After announcing all the unimportant matters, Dumbledore spread his arms wide and declared in his booming voice.
"Through friendly negotiations with the distinguished magical institutions of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute, combined with the support and official cooperation of both the Ministry of Magic's Departnt of International Magical Cooperation and the Departnt of Magical Gas and Sports, we have reached a montous decision. This year, Hogwarts will have the honor of hosting the revival of an ancient and truly glorious tradition: the legendary Triwizard Tournant!"
The effect of this announcent was explosive.
The Great Hall instantly erupted into a noise of deafening discussion, wild cheers, and exclamations of disbelief.
In fact, most students had already guessed as much as The Daily Prophet had leaked this news in advance.
Dumbledore raised his hand for silence. "I imagine you all should know sothing about the Triwizard Tournant rules. Of course, if you don't know, that's fine too, Professor Flitwick has personally prepared a detailed handbook."
As soon as he finished speaking, Professor Flitwick imdiately stood up on his chair but feeling this was improper, he jumped down and scurried to the center of the Great Hall with small steps.
Everyone noticed he held a large piece of parchnt in his hand.
"One copy per person, please read carefully."
Professor Flitwick smiled and waved his wand in his other hand. The parchnt instantly split into hundreds of copies, flying toward the House tables like a flock of butterflies.
Harry caught the floating parchnt and saw the title written in beautiful writing: Triwizard Tournant Rules Explanation.
Below this impressive heading, the docunt was filled with dense rows of small formatted text.
All around the Great Hall, students imdiately began poring over their copies with the intensity usually reserved for exam preparations.
"Sweet rlin's beard, the winner receives a thousand Galleons!" Ron's voice cracked with excitent as his eyes locked onto one particular line of text.
"Maybe... maybe I could actually..." His voice trailed off as possibilities began racing through his mind, visions of what a thousand Galleons could an for his family dancing before his eyes.
"Don't even think about entertaining such fantasies," Hermione interjected firmly from beside him, her practical nature imdiately cutting through his daydreams like a cold splash of reality.
She pointed to another section of the docunt. "Look right here, the minimum age requirent for entry is seventeen years old. You won't be eligible for another two years, and even then..."
She left the sentence hanging, but her expression made it clear that she had serious doubts about Ron's chances even if he t the age requirent.
"Oh, co on, Hermione," Ron protested, though his voice carried more resignation than genuine argunt, "at least allow the simple pleasure of fantasizing about it. I'm not actually planning to sneak past whatever magical age verification they're going to use. I just want to imagine what it would feel like to win a thousand Galleons."
His eyes remained glued to that enticing number, as if staring at it long enough might sohow change the age restrictions or improve his chances of victory.
Adrian also received his copy of the tournant explanation. He quickly scanned through the dense text. As he read, he found that the rules weren't greatly different from what he rembered of the tournant's original format in canon story.
The next day dawned bright and clear, but the entire atmosphere of Hogwarts had been transford overnight. Every corridor, every common room, every corner of the castle buzzed with heated discussions about the Triwizard Tournant.
Students who had never shown the slightest interest in school politics suddenly beca passionate debaters, arguing the rits of various potential champions with the passion usually reserved for Quidditch rivalries.
After all, this competition would directly impact Hogwarts' honor and reputation in the international wizarding community. The thought that their school might be humiliated in front of representatives from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang was enough to make even the most academically disinterested students suddenly care deeply about magical excellence.
When the students learned that only a single student would be chosen to represent their school in this prestigious competition, the speculation reached fever pitch.
Every house began putting forward their own candidates, with passionate debates erupting over who had the right combination of magical skill, intelligence, and courage necessary to succeed.
Among the various nas being discussed, Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff erged as sothing approaching a consensus choice among the students.
The handso, athletic seventh-year was both Quidditch captain and one of the most magically talented students in his year. His reputation for fairness, courage, and kindness made him appealing even to students from other houses who might normally be expected to support their own candidates exclusively.
Other houses, naturally, weren't content to simply accept Hufflepuff's claim to the championship. Gryffindor students talked about the possibilities represented by their own seventh-years, while Ravenclaw debated the rits of pure academic achievent versus practical magical application.
Even Slytherin, despite their house's current political complications, put forward several nas of students.
So of the more observant students, particularly those who had witnessed Harry's various adventures over his previous years at Hogwarts, even began to speculate about whether the famous Boy Who Lived might sohow beco their representative, despite the obvious fact that he fell well short of the seventeen-year age requirent.
Given Harry's tendency to find himself at the center of extraordinary magical events, such speculation wasn't entirely unreasonable.
