Chapter 327: The Goblet of Fire
Whispers also emerged, spreading through the air: "What's in that box? Could it be a tool for selecting champions?"
"It looks old. Could it be the legendary Goblet of Fire?"
"It must be!"
Filch walked step by step through the crowd, his leather shoes making a "thump-thump" sound on the flagstones.
Every step he took was extremely light, as if he feared disturbing the object in the box, and the students' whispers spread along with his footsteps.
It wasn't until the wooden box was placed steadily on the stone platform conjured by Dumbledore that all discussions abruptly ceased, as if a pause button had been pressed.
The entire Great Hall was silent, thousands of gazes uniformly focused on the wooden box inlaid with various gems.
Dumbledore raised his wand, and a faint glow flashed from its tip: "Before revealing the key, I must first explain the competition arrangements. The Triwizard Tournament consists of three tasks, which will span the entire school year, held in different months."
His gaze slowly swept across the hall, "These three trials are not only a measure of the champions' magic abilities but will also test your courage, wisdom, and adaptability in facing unexpected situations. Each task holds unknown challenges."
As soon as he finished speaking, his hand holding the wand gently dropped, tapping the top of the wooden box three times.
"Creak—creak—"
A muffled sound immediately rang out, and the lid of the wooden box slowly opened along the gem-studded patterns, revealing the object inside.
It was a crudely made wooden goblet, its body larger than an adult's head, and its thick stem barely able to be clasped with both hands.
Its appearance was far from exquisite; in fact, it could be described as rudimentary.
The carvings on the cup body varied in depth, with some areas still bearing unpolished splinters, and the marks of knives and axes were chaotic, looking like a half-finished prototype, forming a stark contrast with the ornate jeweled wooden box on the outside.
Yet, within this unassuming wooden cup, a ball of blue-white flame flickered.
The flame had no heat whatsoever; instead, it exuded a faint coolness.
It danced lightly at the rim of the cup, its glow casting a pale blue-white shimmer on the surrounding students' faces, even dimming the gems on the stone platform.
This eerie yet magnificent sight instantly made the students, who had been slightly disappointed by the cup's roughness, hold their breath.
"From now until the start of tomorrow's Halloween Feast, you will have time to consider whether to sign up."
Dumbledore's voice drew everyone's attention back, "Ultimately, it will select the champions to represent their respective schools."
He pointed towards the Great Hall doors, "After the feast, the Goblet of Fire will be moved to the Entrance Hall, where all interested students can approach it. I believe everyone is clear on the core requirement: only students who meet the age requirement, or who have passed the internal school selection assessment, are eligible to put their names into the Goblet of Fire."
He paused, drawing a circle in the air with his wand.
"To ensure the rules are effective, I will set up a magical Age Line around the Goblet of Fire—anyone who does not meet the age requirement or has not passed the assessment will be unable to approach it by even half a step, let alone sign up."
"The registration method is very simple," Dumbledore continued, "Take a piece of parchment, and personally write down your school and name—it must be 'personally written'; any proxy writing will be detected by the Goblet of Fire. After writing, simply drop it into the blue flame in the cup."
He specifically looked at the Hogwarts students, "As for our own students who have passed the internal school selection, they need to write their information on a special vellum card and drop it into the flame to complete the registration process."
As soon as he finished speaking, a ripple of murmuring immediately arose in the Great Hall.
Some turned to ask their seniors when the selection assessment would be, while others tugged at their robes, agonizing over whether a few months' age difference would allow them to try.
Still others excitedly discussed with their companions whether their magic could handle the challenge.
Dumbledore timely raised his voice, and the faint glow from his wand tip brightened again, silencing all whispers.
"I must emphasize a serious reminder to all of you—the Triwizard Tournament is a serious matter!"
His smile gradually faded, his brow furrowed slightly, and his tone became exceptionally serious, "The moment you put your name into the Goblet of Fire and become a champion, you form a magical contract with it."
"You all should know the power of a magical contract." His gaze sharpened, "Once contracted, you must do your utmost to complete all tasks; there is no possibility of withdrawing midway."
"Therefore, before you put pen to parchment, please think carefully."
Dumbledore let out a soft breath, his expression softening once more.
"The feast is concluded. Everyone, please return to your dormitories and rest early."
He gestured with his chin towards the Goblet of Fire, "Think carefully about whether you can bear the weight of the contract, whether you are truly willing to risk everything for the competition. Good night, everyone."
The blue flame on the stone platform still flickered, reflecting the varying expressions on the students' faces as they stood up.
Some had shining eyes, some were full of hesitation, and others kept looking back at the crudely made wooden cup, their steps slowing by half a beat.
Before leaving the Great Hall, Dylan specifically looked back at the Goblet of Fire on the stone platform.
When observing it up close earlier, his fingertips, passing through the air around the cup, could detect faint magical patterns.
These were residual traces unique to ritual magic, with dense patterns and a circulating, flowing texture.
Combined with the magical contract Dumbledore mentioned at the end, he gradually understood.
These traces were likely related to the establishment of the contract, with the Goblet of Fire binding the registrants to the competition through ritual magic.
As for whether the cup itself held other mysteries, he would probably only know by examining it closely when he could touch it himself.
Many students in the Great Hall were huddled together in small groups, whispering, some even moving half a step towards the Entrance Hall.
But when they saw the figure carrying the Goblet of Fire towards the Entrance Hall, everyone sighed in unison.
Leading the way was Dumbledore, holding the Goblet of Fire steadily with both hands, the blue-white flame dancing at its rim, completely unaffected by his movement.
Dumbledore walked directly to the center of the Entrance Hall, waved his wand lightly, and a stone platform about half a person's height immediately rose from the ground, just large enough to securely hold the Goblet of Fire.
After placing the cup down, he walked around the platform with his wand in hand, and as the tip of his wand traced the ground, it left a thin golden line. The line solidified upon touching the ground, forming a circle with a radius of about ten feet, precisely enclosing the Goblet of Fire in its center.
The golden circle glowed with a soft luster, and a light touch with a toe could feel a faint magical resistance.
This was the Age Line Dumbledore had spoken of.
"Go back to your common rooms early."
Dumbledore turned around, looking at the lingering students, a knowing smile on his lips, "Tomorrow is the weekend, you need to be well-rested to enjoy it properly."
His tone carried a hint of amusement, and as his gaze swept over the dejected students, he even gave a slight wink.
The students could only nod, some reluctantly kicking the ground, others pouting at the golden circle, but eventually they dispersed in twos and threes, heading towards their respective house common rooms.
However, the appearance of the Goblet of Fire completely disrupted the students' routines.
The next morning.
Many woke up half an hour earlier than usual, some even bringing their breakfast directly to the Entrance Hall.
Some held buttered bread, others had sandwiches tucked under their arms, and some carried hot milk, forming a semi-circle around the Goblet of Fire.
Even if they couldn't sign up, everyone wanted to see who would be the first to put their name in.
The murmuring in the Entrance Hall rose and fell, occasionally interspersed with the sounds of food being chewed.
Dylan had just finished feeding his pet and, upon returning, stepped onto the stone steps of the Entrance Hall when he heard a "hissing" sound of air.
Immediately following, two figures "whooshed" out from inside the golden circle, falling straight towards the ground.
Dylan reacted quickly, snapping his fingers, and two light blue, fluffy cushions immediately appeared beneath the figures, catching them with a "poof."
"Huh? Didn't even hurt—" Fred's voice came from the cushion. He felt the cushion beneath him; it was soft and had a faint lavender scent.
"This cushion is nice, even more comfortable than our dormitory pillows." George sat up as well, then rolled around on the cushion, messing up his hair.
