"First, she transfigures the soil into vines, then infuses them with metallic properties.
That way, these vines become an extremely tough chain, capable of binding even a fire dragon so it can't escape—I don't know how difficult that is, but at least I couldn't do it."
Ludo's voice was very cheerful.
"Ah ha, look at that, I'm not surprised at all that Professor McGonagall took down this Swedish Short-Snout, but I didn't expect it to be this easy. It couldn't even put up a fight before being bundled up like a caterpillar, haha."
43 points—Professor McGonagall's score was one point lower than Durmstrang's Transfiguration professor, because her match wasn't as grandiose as Michael's.
From morning to night, the first task proceeded quickly. When the sun had fully set and the moon rose, the last champion, Leon Marx, successfully defeated his opponent—a Peruvian Vipertooth—drawing a perfect close to the first task.
Unlike the students, none of the professor group's champions scored zero, and they all defeated their respective dragons; it was just a matter of difficulty and time.
The wizarding spectators either returned to the tents they'd pitched outside the arena to rest or spent the night in rooms inside the arena itself, while the invited Muggle spectators were escorted home by Ministry of Magic employees.
"This will absolutely be an unprecedented event," Perrier said seriously, gripping Harry's hand. "I'm honored to be part of such a great undertaking. Today's competition has already proven our assumptions correct."
"The timing is a bit tight," Harry said, shaking his head slightly.
"After all, it's just a... rehearsal, yes, a rehearsal," Huck said with a smile. "When we come back here next time, I wonder if Principal Potter could give us a proper tour of Hogwarts—including my daughter, we're all full of curiosity about magic."
"Of course," Harry smiled as well.
The students tonight were probably too excited to sleep. Every house common room was decked out in sparkling decorations, with photos of each champion plastered everywhere, along with freshly taken shots of the champions in action during the task.
If you looked out the castle windows, you could see the Beauxbatons carriage and the ship anchored on the Black Lake lit up with countless lights—they were celebrating too, no doubt.
A wonderful night.
Though as headmaster he ought to remain impartial toward any specific house, Harry had, after all, been a Gryffindor student himself—and still carried a student's identity in some ways—so he ended up being invited to the Gryffindor common room.
The tables and chairs were piled high with mountains of cakes, pots of pumpkin juice and butterbeer filled shelves transfigured into existence, and banners covered the ceiling and surrounding walls—some depicting Hermione summoning two elemental giants to pummel the dragon, others showing the volcano Harry had summoned, or Professor McGonagall bundling the dragon into a ball—all enchanted to move, letting everyone relive the moments over and over.
Lee Jordan, Fred, and George were acting like absolute maniacs, setting off bundles upon bundles of Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs. The common room air shimmered with countless stars and sparks that never stopped, the lingering smoke gathering into a stubborn cloud on the ceiling.
The most terrifying part was that Professor McGonagall didn't even try to stop them—instead, she was cheerfully chatting with Percy, pointing at different firework patterns. Ron figured they were debating which ones looked best, but he didn't dare go over to check.
By the latter half of the celebration, a slightly tipsy Professor McGonagall even directed the students to clear a space in the center of the common room, then transfigured a miniature erupting volcano—no heat, just the appearance.
Even so, it sent the students into excited cheers.
The only problem was that Harry felt a bit awkward and couldn't sit still. It was somewhat embarrassing... and most importantly, no one was sharing the embarrassment with him.
"...Professor... Professor?!" Amid the noisy clamor, a student shouted toward Harry and Professor McGonagall. "So what exactly is inside that golden egg? What secret does it hold?"
For the students right now, this was the thing they were most curious about. No one believed the Ministry would put something useless in a dragon's nest for the champions to retrieve—surely it held some crucial clue related to the second task.
"Unfortunately, when I became a champion, they changed the content of the next two tasks, so even I don't know what secret this golden egg holds," Harry said, standing on a table. Seeing the disappointed looks on some students' faces, he continued, "But I think it's not too late to explore its secret together now."
As soon as he finished speaking, Harry pulled his golden egg from his dragon-hide pouch. Professor McGonagall hesitated for a moment before taking hers out as well, and Hermione dashed off to the dormitory to fetch hers, returning in a rush.
It didn't take much effort to open the eggs—the puzzle was revealed far quicker than anyone expected. Harry just applied a bit of force and split his egg neatly down the middle with a seam, but he didn't open it fully. Instead, he looked at the other two.
"I'll count to three, then we open them together?"
"No problem."
The students who had gathered around had formed a tight circle around the three of them, everyone staring tensely at the golden eggs.
"1"
"2"
"3"
Click.
With no resistance, all three golden eggs opened at the same time.
A swarm of heads immediately pressed in close, eyes wide to see what was inside.
"A roll—parchment??"
A rolled-up piece of parchment sat in the center of each egg, not large, tied with golden thread.
As soon as someone picked up the roll, heads immediately craned to peer at the bottom of the egg.
"That's it? Just this one sheet?" Ron leaned in even closer. "What's on it? A treasure map?"
"Does the second task involve the champions competing in a treasure hunt? In the Forbidden Forest?" Someone immediately speculated wildly.
Ignoring the students' random guesses, Harry unrolled the parchment. What looked like a large sheet contained only one sentence—or more accurately, one spell: Incendio (Flagrante).
