Chapter 331: It's simple, I'll just be in a group by myself.
"After the adjustment, you will likely face challenges alone that originally required the combined efforts of three champions."
"The original intention behind restarting the Triwizard Tournament was to promote exchange between the schools."
Dylan's expression was calm. "Therefore, I believe what's important is the process of participation, not the final judgment. Having the opportunity to compete here, regardless of whether I complete all the challenges, is a rare gain for me."
He paused, his gaze sweeping towards the Gryffindor long table, a faint smile playing on his lips: "What's more, even if I'm in a group by myself, I'm not truly alone. My friends will support me from behind, and Hogwarts is my strongest backing."
"Mr. Hokewood has finished his suggestion. Now I ask—who is in favor? Who is against?"
Dumbledore's voice suddenly deepened, losing its previous gentle smile, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the room with an undeniable authority.
His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture as straight as a pine, and the invisible aura he exuded seemed to lower the temperature in the room by a few degrees.
This was precisely to corroborate Dylan's statement, "Hogwarts is behind me," demonstrating through action that the school would firmly stand by him.
At this moment, the Principals and Champions present all understood clearly.
The anomaly of the goblet of fire could not be blamed on Hogwarts; Karkaroff was the instigator.
His intention to interfere with the goblet of fire had long been exposed.
And Dylan's proactive suggestion of competing alone and having four people average their scores afterwards completely turned the tide.
The "Hogwarts numerical advantage" that everyone had been worried about now became a tangible "numerical disadvantage."
More importantly.
Once Dylan performed poorly in a task and had points deducted, even if Cedric, Harry, and Dracoperformed exceptionally well, the final average score would still be affected.
In short, Hogwarts not only gained no advantage but actively put itself in a more unfavorable position.
The other schools were the real beneficiaries.
But in doing so, Hogwarts, as the host, completely shed the suspicion of cheating by using its home advantage, perfectly resolving the potential public opinion crisis that could have arisen.
Everyone understood the logic, but no Principal was willing to be the first to express their stance.
The silence in the room grew heavier, and even the Wizards in the portraits on the wall stopped their murmuring.
Madam Maxime leaned against the wall, tapping her fingers on it.
Karkaroff paused.
If he agreed, his previous protests would seem like unreasonable tantrums.
If he objected, he couldn't find any valid reasons.
The Champions also held their breath; Cedric looked at Dylan worriedly, Harry clenched his fists, and Draco rolled his eyes, clearly displeased with the Principals' dawdling.
"Regarding Mr. Hokewood's proposal." Old Barty Crouch was the first to break the awkward silence. He pushed up his glasses, his gaze falling precisely on Karkaroff, his tone still rigorous, "Mr. Karkaroff, do you have any other opinions?"
Karkaroff cursed Old Barty Crouch a thousand times in his heart, but on his face, he had to force out a fawning smile, spreading his hands forward: "Mr. Hokewood's suggestion is too thoughtful, and of course, I wholeheartedly agree. This is absolutely the fairest solution."
"Hmph, I think your brain just can't come up with a better plan!" Moody chuckled gruffly, his wooden leg thumping on the floor, his blue-glowing magical eye fixed on Karkaroff, full of mockery.
Karkaroff's face instantly turned a liver-red. He pursed his lips, glared fiercely at Moody, then turned his head to the side, deliberately stiffening his neck to avoid looking at him, pretending not to hear the taunt.
Old Barty Crouch seemed oblivious to the tension between the two, nodding expressionlessly, his tone flat but with a confirming implication: "Very good, that's one less objection."
With his statement, Madam Maxime also chimed in. She straightened up, her gaze sweeping over everyone: "Since everyone has no objection, I also agree to this plan."
Dumbledore's gentle smile reappeared on his face. He raised a hand, signaling for everyone to be quiet: "Since everyone has reached a consensus, then this matter is settled."
"Next, the panel of judges will finalize the specific content of the first task as soon as possible. The Champions can go back and rest, awaiting further notice."
"I've been looking forward to this part for a long time!" Ludo Bagman's eyes lit up, finally finding an opportunity to speak.
He stepped forward two paces, rubbing his hands together rapidly, his face full of irrepressible excitement, "Since everyone has reached a consensus… Old Barty Crouch, shouldn't we move on to the next item?"
He jutted his chin towards Old Barty Crouch, his tone urgent, "It's time to tell the Champions about the first task!"
"Mr. Bagman, thank you for the reminder."
Old Barty Crouch nodded slightly, pushed up the glasses on his nose, and slowly scanned the Champions standing in rows in the room, his tone becoming serious again, "Since you voluntarily signed up to represent your respective schools, you should all be familiar with previous Triwizard Tournaments, correct?"
The Champions nodded in response.
Some gave a slight nod, their eyes resolute, while others nodded twice emphatically, unconsciously straightening their backs.