When they saw Dylan standing nearby, both immediately broke into their characteristic smiles.
Fred propped himself up on the cushion and stood, dusting himself off: "Dylan, thank you. Otherwise, that fall would have certainly left us with sore bottoms."
George also stood up, leaning on Fred's shoulder, his gaze on the Goblet of Fire, and asked cheerfully, "You haven't signed up yet, have you? Want to go together?"
Before Dylan could speak, a loud "POP!" suddenly erupted.
The students in the Entrance Hall immediately burst into laughter.
Dylan also couldn't help but curve his lips.
Right before their eyes, Fred and George suddenly sprouted thick, grizzled beards below their noses, so long they almost reached their chests, identical to Dumbledore's long beard. Even their eyebrows turned snowy white and bushy, making them look exactly like two miniature "old Wizards."
"Merlin's beard!" Fred reached up to touch his chin, and when he felt a soft handful of hair, his eyes widened, "What in the world is this?"
George quickly pulled out a small mirror he carried, and after seeing his reflection, he also cried out, "Did the Ageing Potion go wrong?"
The laughter around them grew louder; some were laughing so hard they couldn't stand straight, spilling most of the milk in their hands.
Dylan stared at the long, grizzled beards of Fred and George, which hung down to their chests, and tilted his head: "Didn't you already pass the selection assessment? Since you could sign up, how were you still bounced out by the age restriction line?"
Fred's hand, which had been stroking his beard, froze in mid-air, and George also put away the small mirror in his hand.
The two exchanged glances, both showing a hint of embarrassment.
They had indeed passed the school's selection, but they were still two years shy of the age requirement for the Triwizard Tournament.
"We passed the selection, but the age line is strict," George scratched his head, his snowy white eyebrows moving along with it, looking a bit comical.
"We originally wanted to try this—" he said, nodding towards the ground.
Dylan's gaze had already fallen on their feet.
Two parchment scrolls were curled at the edges by the recent airflow.
On them, scrawled in messy handwriting, were "Fred Weasley, Hogwarts" and "George Weasley, Hogwarts."
Not far away lay a small, half-broken glass vial, the remaining green liquid sticky on its inner surface, emitting a faint, sweet, fishy smell.
Without needing to think, he recognized it as an Ageing Potion.
"An Ageing Potion," Dylan squatted down, his fingertips hovering a few centimeters above the glass vial without directly touching it.
"You wanted to use it to trick the age restriction line?"
The students who had been watching the commotion gradually gathered around, some curiously peering in: "An Ageing Potion can be used like that?"
Dylan straightened up and explained: "The proportion of ingredients in this Potion requires extreme precision.
The core ingredients are aged red wine and turtle shell, and their attributes and age must strictly match—for example, if you use ten-year-old aged red wine, you must pair it with a turtle shell from a turtle around ten years old.
Even a six-month difference could affect the Potion's efficacy."
He paused, then continued to add details about the ingredients: "Besides that, you also need to add bat tongues, moth pupae, and dittany essence."
"Bats use echolocation to navigate their environment; their tongues contain a special kind of magic that acts as a 'reversal' effect, ensuring that the user returns to their original age after the Potion wears off."
"Moth pupae work similarly to Death's-head Hawkmoths; they contain the energy of 'transformation and rebirth,' which can assist the reversal effect of the tongue."
"Once the age is restored, the healing properties of dittany essence can repair the subtle damage caused to the body by the sudden change in age."
Fred touched his nose and interjected in a low voice: "When we brewed it, both the red wine and the turtle shell were five years old, and we didn't skimp on the ingredients, so why did it fail?"
"Based solely on the ingredient proportions, there's indeed a possibility of success," Dylan nodded in agreement, but then changed his tone.
"However, the key to an Ageing Potion's effectiveness isn't just on the physical level.
It requires the user to fully immerse themselves, body and soul, in the state of 'aging.'"
"Not only must the physical age meet the standard, but the cognitive understanding at the soul level must also adjust synchronously.
At the very least, one's consciousness must truly believe, 'I have already reached this age.'"
He looked at their still fluffy white beards and continued: "This kind of comprehensive adjustment to the soul is extremely difficult.
If one could truly achieve this step, even if they weren't actually old enough, they could still pass the mental test in the selection assessment, making an Ageing Potion a unnecessary shortcut."
Upon hearing this, George slapped his thigh in frustration: "So we were wrong from the start? I wish we hadn't bothered with this Potion."
No sooner had he spoken than the beard on his chin suddenly trembled, and a few white wisps fell off.
It seemed the Potion's effects were becoming unstable.
The surrounding students, seeing this, couldn't help but laugh again, while Fred rolled his eyes and reached to pull at the beard on his own chin, only to pull out real hair, making him grimace in pain.
"Because they—drank an Ageing Potion!" Lee Jordan laughed so hard he couldn't stand straight, one hand on the wall, the other clutching his stomach, speaking in gasps, tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes.
He finally managed to steady himself and squeezed next to Fred and George, not only confirming Dylan's explanation but also reaching out to lightly stroke Fred's white beard.
The feel of the hair against his fingertips made him laugh out loud again: "Don't tell me—it's quite smooth, much softer than my grandpa's beard."
Fred raised an eyebrow and exchanged a knowing look with George.
"George, do you remember what we said?" Fred deliberately drew out his words, his hand already subtly resting on Lee Jordan's arm.
George immediately nodded in understanding, lightly poking Lee Jordan's back with his fingertip: "Of course I remember—Li, such a good 'beard experience' can't be enjoyed by us alone."
Before Lee Jordan could react, the twins, one on each side, grabbed his arms and, with a forceful swing, pushed him directly towards the golden age restriction line.
There was a dull thud.
Lee Jordan was bounced back the moment he crossed the line.
Dylan, already prepared, raised his hand and snapped his fingers again, and a fluffy cushion instantly appeared in his path of descent, catching him steadily.
The entrance hall was now thoroughly lively.
Fred, George, and Lee Jordan lay side-by-side on the cushion, three tufts of grizzled long beards hanging down to their chests, pointing at each other's faces and laughing, their laughter echoing.
Students who had been in the Great Hall eating breakfast heard the commotion and rushed out with their trays, and the entrance hall was quickly filled with onlookers.
Ron squeezed to the front of the crowd and immediately recognized his brothers.
He pointed at their beards, laughing so hard he doubled over, even his ears turning red: "Fred! George! Are you planning to retire early and become Principal?"
Fred and the other two exchanged glances and got up to pounce on Ron.
Seeing this, Ron quickly recoiled, swiftly ran to Dylan's side to hide, and even made a face at the twins.
"Stop messing around," he panted, changing the subject, "Didn't you already pass the school selection? Why are you pulling this stunt?"
George mimicked Dumbledore, slowly stroking his beard, deliberately lowering his voice: "We wanted to see if there was another way to bypass the age line, you know."
Fred also stroked his beard, a hint of calculation in his tone: "If we could save those two selection cards, we might be able to sell them to older students who want to sign up and get some Galleons."
"Typical you two!" Ron immediately gave them a thumbs-up, his eyes full of admiration.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, as expected, this age restriction line is truly flawless."
Ernie Macmillan's voice came from not far away.
He was hunched over a stone table, writing something, his quill moving quickly across the parchment.
He had drooping eyelids and faint dark circles around his eyes, clearly having stayed up all night, guarding the spot to record registrations.
"Either you can cross the age line, or you have a selection card; otherwise, you can't even get close to the Goblet of Fire."
Harry, who had just finished registering, walked over and, hearing this, couldn't help but ask curiously: "Besides Fred and them, has anyone else tried to cheat?"
"Plenty."