"And yours?" Harry asked the other two champions.
"Explosivo," Hermione said, looking puzzled as she showed her parchment.
"Reducto," Professor McGonagall said, spreading hers out.
The students exchanged glances, all racking their brains.
"Just a single spell?"
The discussion heated up.
"What does it mean? Will these spells be used in the second task?"
"Maybe they're spells needed for solving a puzzle! Isn't the Triwizard Tournament supposed to test every champion comprehensively? From their combat ability to their intellect—I think the combat part was already shown with the dragons, so next should be the intellect, right?"
This guess gained a lot of traction, but among the three involved, aside from Hermione clearly growing tense, Harry and Professor McGonagall remained relaxed, settling onto a corner sofa with their butterbeers.
Professor McGonagall consulted Harry on some decisions regarding Hogwarts during this time—that was his duty as headmaster.
Who knows when the students from the other houses finally wound down, but the Gryffindors truly celebrated all night without rest.
By dawn, the common room was littered with people sprawled across tables, chairs, and the floor, all sleeping soundly.
Harry had originally planned to head back to the Great Totem for a nap, but at the entrance, he was intercepted by Rita Skeeter.
"I must speak with you, sir!" Her face was utterly bloodless; Rita had no idea how long she'd been waiting there. She kept her head down, speaking hurriedly, her eyes darting around as if terrified of being spotted.
"Did something happen?" Harry said, frowning. "I thought the champion interviews were scheduled for the afternoon."
"It's not about the interview—oh heavens! Please let me inside, sir. I have to tell you in a safe place!" Rita stammered, gesturing frantically; she looked genuinely frightened.
So Harry brought Rita into the Great Totem and poured her a cup of hot cocoa.
After sipping a few mouthfuls from the cup, Rita finally began to calm down.
"You don't look well," Harry said during this, having carefully observed her. "Pale face, sunken eyes, dark circles... Did you not sleep last night?"
"Actually, er, sorry, sir..." Rita started stammering again as soon as she spoke, her eyes shifting left and right, avoiding Harry's. "I... You know, ever since you educated me, I've upheld the principles and... conscience a true journalist should have."
"I know; I've read your reports," Harry said with a slight nod. "So, were you threatened by someone for telling the truth? Why are you this scared?"
"I, er, I... You know, it's been a long time since I've written those kinds of baseless, fact-twisting articles..." Rita stammered, dodging the point. "Honestly, I really like this life now—being able to write articles with a clear conscience and even earn people's praise..."
"Get to the point," Harry sighed.
"Sorry," Rita apologized immediately. "What I mean... um, please don't punish me, er—I may not write those articles anymore, but I still enjoy... using my... Animagus form to... observe people..."
Rita's voice grew smaller and smaller, but Harry's expression grew increasingly stern.
Rita spoke quickly, her voice low, blurring over many parts as if afraid Harry would hear too clearly.
But unfortunately, Harry heard it all.
This woman truly wasn't writing those fact-distorting, agenda-pushing, slanderous pieces anymore, but that didn't mean she'd fully settled down. The habits she'd developed over decades still drove her to eavesdrop on others' hidden secrets.
Using her Animagus form.
Er, eavesdropping, peeking.
The only difference from the past was that Rita no longer published what she overheard or saw.
Even as she defended herself this way, in Harry's eyes, her behavior was still utterly deplorable. But before he could punish this journalist with her unique hobby, Rita had already flung herself from the chair and knelt before him.
"Please forgive me! Sir! I swear I haven't harmed anyone!" Rita cried out in panic. "And it's exactly because I did this that I discovered a shocking secret! Crouch is fake!!"
Rita's useful information saved her.
"Continue," Harry said calmly.
"I originally just wanted to check on Crouch, er, see if he held any malice toward you or wanted revenge. After all, I know someone wants to harm you—you never intended to be a champion, but someone entered your name behind your back. I wanted to check on Crouch—yet I never expected—never expected—"
Rita tried her best to make her eavesdropping sound righteous, like she was looking out for Harry.
"It's, it's Barty Crouch—he's actually fake—I mean, the real Crouch is locked up! Crouch used Polyjuice Potion to turn into Crouch's appearance!!"
"Crouch turned into Crouch?" Harry said, deadpan. "You should hear yourself."
"No, sir, it's different!" Rita finally got her tongue under control. "It's Barty Crouch Junior! Junior didn't die! He used Polyjuice Potion to become his own father!! The Crouch you've all seen this whole time is Junior!!!"
Harry grew serious.
"It's true!" Rita shouted, her emotions nearing hysteria. "I'm certain that's the real old Crouch! He was stuffed in a trunk! Junior dragged him out, yanked a few hairs from his head—when old Crouch tried to say something, he punched him! Knocked him out cold!"
"I understand," Harry said, standing up. "Finish that cocoa and rest on the sofa. I'll handle the rest."
Harry walked quickly, only turning back just before exiting the Great Totem: "Oh, right—though your behavior is still deplorable, you did render a service this time... If Crouch is verified as fake, I won't punish you this once—but there won't be a next time, understood?"
Rita nodded so fast she left afterimages.
Harry believed what Rita said, because this journalist had fully pledged her loyalty to him and had no reason to lie.