"Since you are aware, then you should know that in previous tournaments, there have always been only three Champions."
Old Barty Crouch continued, tapping his finger lightly on the cover of his notebook, "Based on this, all our previous task preparations were carried out according to the specifications for three Champions. But now, some artificially induced…"
As soon as the words "artificially induced" left his mouth, Karkaroff immediately pursed his lips, rolled his eyes dramatically, and his mouth drooped into a frown.
"Apologies, let me rephrase—the impact of force majeure." Old Barty Crouch seemed to realize his slip of the tongue and quickly corrected himself, his motion of pushing up his glasses faster than usual, and his tone slightly unnatural, "Therefore, we must adjust the content of the original tasks."
He paused, his gaze becoming solemn: "Currently, the only guidance I can give you is that the core of the first task is to test the Champion's courage. Daring to face unknown challenges is an essential quality for a powerful Wizard."
As his words fell.
The room was silent for a few seconds; the Champions clearly hadn't recovered from this vague guidance.
Some frowned in thought, some instinctively exchanged glances with their companions, and others scratched their heads, their faces full of confusion.
Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons was the first to break the silence. She gently smoothed the silvery hair falling over her shoulder, asking elegantly, "Mr. Crouch, when exactly will the first task take place? We only have this one piece of guidance, and we need time to prepare."
"The exact date cannot be determined yet." Old Barty Crouch shook his head, opening his notebook to search. "As I mentioned before, setting up trials that meet the standards is part of the magical contract established by the panel of judges and the tournament. Now that the number of Champions has increased, the difficulty of the trials must be increased accordingly to match the contract requirements. But with our current preparation progress, we have not yet reached that standard."
"So we need to restart the preparation work to ensure that the final trials fully comply with the provisions of the magical contract."
He closed his notebook, adding calmly, though his gaze subtly swept over Karkaroff, "This delay is all thanks to force majeure, and I hope you can understand."
"Indeed, this force majeure is a real nuisance." Moody chimed in gruffly, the sarcasm in his voice almost overflowing. His blue-glowing magical eye rolled in its socket, fixing on Karkaroff, "It means someone has to wait."
Karkaroff pretended not to hear, raising his head and staring directly at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused, as if he had developed a great interest in the arrangement of the bricks overhead.
"Mr. Crouch, if according to the original plan, when was the first task supposed to begin?" Cedric Diggory stepped half a pace forward, asking in a calm tone, a steady expression on his face.
"November twenty-fourth." Old Barty Crouch replied without hesitation, clearly remembering the schedule perfectly.
After answering the question, he turned to Dumbledore, leaning slightly: "Albus, should we let these children go back and rest? The time now should be left to us, the panel of judges."
Ludo Bagman walked with the Champions to the entrance hall, still chattering about the trivialities of task preparation.
One moment he would say the first task was sure to be exciting, the next he would lament that adjusting the number of participants was a huge undertaking.
It wasn't until they reached the oak doors, watching the Champions silently prepare to step through the threshold, that he suddenly blinked, as if remembering something important, and slapped his forehead.
"Wait! I almost forgot something important!" Ludo's voice suddenly rose, with a hint of excitement, "There's still some news I haven't told you yet!"
The Champions, who had already reached the door, stopped in their tracks, turning to look at him in unison, their previously somewhat solemn expressions instantly becoming focused.
After all, having just heard the news of the task's delay, everyone wanted to know if there were any other arrangements for the tournament.
Dylan glanced at him, Harry leaned forward half a step, his ears slightly perked.
Fleur gathered her robes, waiting for him to continue.
Ludo raised an eyebrow, deliberately building suspense, drawing out his words: "This is tremendous news! Think about it, you'll be spending a lot of time preparing for the tasks, and that's not something you can do in a day or two… So—" He suddenly raised his voice, "You definitely won't have to take your end-of-year exams this year!"
"That's it?" Draco frowned, very disappointed. He had originally thought it would be a specific hint about the task. "Mr. Bagman, isn't there any other… more practical good news? Like the specific type of task?"
"That's all I could think of for now." Ludo spread his hands, his gaze sweeping over the champions' uniformly bland expressions.
He scratched his head in confusion, "Don't you think this is something to be happy about?"
He took two steps forward, trying to persuade everyone: "How difficult are the end-of-year exams! The theory of Charms, the ratios of Potions, the practical application of Transfiguration... which one doesn't require spending time poring over books?"
"Now you have to figure out how to deal with unknown challenges and also find time to review and prepare for exams—wouldn't that drive a person crazy?"
As he spoke, he rubbed his temples sympathetically, looking as if he understood their difficulties, "Is this really not worth being happy about?"
"I actually think it's good news."
A steady voice suddenly came from behind him; it was Old Barty Crouch.
He had walked out of the meeting room at some point and was standing by a stone pillar in the antechamber, his gaze fixed on Ludo.