Ernie put down his quill and rubbed his tired eyes: "Summers from our house, last night, folded his registration slip into a paper airplane, hoping to fly it into the Goblet of Fire."
"But the plane stopped in mid-air just as it crossed the age line, and as if by magic, it pulled Summers back into the line.
In the end, he was also bounced out, with a beard even longer than Fred's."
"Then there's Montague from Slytherin.
He wasn't eligible himself, so he incited Warrington to try and move the Goblet of Fire."
Ernie chuckled, his tone full of disdain: "That cup was placed by Headmaster Dumbledore himself.
Warrington's face turned beet red as he pushed hard and bent over to lift it, but the cup didn't budge an inch, and he ended up straining his back."
"Fawcett from Ravenclaw was even more interesting.
He squatted here at three in the morning, hoping to sneak his name in when no one was around.
But as soon as he touched the age line, he was thrown back.
He's probably still in his dormitory covering his face."
As he spoke, he flipped open his record book and read out the names of those who had registered.
As Harry listened, he suddenly turned to Dylan: "Dylan, you must have registered already, right?"
"Not yet, but now's a good time."
Dylan pulled a card from his pocket.
On it, in clear silver ink, was neatly written "Dylan Hawkwood, Hogwarts," with faint magical patterns printed along the edges.
Actually, whether he participated or not didn't really matter to Dylan.
Being outside the game allowed him to do many things, but even within the game, he could still accomplish quite a bit.
Dylan held the card and steadily stepped into the golden age restriction line.
He deliberately slowed his pace, his consciousness highly focused, carefully sensing the surrounding magic fluctuations.
The moment he dropped the card into the Goblet of Fire, the blue-white flames suddenly shot up half an inch.
The card didn't burn in the fire; instead, it transformed into a wisp of golden light, merging into the patterns on the cup's body.
At this moment, Dylan clearly perceived that a faint yet stable connection had been established between his consciousness and the Goblet of Fire.
The act of registering itself was part of ritual magic, requiring the registrant to hold a clear intention of "participating in the Triwizard Tournament."
This intention, resonating with the ritual magic of the Goblet of Fire, completed the initial binding of the contract.
He stood there for a moment, and only after confirming that the perceived magical trajectory was correct did he slowly walk out of the age restriction line.
Chapter 328 Why isn't Dylan here?
After establishing a connection with the goblet of fire, Dylan felt it out.
It must be said, the overall design of the goblet of fire was simply too ingenious.
Especially the choice of fire as the core medium for the entire ritual, it was the perfect touch.
Fire itself carries multiple meanings.
It is both a symbol of purification, capable of removing impurities from the mark.
And a vehicle for awakening, able to connect with latent qualities.
It can also serve as a filtering standard, making judgments based on its own energy attributes.
During the process of accepting the mark, the burning of the fire is not actual harm, but a gentle energy probe. It travels along the lines of the mark, and in its "burning," it stimulates the latent potential of the applicant.
This could be the degree of composure when facing unknown energy, the logical thinking when processing complex information, or the speed of reaction when encountering sudden interference.
These stimulated qualities allow the goblet of fire to form a comprehensive understanding of the applicant.
This perfectly corresponds to the core of the competition Dumbledore mentioned yesterday.
The three tasks never just test the strength of magic.
They also concern whether the Champion's courage can withstand unknown challenges, whether their wisdom can dismantle difficulties, and whether their on-the-spot adaptability can stabilize the situation.
On Halloween Eve at Hogwarts, the sweet scent of roasted pumpkin had already wafted through the air.
White smoke, carrying a hint of char, rose from the kitchen chimneys, and the aroma spread along the corridor vents, seeping into the window cracks of every classroom. Even the gaps in the armor seemed to hold a touch of warmth.
Pranks in the Castle also began on time.
Several older students wearing Gryffindor uniforms had become the new generation of "Weasleytwins."
They led a group of curious first-years towards the armor display area, and as the first-years reached out to touch the armor, they secretly poked the armor's joints with their wands.
The armor clanged to life, its arm suddenly rising, scaring the first-years into either jumping back or grabbing the arms of those beside them and screaming.
These imitators immediately covered their mouths, laughing in a heap, their shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
The decorations in the Great Hall were even more Halloween-themed than in previous days.
Hundreds of paper bats hung from the ceiling, swirling and fluttering with the airflow, making a rustling sound as their wings flapped.
Several skeletons leaned against the walls, their joints wrapped in silver ribbons, swaying left and right with invisible magic, dancing grotesque dances around the silk banners of the four Houses. Their skulls occasionally bumped against the banners, making soft sounds.
The Entrance Hall was even livelier than the Great Hall.
Many students had been guarding it all day, juice cups in hand, their eyes fixed on the goblet of fire.
They didn't intend to sign up, but they treated "observing who signs up" as the top entertainment before the feast.
Hufflepuff students were the authoritative intelligence station here.
They hadn't left since the end of the feast last night.
Some were wrapped in blankets, leaning against stone pillars; others held notebooks, ready to record at any moment.
"The Durmstrang people came in the middle of the night!" a Hufflepuff student said, clearing his throat as more people gathered around. "Their eyes were barely open, and they were swaying as they walked. They were probably dragged out of bed."
He paused, then gestured towards the staff table with his chin. "Karkaroff was standing next to the goblet of fire, urging them on, his voice hoarse from shouting. One moment he was cursing them to hurry up, the next he was waving his wand to shoo people away. Tsk, tsk, no mercy at all."
"Only Krum came in the morning," another Hufflepuff student added, flipping through his notebook. "I heard he caught a cold last night and was coughing badly. Karkaroff actually didn't rush him and even let him sleep a bit longer."
This remark sparked a quiet discussion.
Everyone could see that Karkaroff had a special fondness for Viktor Krum.
When the Quidditch star walked through the Entrance Hall, Karkaroff's usually tense face softened slightly.
He even proactively asked if he was feeling better, a clear difference from his attitude towards other students.
During breakfast, Hogwarts students came to sign up one after another.
Some hurried forward, a piece of bread in their mouths, and ran to the Great Hall after dropping their names in.
Others meticulously checked their cards several times before solemnly tossing them into the goblet of fire.
After breakfast, the Beauxbatons students entered the Entrance Hall, led by Madam Maxime.
She didn't squeeze next to the goblet of fire, but stood at the entrance of the Entrance Hall, directing: "In order, watch your step."
Perhaps because of her exceptionally tall stature, she was careful not to accidentally bump into the surrounding students, even softening her movements when gesturing with her hand.
Dumbledore, as the host, remained composed throughout.
He moved back and forth in the Entrance Hall, his gaze always lingering near the age line, as if searching for something.
When Professor McGonagall told him that Fred, George, and Lee Jordan had all been thrown back yesterday and had grown white beards just like his, he couldn't help but shake his head, a hint of regret in his voice: "I wish I had stayed later yesterday, or wandered around the Entrance Hall more. It's a pity I didn't get to see that scene with my own eyes."
As he spoke, he even raised a hand to stroke his long beard, his eyes full of laughter.
As the evening glow just swept over the Castle spires, Dumbledore, accompanied by two staff members, had already moved the goblet of fire to the Great Hall, placing it steadily on the stone pedestal to the right of the owl lectern.
Blue and white flames danced quietly at the mouth of the cup, reflecting the silverware on the lectern, becoming the most eye-catching presence in the entire Great Hall.
Tonight's Halloween Eve feast was even more lavish than yesterday's welcoming feast.
The long tables were piled high with glistening roasted turkeys, gravy dripping down their crispy skins.
Steaming, tender pumpkin soup, with a layer of golden cream floating on top.
Various desserts were stacked like small mountains, chocolate frogs hopped on plates, and the frosting on pumpkin pies shimmered.