Throughout all this excitent and anticipation, Dumbledore maintained an almost infuriating air of mystery about the selection process itself.
He revealed nothing about how the champion would be chosen, when the selection would take place, or what criteria would be used to determine Hogwarts' representative.
This deliberate suspense only aided to intensify the speculation and debate in almost every conversation throughout the castle.
Of course, despite the extraordinary excitent surrounding the tournant announcent, the business of education had to continue.
Classes resud their normal schedule, though professors found their students considerably more distracted than usual, with tournant-related discussions breaking out at every opportunity.
On this particular morning, the first Care of Magical Creatures class of the new term was scheduled to begin, it was a joint class that brought together students from Slytherin and Gryffindor houses.
Adrian had arrived early at the clearing beside the Black Lake, enjoying the peaceful morning air.
The peaceful scene was suddenly disrupted by the approach of Hagrid who ca dragging an enormous wooden crate behind him.
His face was flushed with exertion and excitent, and his eyes held the particular gleam that appeared whenever he had discovered so new magical creature that he was eager to share with others.
"Adrian!" Hagrid called out enthusiastically as he approached, barely pausing to catch his breath before launching into his explanation. "Perfect timing! I was hoping to run into you this morning. Want to have your students et these absolutely delightful little fellows I've been working with?"
Without waiting for a response, he eagerly lifted the crate's heavy wooden lid, revealing its contents with the pride of a parent showing off accomplished children.
"These are..."
Adrian looked into the crate and imdiately felt his expression shift into a frown of deep concern.
What he saw inside the container bore no resemblance to anything that could reasonably be described as "delightful" or suitable for student interaction.
The crate was absolutely crawling with creatures that appeared to have been designed by soone with deeply disturbed nightmares about what constituted acceptable animal life.
They resembled lobsters that had sohow lost their shells, revealing disturbingly pale, segnted bodies that glistened with an unpleasant moisture.
Most disturbingly, they appeared to be entirely headless, though nurous thin legs sprouted from their bodies at random intervals, creating a nightmarish tangle of movent that was genuinely difficult to look at for longer periods.
"Blast-Ended Skrewts!" Hagrid announced with parental pride. His hands gestured enthusiastically toward the squirming mass of creatures.
"I managed to breed them using a Manticore and sixty Fire Crabs! Aren't they just the most adorable little things you've ever seen?"
Adrian wasn't entirely certain what tornts that poor Manticore had endured during Hagrid's breeding experints, but he was absolutely convinced that these monstrosities which looked as though they had crawled directly out of a horror story specifically designed to traumatize young children were completely and utterly unsuitable for any form of student contact.
"Uh... well, I certainly appreciate the offer," Adrian replied tactfully, drawing on every ounce of tact he possessed to avoid offending Hagrid while still protecting his students from what was clearly an obvious safety hazard.
"However, I'm afraid I've already planned and arranged all of my lessons for this entire term. The curriculum is quite comprehensive, and there simply isn't room for any additional creatures, no matter how... unique they might be. I'm terribly sorry, Hagrid."
Hagrid's face fell with visible disappointnt, but his enthusiasm remained undaunted. He hopefully opened the crate wider, apparently believing that a better view of his creations might change Adrian's mind. "But just look at how lively and energetic they are! Surely you can see their potential!"
"BANG!"
As if summoned by Hagrid's words, one of the Blast-Ended Skrewts suddenly demonstrated exactly why Adrian's caution was justified.
The creature's but* end erupted in a spectacular shower of bright orange sparks, accompanied by a sound like a small cannon firing.
The magical explosion sent flas shooting up with enough force to imdiately set Hagrid's impressive beard ablaze, the dark hair was crackling and smoking as fire spread across his lower face.
Adrian instinctively stepped backward, The pungent sll of burning hair filled the air, mixing with the odor that seed to emanate from the creatures themselves.
"What passionate, spirited children!" Hagrid exclaid with genuine delight, apparently viewing the fact that his facial hair was currently on fire as evidence of his creatures' admirable liveliness rather than a serious safety concern.
He casually patted out the flas with his enormous hands, treating the incident as if it were no more significant than being splashed by an enthusiastic puppy.
"This kind of energy is exactly why they'll make such wonderful teaching aids! Are you absolutely certain you wouldn't like to keep a few for your own classes?"
"Really, truly, completely unnecessary," Adrian replied with firm finality, simultaneously becoming aware of the sound of approaching footsteps that indicated his students were beginning to arrive for their lesson.
The last thing he needed was for them to witness Hagrid's "adorable" creatures setting beards on fire.
