his mouth dry, as she stretched her arm out over the ancient artifact and casually dropped his slip of paper into the flames.

The Goblet flared briefly, accepting the offering without protest.

A wave of dread crashed over Harry. What had he just done?

His heart thudded in his chest, his mind replaying the moment in slow motion. He knew it was just a scrap of paper, and that it wouldn't count—but there was still something final about seeing it disappear into the Goblet.

Fleur glanced back at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief, before she melded back into the crowd of admirers, who were now buzzing with excitement.

Harry's hand remained outstretched for a moment longer, his mind still catching up with what had just happened. He felt... exhilarated? Maybe. Or maybe just stupid.

Before he could dwell on it any further, there was a sharp poke in his side.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice cut through the fog in his brain.

Harry blinked and turned to see Hermione standing beside him.

"Er—Hi," he said quickly, dropping his hand to his side and trying to look innocent.

"What are you acting so shifty for," Hermione said, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I wasn't!" Harry protested, his face heating up again. "I just... ran into the French delegation."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Well, whatever, you dork. Come on, we need to get to class."

Harry nodded, grabbing his books and standing up a little too quickly. As they walked away, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, half-expecting Fleur to be watching him. He didn't see her.

Harry didn't really want to admit to Hermione what had happened, knowing what the reaction would be. Eventually, before breakfast the next day, he finally told them what had happened.

"So, you actually tricked someone from the French delegations to enter your name into the goblet? That is legendary."

Ron had been repeating the same question since Harry had told them what had happened the afternoon prior. He carried the same awestruck look from their dormitories all the way to the great hall, where they were headed for breakfast.

"It's stupid. Harry, what if the goblet chooses you?"

A deep feeling of sick lurched in his stomach, a feeling Harry had experienced almost non-stop ever since his name was entered.

"It- It can't? I'm fourteen, and im not even that good at like magic and stuff? It would be insanity?"

"Pfft, you're basically guaranteed to be chosen mate, nobody has done more for the school than you, nobody has done more dangerous stuff either."

The feeling in the pit of his stomach worsened.

"Actually, I think Ron is right, Harry. Think about it, you've literally been the champion of Godric Gryffindor not two years ago. That was a much bigger deal than this stupid competition."

"Yes, but- "

"There is not a single student in this school that has produced a Patronus, nor actually repelled a dementor, let alone a hundred of them."
"Yes, but- "
"You've faced you-know-who."

"Twice.", Ron added.

By the time they arrived at the great hall, Harrys shoulders hung so low his knuckles would soon touch the floor, like some lanky depressed sloth that somehow managed to learn to walk upright.

Breakfast was no better, at some point, the French witch that had entered his name came over to chat for some reason, an occasion that had Ron choke on his toast more than once, earning him several disgusted looks by the French girl. Hermione on the other hand managed to convey through very unsubtle hints that the girl was less than welcome at their table. The French girl however, if she even notices, did not let on for one second that she did.

For Harry this was very awkward, most of all because as he remembered their last interaction, she hadn't seemed to enjoy his company whatsoever, if that was the case however, she hid any animosity behind a sparkling white smile the entire time.

The school classes went about as smoothly as his morning had for him. Hermione had become oddly quiet towards Harry after breakfast. It would have been a welcome distraction to talk to her, because whenever he was left with his own thoughts at the moment, he found himself distracted by thoughts of having to wrestle trolls, or duel seventh years, and just in general spectacularly fail in front of a very large audience.

Later the same week, Hermione approached him again, having spent some time in the library.

"Putting your name in the goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. The rest is not as straight-forward."

Harry merely shrugged. He had decided on taking a walk by the lake with the express intent of not thinking about the tournament for a moment. Ron gave Harry an amused sideways glance. Hermione pressed on unperturbed.

"To enter into a magical agreement, one can do so in a number of ways. The simplest, most straight forward would be to simply and under your own name enter into a magically enforced agreement with another party. This would constitute a direct magical contract. That would have been if you put your own name into the goblet by yourself. A binding magical agreement."

"So, I'm good then?" Harry asked desperately. Hermione ignored his question and kept reading aloud instead.

"Another way, and which is what seems to have transpired here, is that you enter into a magically enforced agreement in your own name, but through the use of an intermediary. This also constitutes a valid magical contract.

"Another mean is to have your name put down and entered by a third party. This is more complicated. If the contracting party, that is you Mr potter, through conclusive action fulfils that contract, you are bound by the agreement as if you entered it yourself. If, however you do not acknowledge the agreement through conclusive action, the magical contract is broken. It is, however, the case that it is upon pain of the intermediary."
"I understood half of those words.", Ron stated somewhat proudly. Hermione sighed as if it all was understandable for a toddler,

"If your name is entered by someone else and you chose not to compete, the person that entered you is the one who breaks the contract, not you."

