In the headmaster's office, Wes Elwin and Moody were sitting opposite Dumbledore's desk. Three steaming cups of tea sat untouched on the table; the air was taut with tension.
Moody's blue magical eye spun continuously as if searching for hidden clues. His low voice broke the silence first.
"This is wrong—totally wrong."
Dumbledore propped his head on his left hand, frowning. "Harry didn't have the means to put his own name into the Goblet."
"Indeed. Harry was as surprised to be chosen as anyone; his lie wouldn't fool my eye." Moody spoke with absolute confidence in his powers of observation—he didn't believe a student could hide such a thing from him.
Seeing the two of them stuck in thought, Wes Elwin decided to try to open up the line of reasoning.
"The professors wouldn't do something so childish. And if any student had that ability, why would they write Harry's name?"
"Rule out all impossibilities, and only one reason remains—someone had a necessity to get Harry into the competition."
"Who would that be?" Moody tapped his left foot; his false eye spun round and round.
Dumbledore grew pensive. His gaze drifted to the window, and the room fell so quiet that only the ticking of the clock could be heard.
Then Dumbledore seemed to think of something. He refocused on Wes and Moody.
"Competing in the Triwizard Tournament is an honor—but it's dangerous. Whoever put Harry's name into the Goblet is unlikely to be Harry's friend."
"Death Eaters," Moody slammed his cane into the floor. "They became very active after the Quidditch World Cup; they even attacked me."
Wes added, "Thinking back, your attack was odd—after so many years with no revenge, why strike you this year of all years?"
Dumbledore and Moody were both clever men; with a little prompting from Wes, they quickly pieced together a likely Death Eater plan.
Moody still had one gap in his thinking and voiced it: "The Goblet—so their aim is to have Harry touch the Goblet. But what would that accomplish?"
Dumbledore suddenly stood. "Portkey. They could make the Goblet into a Portkey—send Harry out of Hogwarts, out of my sight."
When Moody heard Dumbledore, he shot to his feet, preparing to leave the office.
"Wait," Wes interjected, seizing him by the arm.
"What for? The Goblet's been tampered with—we must call off the Tournament." Moody was urgent, barely containing his anger.
"And then?"
"Then we find that cursed Death Eater and send him to Azkaban!" Moody ground his teeth whenever Death Eaters were mentioned.
"And after that?"
Moody hesitated at Wes's follow-up. He had no immediate answer.
"Hmm?"
"Catching one Death Eater won't solve the root problem—they'll have countless chances to target Harry," Wes tapped the desk thoughtfully. "Why don't we turn their scheme against them?"
"You mean…?"
Moody's interest was piqued, and Dumbledore sat back down into his comfortable chair. Moody especially seemed impatient, eager to hear what Wes Elwin had in mind.
Wes lifted his head and gestured for Moody to sit. "As I recall, the Goblet only appears again in the final task, correct?"
"Yes. The first champion to reach the Cup wins."
Wes continued, "Which means that until then, the students are safe. The Death Eaters wouldn't dare act inside Hogwarts."
At that, both Dumbledore and Moody caught on.
"The Death Eaters went to such lengths to get Harry out—it must be for something far bigger. Perhaps something Voldemort himself arranged." Dumbledore picked up a cup of tea, blew gently across its surface, and took a small sip. "All we need to do is follow Harry, and their plan will reveal itself."
"Dumbledore, this is an opportunity!" Moody slammed the table excitedly, his cane thumping heavily against the floor. "Even if Voldemort himself isn't behind it, catching a few Death Eaters could force out his whereabouts."
Dumbledore was tempted by the plan, though hesitation still lingered.
"We could craft a Portkey for Harry to carry. The moment he vanishes, we'll follow him. With you, me, and Moody together, even Voldemort at his peak would only meet defeat."
Wes's words finally swayed Dumbledore. He rose and walked to the window, gazing out over the night-shrouded grounds. "So be it. But we must protect the children."
"Of course," Wes answered gravely. As a professor of Hogwarts, he would never risk the safety of the students. "To be safe, we should prepare on two fronts. Cedric is also a Hogwarts student—you wouldn't want anything to happen to him either."
"What about Fleur and Krum?" Moody asked, gripping his cane tightly. "Do we warn the other schools? I don't trust Karkaroff. He was a Death Eater once."
"There's no need to tell the others. The Death Eaters' target is Harry—they won't want unnecessary complications."
"As for Karkaroff, I'll ask Severus to keep an ear out," Dumbledore agreed with Wes. "All we need is for Harry or Cedric to be the first to touch the Goblet."
"The Death Eaters want the same thing. But now, we're the ones in the shadows." Moody calculated quickly. With preparation, the plan looked flawless.
"Moody, Harry is yours," Dumbledore said with trust. "At the very least, ensure he can defend himself until we arrive."
"No problem. I'll see to his safety."
"I'll take Cedric," Wes volunteered.
Dumbledore blinked in mild surprise—he hadn't expected Wes to be so proactive this time.
But Wes only wanted to end things once and for all—to wipe out Voldemort and his Death Eaters in one stroke. Year after year, they stirred up trouble, and Wes had grown weary of it.
---
Knock, knock.
Cedric rapped at Wes's office door.
"Come in," Wes's voice called from within.
Hearing it, Cedric straightened his robes, drew a deep breath, and pushed the door open. The office was softly lit, shelves lined with magical tomes, the faint fragrance of ink lingering in the air.
"Professor," Cedric greeted, standing awkwardly just inside. He wasn't sure why Wes had summoned him—when the notice arrived, he had been utterly confused.
Wes sat behind his desk, his gaze warm as it fell on Cedric. "Please, sit, Cedric." He gestured toward the chair opposite.
°°°
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