But most students weren't in the mood to savor it.
Some forked a piece of potato into their mouths, their gaze, however, passed over their plates towards the goblet of fire.
Others took a couple of bites of bread, their eyes unconsciously drifting towards the Beauxbatons' long table.
There, Fleur Delacour was gently stirring her pumpkin soup with a silver fork, her profile exceptionally clear in the candlelight.
Not everyone was indifferent to the food.
Hagrid treated this feast as a major event, even attending in what could be called "full dress."
He had splashed half a bottle of cologne on himself; its strong scent could be smelled several long tables away.
His normally unruly hair was carefully slicked back with pomade into two strands, hanging on either side of his shoulders.
He wore an ill-fitting brown plush suit, the sleeves noticeably too short, and a yellow and orange plaid tie was knotted crookedly around his neck, yet it conveyed a sense of utmost seriousness.
He sat in the corner of the staff table, and with each bite of stew, he would secretly glance up towards Madam Maxime, his eyes filled with a nervous anticipation.
When she happened to turn her head, he quickly lowered his own, pretending to be engrossed in the roasted meat on his plate.
As the feast progressed to the dessert course, the activity in the Great Hall grew quieter.
Only a few, like Dylan and Luna, were still diligently enjoying their food.
The other students had long since put down their knives and forks, craning their necks to stare at the goblet of fire, even their breathing softened.
Some clasped their hands in front of their chests, others unconsciously clenched their fists, their gaze fixed on the dancing blue and white flames.
When the last empty plate was cleared by a House-elf, and the plate's surface became pristine again, the entire Great Hall fell completely silent.
Hundreds of gazes simultaneously turned to the staff table; even the Principals who had been conversing in low voices stopped talking and looked at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore, sensing the eager anticipation filling the room, slowly stood up, straightened the hem of his robes, and walked deliberately to the goblet of fire.
"I imagine you're all getting impatient."
He said with a smile, his voice gentle yet penetrating, "However… you'll have to wait a little longer."
As he spoke, he raised his wand and waved it lightly. The chandeliers at the top of the Great Hallinstantly dimmed, leaving only the candlelight and the glow of the goblet of fire, making the blue and white flames appear even brighter.
"The goblet of fire will make its choice very soon."
He raised his hand and pointed to the room next to the staff table, which had velvet curtains. "When I call out the Champion's name, please go there immediately. Wait inside for a moment, and once all Champions are confirmed, we will inform everyone about the first task's challenge."
No sooner had he finished speaking than the blue and white flames in the goblet of fire suddenly surged, their blinding light illuminating every corner of the Great Hall in an instant.
The flames gradually turned a brilliant red under everyone's gaze.
Immediately after, a strip of parchment, its edges charred black, flew out of the flames, carrying a faint scent of smoke.
"Perfect timing, I just finished speaking," Dumbledore said, a flicker of a smile in his eyes, as he raised his hand and steadily caught the parchment.
The goblet of fire's flames quickly returned to their original blue and white. He unfolded the parchment by the light of the flames and clearly read the inscription: "Let's see the first Champion."
"This is the Champion from Beauxbatons Academy of magic—" Before he could finish, Karkaroff's tense jawline softened slightly.
The flames in the cup seemed to understand the command.
Before Dumbledore could read the rest, the blue and white core of the flame suddenly turned brilliant red.
With a "whoosh," a charred-edged piece of parchment shot out.
Dumbledore, quick as a flash, caught the parchment between his fingers, steadying it.
Just as he was about to unfold it, a second piece of parchment flew out right after. He simply caught it with his other hand, quickly flicking it open with two fingers: "Beauxbatons' first Champion, FleurDelacour! Second, Claudia LaRoche! Third, Adele LeFevre!"
Fleur Delacour stood up in response, her silvery long hair fanning out in soft curves with her movement. She slightly lifted the hem of her light blue silk robes, her steps as light as if she were treading on moonlight.
Claudia LaRoche immediately went to her side, unconsciously clutching Fleur's sleeve, her lips almost reaching her ears, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Adele LeFevre, meanwhile, smiled and adjusted her hood. The three walked side by side towards the lounge, and without waiting for Dumbledore to speak again, they consciously lifted the curtain and went inside.
When it was Durmstrang's turn, Dumbledore waited for a moment.
The goblet of fire first dimmed, then consecutively spat out three pieces of parchment, like a string of charred leaves.
He spread the three pieces of parchment in his palm and read them word for word: "Champions from Durmstrang Institute of magic, Viktor Krum! Maria Wilman! Franz Schmidt!"
The cheers in the Great Hall instantly soared to a higher level.
Especially the Gryffindor students, many of whom recognized Krum, the Quidditch star, stood up and waved their fists.
Karkaroff was even more excited, clapping his hands until they were red, his lips stretched into a wide grin. He even turned to say something loudly to the staff beside him, his eyes full of pride and ostentation.
Dumbledore waited for the cheers to subside slightly, then spoke with a smile, a hint of anticipation in his tone: "Finally, it's time for our Hogwarts Champions."
The Hogwarts students immediately quieted down.
Some unconsciously leaned forward, others clasped their hands in front of their chests, and Dylan also looked up at the goblet of fire.
The blue and white flames danced exceptionally steadily.
Almost the instant Dumbledore finished speaking, the goblet of fire let out a "poof," spitting out a piece of parchment that landed perfectly in his palm.
He unfolded the parchment, his gaze sweeping over the writing, and his voice held solemnity: "Let us congratulate Hogwarts' first Champion—Cedric Diggory!"
As the host of the event, the Hogwarts students erupted in the loudest applause of the entire hall the moment Dumbledore finished speaking. The Hufflepuff long table, in particular, became the center of cheers.
Students stood up, their palms red from clapping, some even stomping their feet, making the wooden long benches thump. Even the Slytherin students sitting at the neighboring table could feel the vibration.
Several girls held up Hufflepuff badges, waving them towards Cedric, their voices full of excitement: "Cedric! You're amazing!"
Cedric stood up from his seat, a smile he couldn't suppress curving his lips.
He instinctively turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowded room towards the Gryffindor long table, as if confirming something.
The Gryffindor students also noticed something was amiss and all turned their gazes to Dylan, discussing in low voices.
"This isn't right," George frowned, tapping his fingers on the table, his tone puzzled. "How could it not be Dylan?"
Fred bit his lip, leaning closer and asking, "What's not right? Isn't Cedric quite good?"
"Think about it," George glanced at the other schools' long tables, lowering his voice to explain, "Which of the first Champions from each school isn't the most significant? Beauxbatons' first was FleurDelacour, Durmstrang's first was Viktor Krum. Both of them are the top students in their respective schools."
Fred nodded, then eyed Dylan again.
The latter was calmly looking at the goblet of fire, as if completely indifferent to the result, but their doubts grew stronger.
"Cedric is indeed excellent, but Dylan in academics and practical combat..." He didn't finish his sentence, just raised an eyebrow.
"Let's wait and see," the people around shrugged, gesturing towards the goblet of fire with their chins. "Maybe he'll be the second one."
As if in response to this expectation, the blue and white flames in the goblet of fire suddenly turned brilliant red, the light pulsed, and a charred-edged piece of parchment flew out with a "whoosh."
Dumbledore raised his hand and steadily caught it, his gaze unconsciously sweeping over the Gryffindor long table, a smile on his lips, as he announced loudly: "Hogwarts' second Champion is—Harry Potter!"
Gryffindor's cheers instantly drowned out all previous sounds.
Students suddenly stood up, some throwing their hats into the air, some hugging the shoulders of those next to them and screaming, and others banging on the tables and singing the Gryffindor house song.
