The Entrance Hall was relatively quiet, but the moment Eddie stepped through the massive oak doors into the Great Hall, he was hit by a wall of sound. It wasn't the usual lunchtime chatter or the evening bustle of students eating; it was a focused, rhythmic hum of excitement concentrated at the far end of the Gryffindor table.
Curiosity, that ever-present itch for any student, immediately took hold. Eddie shuffled toward the commotion, dodging a group of first-years who were trying to peek over shoulders.
"What's the big deal? Is there a fight?" Eddie whispered to a Ravenclaw fifth-year who was standing on his tiptoes.
"Better," the senior replied, his voice low and intense. "The Wizard Card Club is having its end-of-month showcase. Word is, the prize for the winter tournament is ten Galleons. Cold, hard gold, Eddie."
"Wizard cards? Like Chocolate Frog cards?" Eddie frowned. He'd seen a few people playing with bits of parchment recently, but he hadn't realized it had reached 'ten Galleons' levels of serious. He stepped onto a nearby bench, straining his neck.
In the center of the crowd, the space had been cleared. Albert Anderson sat at the head of a cluster of tables, looking more like a young professor than a student. Fred and George were flanking him like twin bodyguards, though they were currently busy passing out stacks of freshly printed cards to eager hands.
"It's gotten way bigger than last month," Fred muttered to Albert, his eyes darting across the sea of faces. "I think we're going to need more tables."
"Growth is good, Fred. It means the market is hungry," Albert replied calmly. He raised a hand, and as if by magic—or perhaps just the sheer weight of his reputation—the noise in the hall dampened to a respectful murmur. "Alright, everyone. I know there are a lot of questions about the new mechanics and the tournament. I'll take a few now before we start the practice rounds."
A Ravenclaw girl immediately waved her hand. "Albert, these new cards look incredible compared to the hand-drawn ones from October. When are you going to finish the full set? I want my deck to look like this."
She held up a card featuring a stylized image of a Professor. The ink was charmed to shimmer slightly under the candlelight.
Albert leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "To be honest? We're still in the prototype phase. Making these isn't just about printing ink on cardstock; it involves layering charms to ensure the cards don't wear out and that the 'ability' triggers don't fade. I'd say we're a year, maybe two, away from a 'final' version. But look at the bright side—the cards you have in your hands right now are already five times more sophisticated than the ones we started with. Evolution is part of the game."
"How do we get more?" a Hufflepuff boy called out. "My deck is missing half the 'Charms' faction."
"In the future," Albert explained, his voice projecting clearly, "we'll move to a distribution model similar to Chocolate Frogs. You'll be able to buy starter decks or booster packs. But we're also looking at unique ways to earn them—tournament prizes, special events, or even hidden challenges around the castle. This isn't just a game; it's a living history of the British Wizarding World. Eventually, we won't just have Hogwarts students on these cards. We'll have famous Aurors, legendary beasts, and historical breakthroughs."
"And the cost?" someone pressed. "Galleons?"
"We want everyone to be able to play," Albert reassured them. "Basic packs will be affordable for any student with a bit of pocket money. However, for the collectors out there, we'll be releasing limited edition 'Gold-Foil' cards. They'll be rare, they'll be beautiful, and yes, they'll probably be worth a lot more on the secondary market."
The crowd buzzed at the mention of 'Gold-Foil.' The prospect of gambling on a pack for a rare treasure was a concept that appealed to every student in the room.
"Now, about the tournament," Albert said, nodding to George.
George stepped forward, pulling a heavy, jingling silk bag from his robes and a small glass vial filled with a brilliant green liquid. He slammed the bag of gold onto the table with a satisfying clink, then placed the vial beside it.
"The championship reward," George announced with a theatrical flourish. "The winner of the Winter Circuit can choose one of two things. Option A: Ten solid Galleons. No strings attached."
A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. Ten Galleons was a small fortune for a teenager.
"Option B," Albert took over, picking up the green vial. "This is a concentrated Babbling Beverage. I brewed this myself under specific conditions. For those who aren't familiar, this potion acts as a cognitive stimulant. It clears mental blockages, sharpens focus, and dramatically improves memory recall for several hours. If you've got a difficult essay or a stressful exam coming up, this is better than ten Galleons. It's an 'Outstanding' in a bottle."
"Is that legal?" a girl whispered.
"Completely legal to own and drink," Albert smiled. "Though, I should warn you—using it during an actual Ministry exam is technically cheating, so use it for your 'private study' sessions. If you don't trust the potion, take the gold. The choice is yours."
"Only thirty-two spots," Fred added, leaning over the table. "Two Sickles to enter. Even if you don't win the grand prize, we've got consolation prizes—rare cards and sweets—for the top eight. You basically can't lose."
"Are you three playing?" someone asked suspiciously.
Albert shook his head. "We're the organizers and the judges. It wouldn't be fair if we took the gold we put up ourselves. We want to see your strategies, not our own."
The crowd began to surge forward, Sickles in hand, desperate to secure a spot.
"Wait, wait!" Albert called out, slowing the rush. "The spots are already oversubscribed. We're taking a preliminary list today. After the Christmas holidays, we'll finalize the thirty-two based on a series of qualifying matches. The tournament itself will be a best-of-three elimination. And to keep it fair, you won't use your own decks."
"What? Why not?" a few people groaned.
"Because the guy with the most money shouldn't win just because he bought better cards," Albert said firmly. "We'll use a 'Draft' system. We provide three cards, you pick one. We repeat that until you have a deck. It tests your ability to build a strategy on the fly and your luck in the draw. It levels the playing field."
He laid out three cards on the table—a 'Fire Crab,' a 'Standard Shield Charm,' and a 'Third-Year Student' card. "See? You have to choose. Do you go for defense, raw power, or utility? That's where the skill is."
"It sounds like a lot of work for a game," a cold, smooth voice interrupted from the back of the crowd.
The students parted like the Red Sea. Professor Smith stood there, his arms crossed, a faint, unreadable smile on his face. He looked at the cards, the gold, and the potion with an expression of mild curiosity.
Albert didn't flinch. He met the Professor's gaze with a polite nod. "Innovation always requires work, Professor. We're just introducing some new elements to the club."
"New elements," Smith repeated, walking closer to the table. He picked up one of the cards, turning it over in his elegant fingers. "A Wizarding Card Game. You invented this, Anderson?"
"With a lot of help from my roommates, sir," Albert replied. "We wanted something more interactive than Chocolate Frog cards. Something that rewards tactical thinking."
Smith looked around at the crowd of students. "It seems your classmates agree. I haven't seen this much excitement in the Great Hall since the last Quidditch final. But I must ask... why the focus on real people? I see your cards feature famous figures, and even some familiar faces from the castle."
"Authenticity," Albert said simply. "The cards record real events and real magic. It makes the game feel like a part of our world, rather than just a fantasy. It's educational, in a way."
Smith raised an eyebrow. "Educational. A clever defense. Do you happen to have a card of me in that deck of yours?"
"Not yet, Professor," Albert said, his voice steady. "We only create cards for figures who have made a significant... impact. Perhaps by the end of the year, we'll have enough data to design one for you."
The air between them felt suddenly charged, though most of the students were too busy looking at the gold to notice. Smith chuckled softly, tossing the card back onto the pile.