"Such a trendous sha," Hagrid said with regret as he reluctantly closed the crate. As he prepared to drag his dangerous shipnt away from the teaching area, he muttered under his breath: "Well, I suppose I'll go show them to so of the other professors. Perhaps soone else will be interested..."
After bidding farewell to the well-aning but dangerously enthusiastic Hagrid, Adrian turned his attention to greeting the stream of students who were beginning to erge from the castle and make their way toward the lakeside clearing.
He took a mont to ensure that no trace of Hagrid's explosive creatures remained in the area, then composed himself to begin what he hoped would be a considerably safer lesson than what had almost occurred.
anwhile, Harry mixed among the crowd, sighing.
The Gryffindor and Slytherin students had just endured what could generously be described as a less-than-enjoyable Herbology lesson with Professor Sprout.
The morning's assignnt had required them to handle Bubotubers, magical plants whose most famous characteristic was their tendency to develop large, pus-filled pustules that had to be carefully squeezed to collect the yellow-green liquid inside.
This substance, while valuable for treating various magical ailnts, possessed an odor that could generously be described as nauseating and more accurately characterized as capable of inducing imdiate vomiting in anyone unfortunate enough to encounter it.
The work had been ssy, slly, and deeply unpleasant, requiring students to press and squeeze the disgusting pustules until they burst, releasing their aromatic contents into collection jars.
Several students had been splashed with the fluid, and the greenhouse had quickly filled with an atmosphere that made breathing through one's nose a significant challenge.
Ron had been particularly unlucky in this regard, his robes now carried such a potent concentration of the Bubotuber's aroma that other students instinctively gave him a wide berth as they walked.
Fortunately, Harry thought, at least in Adrian's Care of Magical Creatures class they wouldn't encounter anything so disgusting.
At this mont, their peaceful progress toward the lake was suddenly disrupted by the unwelco arrival of Malfoy, who pushed through the crowd to position himself next to Ron.
His facial featured were already arranging themselves into the sneer that had beco his signature expression whenever he encountered Gryffindor students.
"rlin's beard!" Malfoy drawled in an exaggerated, theatrical voice, his voice dripping with manufactured disgust as he made a show of pinching his nose between thumb and forefinger.
"What in the na of all that's sacred is that absolutely disgusting sll emanating from you, Weasley? For a mont there, I genuinely thought so diseased skunk had sohow wandered into the castle and died in a particularly aromatic manner."
"Just shut your mouth, Malfoy," Ron snapped back, his face imdiately flushing red with a combination of embarrassnt and anger.
"Oh, but you'll all have the wonderful opportunity to enjoy this sa delightful experience eventually," Harry glanced at Malfoy, saying coldly, "Unless, of course, you're planning to skip Professor Sprout's classes. Though I suppose claiming illness might be difficult when everyone knows Slytherins are naturally comfortable with things that sll terrible."
"But unlike you pathetic Gryffindor incompetents, I won't be clumsy enough to get myself thoroughly covered in disgusting pus," Malfoy retorted and burst into laughter.
Goyle behind him produced crude laughter in accompanint.
However, Harry's imdiately noticed. Vincent Crabbe, Malfoy's other henchman and typically the more vicious of his two bodyguards, wasn't participating in the mockery with his usual enthusiasm. In fact, he wasn't participating at all.
This normally vicious-looking big lump was pale, his gaze unfocused, seeming completely uninterested in the current conflict. Newest update provided by novel[f]ire
Harry certainly knew why he looked this way because of Mr. Crabbe.
"Instead of standing here mocking us for sothing that happened to everyone in the class," Harry said suddenly, his voice taking on a deliberately cutting edge as he turned his attention toward Malfoy, "perhaps you should be more concerned about your little follower there. He doesn't look well at all. In fact, he looks like he's barely keeping himself together."
In fact, Malfoy had long noticed Crabbe's strange behavior.
A flash of annoyance crossed his eyes as he turned to look at Crabbe. "Hey, what's wrong with you? You've had this dead-eyed look since the start of term!"
Crabbe's body visibly trembled, his lips moving but unable to speak. His gaze was evasive, not daring to et anyone's eyes directly.
"Give my regards to your father, Crabbe." Harry said cruelly.
This sentence struck like a heavy blow, and Crabbe's head drooped even lower.
"Draco, let's... let's just go," Crabbe managed to whisper, his voice so weak it was barely audible above the sounds of students moving toward their class.
Now Malfoy understood that sothing had definitely happened to Crabbe. He shot Harry a vicious look, then led his two followers into the Slytherin crowd.
Seeing this, Harry felt a certain satisfaction. But at the sa ti, complex emotions welled up in his heart.
Perhaps he shouldn't have done that?
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