Chapter 58. The Start of the Fourth Year (Part 2)
Once again, the Great Hall. Once again, the welcoming feast. We were sitting at the Gryffindor table with our friends, looking toward the staff table where, just last year, Lupin—sabotaged by Snape—had sat. Now, a former Auror, about thirty years old, occupied that seat. And more importantly—a new and, in the eyes of the public, untainted pawn of Voldemort.
He had jet-black hair tied in a ponytail, dark brown eyes, and rather sharp facial features. Yet it was obvious how hard he was trying to appear the perfect aristocrat: every movement precise, his posture unnaturally straight, as if he had a stick up his arse.
Dumbledore was in no hurry to introduce him, and judging by the genuinely hungry looks from many of the children, it was clear why. He waited until the Sorting ended, then declared, "Eat!"
Food appeared on the tables, and we, like everyone else, didn't deny ourselves the celebratory dinner. Still true to our preferences, we first reached for roast potatoes and meat. The Great Hall filled with the sounds of eating and the clamor of teenagers sharing impressions after months apart.
This continued until Dumbledore finally rose from his seat.
"Now then, now that we have all eaten and drunk our fill, I must once again ask for your attention and make a few announcements. First, allow me to introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" At that moment, the former Auror stood up from the table. "Professor Septimus Selwyn. He is an experienced Auror and expressed a desire to share his expertise with you."
As tradition dictated, the new teacher was greeted with applause. Which, however, we were in no hurry to join. Instead, we carefully studied the man, who now scanned everyone present with a stony expression, causing the applause to quickly die down.
"Selwyn? I heard Dad talking about Silvanus Selwyn, who was a Death Eater and managed to avoid Azkaban," Ron whispered.
"That explains a lot," we nodded at this information.
"Is something wrong with him?" Hermione inquired while Dumbledore prepared to continue.
"Just remember, you shouldn't be alone with him, or at least stay on your guard," we replied through Regulus.
"Let me continue. Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to inform you that the list of objects forbidden within the castle walls has been extended this year and now includes Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The complete list comprises four hundred and thirty-seven items and may be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, should anyone wish it."
Smiling faintly into his beard, Dumbledore continued:
"As ever, I would like to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade—it is not to be visited by those below third year."
He added, "I also have the unpleasant duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
"WHAT?!" Immediately, cries of outrage erupted from all sides of the Great Hall from teenagers unaware of the tournament.
"This is due to an event that will begin in October and continue throughout the school year—it will require the full time and energy of the staff. But I am confident it will bring you true delight. It is with great pleasure that I announce that this year, Hogwarts will host the Triwizard Tournament!"
"You're JOKING!" Fred Weasley exclaimed loudly, stunned by such a sharp turn of events. Unlike Ron, he knew what this tournament was.
"I am not joking at all, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said. "Though, since you brought it up, I heard a joke this summer… well, a troll, a witch, and a leprechaun all walk into a bar…"
Professor McGonagall coughed meaningfully.
"Er… but perhaps now is not the time… ahem…" Dumbledore scratched his bushy eyebrow. "Now, where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament. I expect some of you are unaware of what this tournament entails, so I hope those who do know will forgive a brief explanation, and may turn their attention elsewhere in the meantime."
"So, the Triwizard Tournament was founded approximately seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry—Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Each school was represented by a selected champion, and these three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools agreed to hold the tournament every five years, and it was generally accepted to be the best method of fostering friendly ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities—until the death toll grew so high that the tournament had to be discontinued."
"Over the past centuries, several attempts have been made to revive the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "but none were truly successful. However, our Ministries of Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports believe the time is right to try again. We have worked tirelessly all summer to ensure that this time, none of the champions will face mortal peril."
"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive with their final candidate lists in October, and the champion selection will take place on Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the honor of their school, and a personal prize of one thousand Galleons."
"I want to take part!" Fred Weasley hissed across the table, his face flushed with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and wealth. He was far from alone in apparently picturing himself as Hogwarts' champion. And there were many like him. Becoming a champion in such a tournament was genuinely thrilling—even we were touched by anticipation, especially since technically, we were already of age due to the Time-Turner.
"I know each of you is eager to win the Triwizard Cup for Hogwarts. However, the heads of the participating schools, together with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on this year's candidates. Only students who are—I emphasize this—seventeen years of age or older will be permitted to submit their names for consideration. This measure," Dumbledore raised his voice slightly as an outraged murmur arose—the Weasley twins, for instance, immediately grew furious, "has been deemed necessary because the tournament tasks remain difficult and dangerous, despite any precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year could handle them. I personally will ensure that no underage student manages to trick our impartial judge into selecting them as champion." His twinkling blue eyes flashed as they swept over the rebellious faces of Fred and George. "Therefore, I strongly advise—do not waste your time submitting yourselves if you are not yet seventeen."
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive here in October and stay with us for the majority of this year. I trust you will be exceptionally courteous to our foreign guests during their stay and will wholeheartedly support the Hogwarts champion once he or she is selected. And now—it is late, and I know how important it is for all of you to be alert and rested for tomorrow's classes. Off to bed! Don't dawdle!"
"It's not fair! We only turn seventeen in April—why should we miss such a chance because of that?!" George Weasley exclaimed indignantly as our House Prefect began gathering the first-years to lead them away.
"Damn it, we… I'll definitely get into this tournament. The champion title is too useful for our future."
"Guys, don't get so worked up," we decided to speak through Regulus, while, amusingly, we looked genuinely too mature compared to the rest of our classmates. "Anyway, you won't become Hogwarts champions."
"And why's that?" Fred protested.
"Well, obviously, because the champion will be one of us two."
"Says who?" the twins exclaimed in unison.
"Heh. How about a bet?" we suggested through Andromeda with a sly smile.
"You're on…" Georged started, provoked, but his brother stopped him.
"Is it just me, or have you grown up way too much recently?"
"And you're clever," we didn't answer directly.
"What?" George said.
"You
—Figure it out."
We answered alternately before leaving the Great Hall with the others.
Soon, the wave of excitement among the students subsided a bit, and Harry, lying in his bed after dreaming of being champion, suddenly felt something was off.
"Vega, are you asleep?"
"What is it, Harry?" Regulus replied.
"Uh… everything will be okay, right?"
"Huh? Have you awakened the gift, Harry?" Regulus asked, clearly surprised.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Maybe," Harry's friend answered, clearly teasing.
Remembering his friend's rather accurate predictions, Harry swallowed and finally asked, "Will I be Hogwarts champion?"
"No."
The boy exhaled, feeling relief mixed with disappointment, but it was too soon.
"But you will participate in the tournament."
"What?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"Goodnight, Harry."
"Hey, you can't say something like that and just go to sleep!" exclaimed the Chosen One.
"Harry, stop disturbing our sleep!" Seamus Finnigan growled, woken up.
"Sorry."