When Dumbledore announced the news of the Triwizard Tournament, the long tables of the four Houses immediately broke into different reactions.
Some, mostly pure-bloods and perhaps a few who had actually taken history classes from the old ghost professor, cheered, obviously having heard of the event, while the majority of the students showed puzzled expressions.
It was understandable, and Professor Dumbledore clearly noticed the difference among the students, so he smiled gently, letting the moment stretch a bit, then continued to explain, "I imagine many of you have not heard of the Triwizard Tournament, so I will give a brief introduction. I also ask those who are already familiar with the situation to bear with us and allow your minds to wander for a moment."
He paused, letting the Hall quiet fully before going on. "The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang..."
"A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities, until the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."
"Death toll?" At the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger whispered sharply, her eyes widening as she leaned toward her friends.
Her alarm, however, did not seem to be shared by most of the Hall. Instead of concern, excited murmurs swelled, and students leaned toward one another with eager expressions. Even her best friends seemed far more interested in hearing about the tournament than in worrying about actual deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago.
"There have, over the centuries, been several earnest attempts to revive the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore's voice continued, "though I must admit that none met with quite the success their organizers had hoped for. Still, progress is seldom made without perseverance, and I am pleased to tell you that both the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Games and Sports believe the moment is once again upon us."
"Throughout the summer, we have conferred at great length, exchanged ideas, and introduced new regulations, all with one guiding purpose in mind, which is to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."
"And should the tournament conclude as successfully as I am confident it will, then it shall henceforth be held every five years, with each school taking its turn as host, so that cooperation and friendly rivalry may continue to flourish among our young witches and wizards…"
"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive at Hogwarts in October, accompanied by a short list of their most promising candidates, and the selection of the champions will take place on Halloween. An impartial panel of judges will determine which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, for the honour of their schools, and for a personal prize of twenty thousand Galleons."
"Merlin's thick beard… twenty thousand Galleons?"
As Dumbledore's words fell, a collective gasp swept through the Great Hall, and every student's breath seemed to hitch at once. Even those from pure blood noble families were taken aback by the extremely generous reward. For these teenagers still bound to school life, regardless of whether they were nobles or not, it was an absolutely irresistible and immense temptation.
"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the promise of not only glory but riches. And he wasn't the only person who seemed to be imagining themselves as the Hogwarts champion.
Watching from the stage, Maverick took in the sea of students, each House table alive with rapt attention or hushed whispers, and without meaning to, his mind subconsciously recalled this very moment from the memories of his previous life. The general direction in which everything was unfolding was still correct, though the contrasts were just as many. All the same, it promised to be a most interesting year, and the thought drew a faint smile to his lips.
"I can already tell we are going to have our hands full," Flitwick murmured beside him, wearing a smile of his own.
"Not us. Professor McGonagall and her team are the ones responsible for the tournament as a whole, so they are the ones who need to keep a closer watch. I have a feeling the twins might even break the record this year when it comes to losing their House points," Maverick replied, taking an unhurried sip. "Anyways, all we have to concern ourselves with is whatever trouble might decide to wander in from outside."
Flitwick and Maverick chuckled and cast a sideways glance toward the witch in question, seated on the other side of Dumbledore. They were not speaking loudly, but Professor McGonagall's hearing was no joke, and she caught every word her jinx mouthed fellow professors uttered, her lips twitching almost imperceptibly in response.
Meanwhile, Headmaster Dumbledore allowed the Great Hall a moment to fully absorb the news of the prize money before continuing. "Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, together with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose several restrictions upon the contenders this year."
As the Hall hushed and listened intently, the Headmaster explained, "I will not go into details tonight, for all shall be explained properly when our guests arrive. Nevertheless, I can share a few points of particular importance." He paused briefly before continuing, "Only those students whose magical energy meets a certain standard will be considered, and yes, they will first be shortlisted. From there, each will be invited to undergo a more personal assessment of their other abilities, for raw power alone has never been a reliable measure of true worth. Only after this process will candidates be formally selected."