Fred and George pulled two palm-sized magic fireworks from their pockets. The two quickly exchanged glances, then secretly eyed Professor McGonagall at the staff table.
Seeing that she was looking at Harry, they quickly lit the fireworks with their wands.
Two dazzling streaks of light shot towards the dome, exploding under the starry ceiling. Golden and red sparks rained down, prompting more cheers.
Professor McGonagall had actually noticed the twins' little movements earlier, but she merely shook her head with a helpless and doting expression.
Her own palms were red from clapping, and her eyes behind her spectacles gleamed astonishingly. Like the students, her face was full of uncontrollable joy.
Harry stood up, a bewildered smile on his face, his expression exactly like Cedric's just moments before.
He instinctively looked up, his gaze passing through the crowd, landing on Dylan.
Not just him, many students in the Great Hall also turned their heads.
"Could it be—" George murmured to himself, his brow furrowing even more. He raised a hand to scratch his head, his eyes confused. "Is there actually no ranking of strength, and it's just random selection?"
He looked at Fred beside him, trying to find an answer in his eyes, but Fred merely shook his head, looking equally bewildered.
"Given all this, I guess that must be it, right? After all, even though Harry is also very good, well, it seems he can't compare to Dylan," Fred blinked.
George's mouth twitched: "So, everyone has a chance then?"
Fred spread his hands: "Eh~ Cedric is great, I admit, but two spots are out, and still no Dylan. I don't understand it."
Chapter 329 You are a professor at Hogwarts, but I am German.
The atmosphere in the Great Hall instantly became peculiar.
The blue and white flames in the goblet of fire surged again, turning a brilliant red, and another scorched piece of parchment floated out of the flames.
"Hogwarts' third champion is—"
Dumbledore's gaze swept over the Slytherin long table, his voice clearly reaching everyone present.
"Draco Malfoy!"
Snape leaned back in his chair, his tense expression completely relaxed, and even his breathing lightened a few notches.
Applause erupted first, the Hogwarts students raising their hands as if by reflex.
But midway through clapping, many suddenly paused, their arms suspended in mid-air, their eyes full of bewilderment, having clearly realized something.
The name they had just heard was not "Dylan Hawkwood."
The applause in the Great Hall instantly died down.
Only students from the other schools continued to politely clap, their sparse claps sounding particularly out of place.
It wasn't until the Slytherin long table reacted first that cheers broke the awkward silence.
Draco's cronies abruptly stood up, banging on the tables and shouting until their faces were red.
Other Slytherin students gradually joined in, and the applause became somewhat more enthusiastic, though still with an underlying discomfort.
Draco stood up from his seat, his brow furrowed enough to crack a fly, his fingers unconsciously clutching the hem of his robe, his eyes showing no less confusion than Cedric and Harry.
He instinctively turned his head, his gaze directed straight at the Gryffindor long table, landing on Dylan, as if confirming something.
Three pieces of parchment had fallen.
Everyone thought the selection was over.
Old Barty Crouch was the first to stand up from behind the teachers' long table, adjusting his impeccably tailored suit jacket, and nodding his chin at the other Principals, signaling them to follow.
Seeing this, Ludo Bagman quickly grabbed the satchel beside him and hurried to the back of the group, a relieved smile on his face.
"Mr. Diggory, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore stood by the goblet of fire, raising his hand to indicate the nearby door, just about to continue speaking.
The goblet of fire suddenly erupted in a fiercely brilliant red flame, unlike any it had shown before, like dry kindling igniting.
The red light instantly filled the entire Great Hall, so bright it was blinding, even overpowering the starlight decorations on the vaulted ceiling.
Everyone's faces were flushed crimson, and Old Barty Crouch and his group, who were about to step forward, abruptly halted, turning in unison, their eyes fixed on the goblet of fire.
Old Barty Crouch's hand, which was adjusting his glasses, stopped in mid-air.
"Again? Is there really a turning point? I knew something was off just now!" Fred clenched his fists, leaning forward, his eyes wide, staring intently at the flickering flames, his voice excited, "I knew it! Halloween always has surprises!"
Even though the Gryffindor students squinted their eyes from the blinding red light, no one was willing to look down.
Some shielded their foreheads with their hands, others tried hard to keep their eyes wide open, and even Luna from Ravenclaw stood on tiptoe.
Everyone's gaze followed the movement of the flames, hoping to see the long-awaited piece of parchment.
The goblet of fire did not disappoint them.
A piece of parchment, its edges charred black, shot out with sparks, yet floated in the air as lightly as a willow catkin, turning once before settling steadily into Dumbledore's outstretched palm.
"Let me see." Dumbledore's fingertip brushed the scorched edge of the parchment, a calm smile still on his face, and he read the name aloud, "Dylan Hawkwood!"
A thunderous, overwhelming cheer completely engulfed the area.
The Gryffindor students abruptly stood up, the sound of banging tables, shouts of approval, and even some whistling.
In short, it was a continuous uproar.
George excitedly hugged Fred, almost knocking him off his chair.
Students from other Houses also clapped along, the applause shaking even the bat decorations on the ceiling.
"I knew it! I just knew it!" Ron abruptly clenched his fist and slammed it heavily on the long table, making the dinner plates jump.
His voice was filled with uncontrollable excitement, as if he himself were the champion whose name had been called.
"How could Dylan not be in it? The goblet of fire must have had a plan all along!"
The Gryffindor long table instantly erupted.
Students stood up one after another, the sound of banging tables rising and falling, some excitedly high-fiving each other, some craning their necks to look in Dylan's direction, and others shouting cheers, transforming all their accumulated confusion and uncertainty into jubilation.
That fervor was in no way inferior to Gryffindor's celebration for Harry just moments ago.
Hogwarts students from other Houses also breathed a sigh of relief, genuine smiles appearing on their faces.
Hufflepuff had Cedric, Gryffindor had Harry and Dylan, Slytherin had Draco, and now Ravenclaw was a bit weak and powerless.
However, no one in Ravenclaw had any reason to object; such a result was already very satisfactory, and many spontaneously joined in the applause.
But in fact, students from the other magic schools were not so relaxed.
People from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang all craned their necks, staring at the goblet of fire, their eyes filled with wariness and curiosity.
Someone whispered, "Will there be more? Will our school also get an extra one?"
They stared intently at the rim of the cup, hoping the flames would ignite again, but the goblet of firedid not grant their wish.
The fiercely brilliant red flame gradually receded, and the light, which had erupted like a live volcano, slowly diminished, revealing the blue and white flicker beneath.
By the time Dylan stood up from his seat, the blue and white flame was already gently swaying, its brightness visibly dimming at a rapid rate, like a candle about to burn out.
Dumbledore's face always wore a gentle smile as he raised his hand, signaling Dylan, Cedric, Harry, and Draco to come forward.
Just as the four walked up to the goblet of fire, the last bit of blue and white flame completely extinguished, and the tall goblet, which had previously emitted a mysterious glow, instantly reverted to an ordinary wooden object, its roughly carved patterns appearing particularly unremarkable in the candlelight.
The light from the goblet of fire disappeared, but the murmuring in the Great Hall exploded. Durmstrang students whispered to each other, and Beauxbatons students frowned and discussed endlessly.
Madam Maxime and Karkaroff even stood directly from their seats, protesting repeatedly to Dumbledore, their voices growing louder and louder.
Old Barty Crouch stepped forward at the opportune moment. He first nodded slightly to the Principals, then began to converse in a low voice, attempting to soothe their emotions.
During their conversation, he clasped his hands behind his back and subtly waved in Ludo Bagman's direction.