"Oh, so Harry doesn't have to compete?"

"Not unless he want's that French girl to suffer horrific consequences because of his own cowardice."

Harry felt himself squirm. Hermione spoke with her face stuffed inside the heavy tome. Harry glanced over and was very grateful he didn't have to decipher the very old looking scripture. Her head popped out of the book again,

"This goblet thing is dark; I can't understand why they would ever allow it around students!"
"Why?"

"A contractual default seems to basically make you a squib, I don't even know what most of these words mean, but it sounds awful, oligophrenia, apoplexia, epitaxis, expiration, horrors? It just says horrors?"

"I definitely do not know any of those words.", Ron stated confidently, Harry nodded his agreement.

"So, if my name comes out, I've got no choice, got it."

"Not a question of if, mate."

Even Ron seemed less enthused about Harry entering after learning about the potential consequences the goblet offered anyone who suffered a change of hearts. They didn't speak the rest of the way to the great hall, no doubt all three imagining just how bad it would be to live the rest of one's life suffering from 'epitaxis', whatever that was.

They hung around the lake for another while, and Harry was grateful their conversations for once did not center around semi-dark objects capable of ensnaring students in ancient binding magical contractual troubles.

The sun had set a long time ago when they saw a crowd filing out of the French delegation's carriage, heading towards the castle.

"Oh, the feast! We should hurry!", Ron said.

This was the ceremony where the champions would be announced. They made their way over to follow the group of French students. To their left the Durmstrang students filed in aswell.

"Ooh, there is that seeker!" Hermione whispered.

"Krum", Ron added in the same hushed tone.

The Durmstrang group was headed by Karkaroff and Krum. Ron looked ecstatic, but they did not acknowledge their existence.

When they entered the Great Hall, they were clearly the last to arrive. The large room was candlelit with carved heads of pumpkins floating high above the tables. The Goblet of Fire had been moved and now stood in front of Dumbledore's chair at the teachers' table.

"Who do you think it's going to be?" asked an enthusiastic George. Ron shot George an enigmatic look and replied,
"Harry."

Hermione shot Ron an angry look. Georges eyes widened. Fred seemed to intuitively feel his attention was warranted, and George immediately said,

"Our brother has beans to spill, it seems, dear Fred."

"Pray tell, dear Ron."

Hermione cut in, trying to sound severe, but the light mood seemed to get to her somewhat, because she sounded mostly amused.

"Harry's name is in the goblet."

Fred's eyes sparkled. Harry sighed defeatedly.

The feast seemed to drag on for much longer than it usually did. Fred and George whispered conspiratorially the entire time, and by the time it came towards the end, judging by the curious looks from his housemates, most everyone in Gryffindor had been told. Harry couldn't tell if he wanted his name to come out, because for everyone to know and him not getting picked seemed somewhat embarrassing, or if he just wanted to disappear, and maybe return start of next semester, well clear of all this tournament business. Either way, this was categorically the least enjoyable feast Harry had been to in all his years of Hogwarts. Harry simply wanted the plates to clear, and for Dumbledore to announce that the tournament had been cancelled.

At long last, the golden plates were again empty and immaculate. The noise of the hall died down, and Dumbledore rose to address them. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students.

Harry felt like he was being watched, and eyed the tables, only to catch the silver haired French witch smiling at him. She mouthed something at him, likely in French, because Harry struggled to make out the message. Before he could return the communication however, a sharp elbow from Hermione reminded him that his headmaster was to speak. He returned his attention to Dumbledore.

"Well, it is time for the goblet to announce its decision," said Dumbledore.

"Any second now, but in the meantime, would the champion elects please head into that chamber" - He waved his arm towards a door behind him.

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, turning the great hall very dramatic in its lighting. The Goblet of Fire alone shone bright in the large hall. Everyone watched, waiting...

And suddenly, the flames inside the goblet turned red. A tongue of flame ejected a charred piece of parchment. A gasp drew across the students.

Dumbledore caught it, and held it by the flame in order to read the note.

"The champion of Durmstrang," he read in a clear voice, "is Viktor Krum."

A storm of applause and cheering erupted in the hall. Harry saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you! The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames. "The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!" "It's her, Ron!" Harry shouted as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

"That's the girl that entered my name!"

"That's ironic" Hermione muttered, and Ron snorted a short laugh in agreement.

Harry noted that the Beauxbatons students did not seem very supportive, nor happy Fleur was chosen. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next…

And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," Dumbledore called, "is Harry Potter!"