"And, of course," he added gently, "all of you are free to put your names forward for consideration, a notion to which I have no objection at all."
"This," he said, raising his voice slightly as several students had already begun to murmur, "is a measure we believe to be necessary given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous."
He went on, "The Grandmaster of Alchemy, Nicolas Flamel himself, has been personally involved in the creation of the magical mechanisms that will oversee this process, ensuring that those ultimately selected are chosen fairly and truly meet the standards we have set." His light blue eyes twinkled as they drifted slowly across the four long tables…
Meanwhile, at the mention of "magical energy," the long tables began to buzz once more. It was fundamental knowledge in wizarding education, and aside from a handful of Muggle born first years, every student present was well acquainted with the concept.
"But we are all only Mage Apprentices, so what is the Headmaster talking about when he says candidates will be shortlisted based on magical energy?"
"There are levels even within the major ranks, you know. It is like both of us earning a passing grade, except mine is fifty nine marks while yours is only forty one. We both pass, since anything between forty and sixty counts, but there is still a difference."
"Why do I have to be the one with forty one points and not you?"
"That's not the poin… … … just keep listening to the Headmaster!"
Though some students were still not entirely clear on the matter, the majority had grasped that the criteria for being shortlisted depended first and foremost on raw magic. It was logical and easy enough to accept, and so there were few protests in the Hall. The only lingering concern was that no one had ever heard of a precise method for measuring magical energy, but that worried only a few students also, especially since Dumbledore had said Nicolas Flamel himself was involved.
Ron quietly leaned toward Harry, lowering his voice, his tone full of anticipation. "Harry, just imagine, if we could become Hogwarts Champions and get that twenty thousand Galleons…"
"You will first have to be shortlisted, Ronald." From the other side of the table, before Harry could answer, Hermione rolled her eyes.
"You think the three of us aren't good enough to make that list?"
"Not exactly, Ron," Harry added.
"I don't mean we aren't good enough," Hermione went on, lowering her voice just enough for the two of them to hear. "Honestly, I'd say we could even hold our own against seventh years in a duel by now. But magical energy is magical energy, and how well we can actually use our magic, be it Charms, Transfiguration, or anything else, is a different matter altogether."
She sighed, straightened up, and continued softly as she looked toward the stage. "Unfortunately, we are still too young. It's likely that the Hogwarts champion will be chosen from the sixth or seventh years."
Professor Dumbledore looked at the varied expressions of the students below and, after a long pause, proceeded with the talk.
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and will remain with us for the greater part of the year," he continued, his tone softening slightly. "I trust that each of you will extend every courtesy to our guests while they are with us, and that you will give your wholehearted support to the Hogwarts champions once they have been selected."
"For now… it is late," he said, glancing up at the enchanted clock at the top of the Great Hall, a smile touching his lips. "It is far more important than anything else that you come to class tomorrow morning feeling refreshed and clear headed. So, off to bed. Chop chop!"
In those final words, Maverick detected the unmistakable trace of subtle magic woven into Dumbledore's voice, just enough that the students who heard it felt an instinctive urge to comply without ever realizing why.
This old geezer really was not afraid of anything, Maverick clicked his tongue inwardly as he watched the man stroll over and sit down, already speaking to Moody as though nothing of note had happened. Shaking his head faintly, he rose from his chair and decided to call it a night as well. Following his lead, the others slowly stood up as well.
Below, there was a great scraping and banging as students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors leading into the entrance hall.
"Professor Caesar, might I trouble you to stop by my office for a moment?"
Unfortunately, Maverick had not even taken two steps before the old goat stopped him in his tracks, and his plans for a quiet evening promptly vanished.
"You as well, Minerva, Filius…"
Dumbledore rose as well, with Moody following close behind, and it seemed the veteran Auror would be joining them for the meeting too.
Oh? Was it time already? Maverick's brows lifted slightly as the thought crossed his mind, and he cast a brief glance toward Moody. Well then, it was bound to be an interesting night.
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Author's Note:
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