Ludo seemed to suddenly realize, or perhaps was eager to escape the current dispute, and immediately picked up his satchel, quickly walking towards the four, Dylan.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Ludo asked cautiously as he approached, "should I take these champions inside first? The people in there are probably getting impatient."
"That would be excellent." Dumbledore nodded with a smile, his gaze sweeping over the arguing Principals. "We'll handle things here and be right over."
Away from the clamor of the Great Hall.
Ludo Bagman's previous worries vanished, and he became lively.
He strode confidently ahead, leading the four, Dylan, through the corridor, continuously muttering, "This is truly incredible! The Triwizard Tournament actually has four Hogwarts champions—this has never happened before! But this makes it even more exciting, doesn't it?"
He pushed open the door to the room with the velvet curtain, where the champions from the other schools were already waiting.
Hearing the door open and Ludo's muttering, everyone turned their heads in unison, their gazes falling on the four, Dylan, who had just entered.
"Why is it so noisy outside? We heard it in here. Did something happen?"
"Hmm?" Viktor Krum's brow furrowed sharply, and he let out a low grunt of confusion from his throat.
His gaze swept over Dylan, Cedric, Harry, and Draco, his fingers unconsciously caressing the school crest on his arm.
He then turned to Ludo Bagman, his tone clearly probing: "You're not going to tell us... all four of these are Hogwarts champions, are you?"
At his reminder, the other champions in the room instantly reacted.
Fleur from Beauxbatons raised an eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over the four.
Why would Hogwarts have an extra champion when all the other schools only had three?
"This matter is indeed peculiar…" Ludo Bagman had just opened his mouth, his hand still raised in mid-air, ready to gesticulate an explanation, when he was interrupted by a loud "bang."
The room door was violently pushed open, hitting the wall with a thud and letting in a gust of air.
The Principals of the magic schools and Old Barty Crouch entered the room one after another.
Dumbledore walked at the forefront, casually tidying the hem of his robe, his gaze gently sweeping over the champions in the room, a faint smile still on his lips.
Madam Maxime's expression was relatively calmer, though her face was tense, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Her deep-set eyes scanned everyone, clearly waiting for a reasonable explanation.
Her stature was truly immense; standing in the center of the room, she almost blocked half the window's light, casting a shadow that covered a good portion of the room, and the invisible pressure made the nearby champions instinctively retreat.
Karkaroff's face, on the other hand, was filled with undisguised fury.
Karkaroff's fists were tightly clenched, his knuckles white, and the veins at his temples throbbed.
Clearly, his earlier communication with Old Barty Crouch had been very unpleasant.
In contrast, Old Barty Crouch maintained his meticulous appearance; his impeccably tailored suit had not a single crease, and even his tie was neatly tied.
Even when Karkaroff's spittle almost splattered on his face, he remained calm, walking in with steady steps.
Only as he passed by the others did he slowly repeat, "Headmaster Dumbledore is already investigating the cause. I ask you two to please calm down first."
With so many people suddenly pouring in, the already not-so-spacious room instantly felt crowded.
The champions were pushed to the inner side of the room, and Ludo Bagman's satchel accidentally dropped to the floor, scattering several papers.
Old Barty Crouch had to turn sideways to let Madam Maxime pass before he could barely reach the center of the room.
The portraits hanging on the wall also stirred.
The old Wizards in the paintings all leaned forward, some holding the edge of the frame to peer out, some whispering to their companions, and one Witch in a pointed hat even tapped on the frame, as if urging everyone to get to the point quickly.
"Why should Hogwarts have one more champion than the other schools?" Karkaroff finally couldn't hold back, launching the first attack, his voice suddenly rising, "We didn't come here to watch the organizers exploit convenience for special treatment!"
"This is Hogwarts' dereliction of duty!"
Suddenly, a "thump, thump, thump" of a wooden leg hitting the floor came from the corridor, growing closer and closer.
The next second, Alastor Moody appeared at the doorway, his fake eye rapidly spinning in its socket, scanning the people in the room, finally settling on Karkaroff.
His characteristic deep voice rang out, laced with undisguised sarcasm: "The sort who used to hide and skulk around, now dares to stand here and dictate terms?"
Moody dragged his wooden leg, walking quickly to Karkaroff, so close that he could almost see the pores on Karkaroff's face.
His two eyes.
Both the normal one and the blue-glowing magical eye.
Stared fixedly at Karkaroff, as if to see through his thoughts.
Karkaroff's face instantly turned ashen, and he instinctively recoiled, stumbling a step back, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud.
He blinked frantically, seemingly trying to avoid that sharp gaze.
But Moody stared at him without yielding an inch.
A few seconds later, Karkaroff seemed to suddenly remember something, and he abruptly puffed out his chest, forcing a calm demeanor as he barked, "What do you want?"
"You are a Professor at Hogwarts, yes, but I am the Principal of Durmstrang!"
His voice still trembled slightly, but he tried to raise his volume, "You'd better think carefully about what you're doing! Are you going to lay hands on a magic school Principal participating in an international exchange?"
"Hahaha! A pretentious scoundrel like you, dares to talk about hospitality?" Moody guffawed, his laughter full of mockery, making ears ring, completely unconcerned by Karkaroff's accusation, and stomped his wooden leg heavily on the ground, kicking up a little dust.
"You! You are simply unreasonable!" Karkaroff trembled with rage, his teeth grinding audibly, his face abruptly changing from pale to purplish-blue, as if his throat had been squeezed, and even his breathing became ragged.
"Diffindo!"
Moody gave Karkaroff no chance to speak again.
Before he finished speaking, his wand was already pointed at Karkaroff's pocket. A silver light shot out, accurately hitting Karkaroff's robe pocket.
The fabric was instantly cut into neat strips, scattering with a "swish," and the wand inside fell out with a whoosh.
Karkaroff, quick-eyed and quick-handed, instinctively reached out to grab it, exerting force as his fingertips brushed the wand handle, barely managing to grasp the wand and prevent it from falling to the ground.
But just as his fingers touched the wand, a red light struck like lightning.
"Expelliarmus!" Moody's spell followed immediately, his voice low and powerful.
Chapter 330: The Hogwarts professor dared to attack the visiting principal
As soon as the Prior Incantato fell, an anomaly occurred at the tip of Karkaroff's confiscated wand.
First, a wisp of gray-black smoke emerged, swirling twice in mid-air before condensing into a translucent puddle of water, carrying a faint, fresh scent of wand wood.
The puddle shimmered in the light, but before anyone could get a clear look, it was enveloped by a faint white glow.
With a flash of white light, the puddle vanished without a trace.
This was clearly a cleaning spell Karkaroff had cast recently, now replayed in reverse by the Prior Incantato.
"Give it back to me!" Karkaroff's eyes turned red at the sight, and he lunged forward to snatch the wand, arms spread wide, looking somewhat like a crazed vulture.
However, Moody was prepared; he sidestepped with his wooden leg, moving with a nimbleness uncharacteristic of an injured person.
Karkaroff missed, nearly crashing into the wall instead.
"Principal!" The three Durmstrang champions grew anxious, simultaneously reaching for the wands in their pockets.
But as their fingertips touched the wand shafts, they suddenly froze in place, their muscles taut as stone, unable to even move their eyeballs.
They could only stand rigidly, their faces etched with horror.
Dylan glanced at them, then withdrew his gaze.
Cedric blinked, looked at Dylan, and smiled slightly.
Moody steadily held up his wand, maintaining the effect of the Prior Incantato.
Smoke continuously poured from the tip of Karkaroff's wand, transforming into various blurry light and shadow forms as it hit the ground.
Sometimes it was the afterimage of a waving wand, sometimes flickering runes, until a plume of smoke slowly rose, gradually coalescing into the outline of the goblet of fire.
Blue-white sparks still flickered at the rim, identical to the goblet of fire in the Great Hall.
"Karkaroff." Moody's voice was low like ground stone, his gaze fixed on the smoky goblet of fire. "It is indeed a Confundo."
The moment the smoky goblet of fire appeared, Karkaroff seemed to have all his strength drained away, his knees buckling, almost collapsing to the ground. He could only brace himself against the wall to stand, his shoulders slumped heavily, his previously taut body instantly deflated, his face as white as paper.
The stiffness on the Durmstrang champions also abruptly vanished, but instead of daring to move again, they all lowered their heads.
Firstly, the sensation of being restrained still lingered in their bones, and their limbs still felt a slight tingling; they couldn't grasp the situation at all.
Secondly, the clear smoky goblet of fire was right before their eyes.
This directly confirmed that Karkaroff had tampered with it, and if they stepped forward to help now, they would only become accomplices.
"So it was him playing tricks!" Harry slapped his forehead, suddenly enlightened, and turned to Dylan and those around him. "I knew it, why would there be so many champions? It turns out he used a Confundo to interfere with the goblet of fire!"
Madam Maxime's lips were pressed even tighter, her mouth curving into a distinct downward arc.
She took large strides, walking two steps towards Dumbledore, her heavy velvet robes sweeping the ground with a soft rustling sound.
She looked down at Karkaroff, who was slumped against the wall, her deep eyes filled with disgust, and even her tone carried an icy edge: "No wonder your face was off earlier, it turns out you had something to hide."
"This is interesting." Moody chuckled gruffly, tapping his wooden leg twice on the ground, his eyes full of mockery. "Why don't you tell us, why did you have to cast a Confundo on the goblet of fire?"
Facing this question, Karkaroff kept his lips tightly sealed, even his eyelids drooped, and the arrogance he had displayed earlier towards Old Barty Crouch vanished without a trace.
He remained leaning against the wall, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white, yet he refused to utter a single word.
Moody scoffed, casually tossing the confiscated wand back.
The wand smacked against Karkaroff's chest with a "thwack," and he hastily caught it, then clutched it tightly in his hand.
"I just took a turn around the Castle, and the little Hufflepuff fellows were quite diligent."
Moody's gaze swept around the room, his voice suddenly rising, "They stayed up all night guarding the entrance hall, noting down who signed up and where the Principals stood."
"Two points are particularly suspicious: when Beauxbatons signed up, their Principal stood far away, not approaching the goblet of fire at all, but Karkaroff of Durmstrang..."
"Enough! This is simply outrageous!" Karkaroff abruptly cut him off, his voice shrill and piercing. "A Hogwarts Professor dares to lay hands on a visiting Principal!"
"These actions are simply shameful! Do you now want me to withdraw?!"
"Calm down."
Dumbledore spoke slowly, his fingers still stroking his long beard. "To my knowledge, similar minor incidents are not uncommon in the history of the Triwizard Tournament."
"Furthermore, the rules of the competition clearly state that once one becomes a champion, one must complete all tasks."
He looked at Karkaroff, his tone softening slightly, "Violating the magic contract with the goblet of firehas consequences that students cannot bear. I hope you will consider the children more, and not let them be implicated by adult disputes. Of course, Professor Moody's actions were indeed somewhat inappropriate."
"Then I suppose I owe Mr. Karkaroff an apology." Moody's tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "You're welcome to complain about me to the Ministry of Magic in England. I guarantee, the old chaps there will be particularly 'surprised' to see you—oh! So the deserter from back then is now a Principal of a magic school, how impressive!"
"In any case, Alastor, thank you for your hard work." Dumbledore spoke again.
He looked at the Principals, whose expressions varied, with a gentle smile. "I think there might be some misunderstanding here. Perhaps... this wasn't Principal Karkaroff's intention?"
He drew out the word 'Principal,' his gaze sweeping over Karkaroff's face. "Perhaps some Principals approached the goblet of fire, and even used magic, simply because they were worried that the goblet of fire, being old and in disrepair, might malfunction?"
"Yes, yes, yes! That's exactly it!" Karkaroff seized on this like a lifeline, nodding repeatedly, his voice tinged with urgency. "I was just worried that the goblet of fire might have problems, so I tested it with magic to see if it could be interfered with."
"If I really intended to cheat, how could I have allowed Hogwarts to have an extra champion? We only have three, but you have four! This is purely an accident! Just an accident!"
"Thank you for your understanding, Principal Karkaroff." Dumbledore smiled slightly, and with a flick of his hand into the air, the slips of paper that had flown out of the goblet of fire earlier instantly floated over.
He waved his wand lightly, and each slip of paper expanded to the size of a newspaper, neatly arranged and suspended before everyone's eyes according to school name and the first letter of the surname, with the handwriting clearly legible.
This arrangement immediately made the anomaly obvious to everyone.
The other slips of paper clearly stated their respective schools at the top.
Only the slip with "Dylan Hawkwood" written on it had a blank school entry.
"Perhaps it was caused by some kind of magic interference." Dumbledore's gaze fell on that particular slip of paper, his tone serious. "Mr. Karkaroff's Confundo malfunctioned, and that is very likely the cause of all this.
After the Confundo took effect, Dylan's name was excluded from the several schools."
"But he did complete the registration, and under a series of magical deviations..."
He paused, then said: "Since he registered but doesn't belong to any of the participating schools, perhaps he can only be considered the champion of a fourth 'temporary school.' Do you think this explanation is reasonable? Do you agree with my analysis?"
Karkaroff's lips moved, the anger in his eyes gradually fading, leaving only a hint of awkwardness.
He cleared his throat, his voice a little dry: "Of course... this possibility does exist. In that case, everything before was a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding."
With Moody exposing Karkaroff's trick and Dumbledore timely smoothing things over, the tense atmosphere in the room finally eased somewhat.
Madam Maxime blinked, her gaze sweeping back and forth over Karkaroff, a flicker of understanding in her eyes.
This fellow's objective seemed clear: to squeeze Dylan out of the champion list, preventing him from representing Hogwarts.
From the perspective of school interest, this could be considered a shrewd calculation.
Dylan had been making quite a name for himself in the magic world recently.
However, information about him personally had not spread to other schools.
It was as if he had suddenly appeared, a top genius from Hogwarts.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, had been eloquently praising him to the skies.
Karkaroff must have investigated Dylan before this, which is why he wanted to prevent him from becoming a champion.
The Triwizard Tournament was never just a competition between students; it was also a display of the power of the magic schools behind them.
A champion's performance directly affected the school's reputation, and could even influence future student enrollment and international cooperation.
It's just a pity that man proposes, God disposes.
They hadn't expected Hogwarts to have a decisive Professor like Moody, nor had they expected him to directly expose the plot on the spot with a Prior Incantato.
Madam Maxime sighed softly, her fingers tracing the embroidered patterns on her robes.
This storm seemed to have subsided for now.
But there was still a more crucial issue unresolved.
The other Principals had clearly thought of this as well.
Karkaroff was the first to break the brief silence, taking the opportunity to completely shift the topic.
"Since the misunderstanding with the goblet of fire has been cleared up, let's put this matter aside for now, after all, no one expected such an accident."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the many champions in the room, and his tone became serious again.
"However, Hogwarts has one more champion than the other schools, which creates a severe imbalance in numbers, and that is the key issue that must be resolved right now."
"Furthermore, according to the rules of the competition, the number of participants from each school has always been equal. With Hogwarts having an extra person, it's impossible to ensure fairness and impartiality, whether in scoring or event arrangements!"
He seemed to have instantly regained his confidence, straightening his back, completely forgetting that he was the instigator of the chaos.
Madam Maxime did not respond, simply watching Dumbledore quietly, her eyes filled with inquiry.
She wanted to see how this Principal of Hogwarts would resolve this thorny problem.
The champions in the room also exchanged glances.
Dylan leaned against the wall, his fingers lightly tapping the wall, his gaze fixed on the floating slip of paper, lost in thought.
Old Barty Crouch pushed up his glasses, took out his portable notebook, and prepared to record the results of the upcoming discussion.
"Actually, that's not wrong," Madam Maxime said, her eyes sweeping over the four Hogwartschampions. "The most pressing issue right now is the extra champion from Hogwarts, which directly affects the fairness of the competition."
"It is indeed a tricky problem."
Dumbledore nodded slightly, his gaze lingering on Karkaroff and Madam Maxime's faces for a moment, then he changed the subject.
"However, before discussing the numbers, perhaps we should first revisit the initial preparatory meeting—how the Triwizard Tournament was decided, and re-clarify our mutual understanding. What do you all think?"
"Only by reaching a consensus can we communicate properly. Wasn't it because everyone had their own agenda that things got so messy just now?"
Dumbledore paused, his tone slow, "Mr. Karkaroff, you could have just said it—you clearly wanted to do more for your school, with an overly strong sense of responsibility, but you accidentally… did something that backfired."
The words "by accident" were spoken with particular significance.
Upon hearing this, Madam Maxime pursed her lips, a look of undisguised disdain curving at the corners of her mouth, and a faint scoff escaped her nose.
Karkaroff's face instantly darkened, his hands quietly clenching into fists, but due to being in the wrong, he couldn't utter a single word in rebuttal.
Dumbledore smiled at the displeased Karkaroff, not pressing him further for his stance, and turned directly to Madam Maxime.
"So, Madam Maxime, what is your final decision?"
Although Madam Maxime despised Karkaroff's petty actions from the bottom of her heart, she knew even more clearly that she could not let the Beauxbatons champions be at a disadvantage.
She shook her head gently, her tone softening slightly: "I need to hear what consensus you intend to re-emphasize before I decide whether to agree."
"Of course."
Dumbledore nodded in agreement, cleared his throat, and his voice became even more steady, "It was clearly stated at the meeting that the participating schools would each recommend candidates, and the goblet of fire would ultimately select the champions to represent each school. At that time, none of you had any objections to this."
"That's right." Madam Maxime immediately nodded, her back straight. "The Triwizard Tournament itself began with the goblet of fire's selection, and the champions should naturally be decided by it. This was a rule we all agreed upon then."
"But Hogwarts still has one more person." Karkaroff was still unwilling, his brows tightly furrowed, his tone carrying a final persistence, "Since the power of selection lies with the goblet of fire, why not let it select one more champion to make up the numbers for each school?"
"That won't work." Old Barty Crouch pushed up his glasses, opened his portable notebook, and pointed to a specific page, his tone precise, "Regarding the characteristics of the goblet of fire, we clearly informed everyone at the time that once it completes the current selection, its flame will extinguish and will not reignite until the next tournament begins."
"Barty is right." Dumbledore added, "There's another point that needs to be re-emphasized: only the champion ultimately chosen by the goblet of fire is eligible to compete for the tournament trophy. This is an ironclad rule established at the inception of the competition."
"Hmph, the goblet of fire is not a toy to be trifled with." Madam Maxime chimed in at the opportune moment, looking at Karkaroff, "Your proposal today is a bit too… Muggle-like."
These words instantly paled Karkaroff's face a few shades.
Madam Maxime, however, did not stop, continuing, "Your current way of acting is no different from those bureaucratic Muggle governments in North America, only thinking about making up numbers. Perhaps we should discuss a different question."
"What kind of interference did the goblet of fire actually encounter? Rather than dwelling on the fantasy of correcting mistakes."
"When it comes to inspecting wands, I do have some say." Moody chuckled gruffly, his wooden leg thumping twice on the floor, his blue-glowing magical eye sweeping over everyone. "After all, before I retired, I was a genuine Auror, and I dealt with all sorts of tricky spells for half my life!"
Karkaroff's lips moved, and he mumbled in a muffled voice, "I have no objection…"
His voice was extremely low, as if he was afraid of being heard, but the room was too quiet, and his words still clearly reached everyone's ears.
"How about we hear the champions' thoughts?" Dumbledore broke the silence at the right moment, looking at Dylan with a gentle smile, "Mr. Hokewood, what are your thoughts on this?"
"That's right!" Madam Maxime immediately agreed, "He personally experienced the registration and selection, so he naturally has the right to speak."
No sooner had she spoken.
Everyone in the room turned their gaze to Dylan.
The Principals looked on with scrutiny, while the other champions were filled with curiosity.
Cedric, Harry, and Draco also cast their gazes over, clearly wanting to know what solution he would propose.
Dylan was not surprised by this.
Dumbledore deliberately guided everyone to re-emphasize the consensus, precisely so that he could clarify the cause and effect and propose a targeted solution.
He nodded slightly, his voice clear: "I remember Principal Dumbledore mentioning something at the dinner last night, that Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch would form a judging panel with the Principals of the schools to score and evaluate the champions."
"That's right." Old Barty Crouch pushed up his glasses, flipped through his notebook to confirm, and said in a precise tone, "This was also one of the consensuses established at the time. After each event, we will comprehensively score the champions based on their performance."
"I remember you mentioning that too." Karkaroff took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure, "Champions need to complete each event independently and cannot assist each other."
"Since there are now four groups of champions, the judging panel will naturally evaluate the four groups separately."
Dylan continued her words, his gaze sweeping over the other three Hogwarts champions.
"But if the scores of the two Hogwarts champions were directly added together, it would undoubtedly create an overwhelming advantage, which is indeed unfair."
He paused for a moment, then raised his hand to point at Cedric, Harry, and Draco, his tone confident: "How about this—we add up the scores of us four Hogwarts champions, and then only calculate the average score."
"Of course, as Mr. Karkaroff said, scoring is scoring, but during the competition, we will still proceed separately, without interfering with each other."
"No!" No sooner had he finished speaking than Cedric, Harry, and Draco protested almost simultaneously.
Cedric frowned, his tone urgent: "That's too risky, an average score means your pressure will double!"
Harry shook his head repeatedly, adding, "The difficulty of the events is already high; one person dealing with it is too dangerous!"
Draco, too, uncharacteristically shed his usual arrogance, his face grave: "Only a madman would agree to such a plan!"
After speaking, he glanced at Dylan and rephrased: "What I mean is, this is not feasible."
Seeing the three of them speak in unison, a hint of satisfaction flashed in Dumbledore's eyes. He gently stroked his long beard, and the smile on his lips deepened.
"Mr. Hokewood is indeed clever, directly turning what some people worried would be an 'advantage' into a 'disadvantage'."
"This way, fairness is no longer an issue."
Madam Maxime turned to look at Karkaroff, who was still hesitating, and asked, "Do you still have any objections?"
"Taking the average score… is indeed very fair." Karkaroff spread his hands.
He tried hard to put on a serious expression, but the corners of his mouth uncontrollably turned upwards.
This way, Hogwarts not only lost its advantage but might even suffer a disadvantage by sharing scores!
"Disgusting fellow." Draco muttered under his breath, his voice not loud, but clear enough, his eyes filled with disgust.
Harry also nodded, then shook his head, and finally shrugged helplessly.
Although he disliked Draco, he had to admit that the insult was spot on.
"Mr. Hokewood, I must warn you of the risks involved."
Old Barty Crouch took a step forward, his tone solemn, "With a change in the number of champions, we must adjust the difficulty of the events accordingly. This is a magic contract established between the judging panel and the tournament."