"At least you remembered to perform your duties and filled in the details I missed."
"Oh! Old Barty Crouch!" Ludo was so startled by the sudden voice that he nearly jumped backward, fumbling to steady himself against the doorframe.
"How did you get out? Weren't you in a meeting with the Principals?"
"You are also a core member of the judging panel." Old Barty Crouch walked closer, pushed up his glasses, and spoke without a ripple in his tone, "Project adjustments require the professional advice of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and we desperately need your help.
We can't have you just chatting idly here."
He glanced at the champions and nodded slightly, "You may all return now.
If there is any new information, you will be informed promptly."
Ludo wanted to say something else but was stopped by Old Barty Crouch's look.
He could only give the champions an awkward smile, then turned and followed Old Barty Crouchtowards the meeting room.
Before leaving, he didn't forget to turn back and wave at everyone, muttering, "Does no one really think being exempt from exams is good news?"
After Old Barty Crouch led the still-muttering Ludo Bagman away, the atmosphere in the antechamber noticeably relaxed.
The champions, whose faces had been tense earlier, all relaxed their brows; some quietly exhaled, others exchanged relieved glances with their companions.
The people in the antechamber gradually dispersed.
As Viktor's figure disappeared out the door, the antechamber instantly became quiet, leaving only the four Hogwarts champions.
The torches on the stone walls flickered, casting long shadows of the four.
"Should we prepare anything in advance? Like researching past competition materials?" Cedric was the first to speak, his brow slightly furrowed, his tone carrying practical consideration, clearly already planning for the tasks.
"I really didn't expect... that we actually became champions." Harry's voice was a bit ethereal; he raised his hand to touch the back of his head, his eyes still holding a hint of unreality, as if the moment the goblet of fire called out his name was a dream.
"Good thing I didn't go to Durmstrang." Draco scoffed, his voice full of disgust.
He leaned against the stone pillar and rolled his eyes, "Otherwise, being with a cheating Principal like that would be an absolute disgrace."
The three spoke almost simultaneously, breaking the silence of the antechamber and dispelling some of the chilly atmosphere.
Hearing Cedric's words, Harry immediately turned to look at Dylan, his eyes full of concern: "Dylan, if you need help looking up information, or practicing any spells, just tell me anytime, I'll definitely be there."
"Tsk, what's the big deal about that?" Draco curled his lip in disdain, but still added, "My father is very familiar with the people at the Ministry of Magic, and this competition is co-organized by the Ministry of Magic."
"If there's any inside information about the tasks, I'll definitely get it first thing and tell you all."
"Wouldn't that… violate the rules?" Harry asked hesitantly, frowning.
"Hmph." Draco shrugged indifferently, his tone somewhat casual, "Cheating isn't exactly new during the Triwizard Tournament. Maybe it's an old tradition, just like 'concealing details of the Sorting Ceremony.' Karkaroff dared to play dirty, so what am I doing? I really didn't expect him to be that kind of person."
"I think Harry and Malfoy both have a point." Cedric interjected, looking sincerely at Dylan, "Dylan, whether you need materials, a practice partner, or anything else, just ask, and I'll do my best to help you."
"Don't worry, I won't be polite with you or Harry."
Dylan smiled and nodded, "But for now… let's head back to our respective common rooms."
He raised a hand and pointed to the corridor outside the antechamber, a hint of a smile in his eyes: "I bet by the time we get back, our classmates will have already prepared the celebration stuff, maybe even waiting to surprise us."
After the Halloween feast ended, the Gryffindor students returned to their common room under the guidance of Professor McGonagall.
Professor McGonagall stood in front of the portrait and reminded them to go to bed early and not cause trouble.
Seeing everyone nod in agreement, she turned and left, her heels clicking.
As soon as her footsteps disappeared down the corridor, a rustling sound began in the common room.
Fred and George exchanged glances, quickly stood up, and gestured for Ron, Neville, and the others to be quiet.
A group of them crept, tiptoeing, towards the portrait hole; just as they crossed the threshold, the Fat Lady behind them hastily spoke.
"Hey, wait! Don't leave!"
Everyone paused.
The Fat Lady poked her head out of the portrait, her eyes full of curiosity: "Has Gryffindor chosen a champion? I asked when you all came back, but no one would say!"
"Madam, we're just going to the kitchens to get some food, so we can properly celebrate the birth of our house's champion!" Fred's eyes darted, a sly smile on his face, his tone light, "When we come back with the stuff, we'll tell you everything, every single detail!"
"Well, hurry up then!" The Fat Lady raised an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion in her eyes, "I'll be waiting right here, so don't dawdle too long!"
"Done!" Fred waved a hand and led the way towards the staircase, lowering his voice to the people behind him, "This way we keep her hooked; when we come back, she'll definitely still be here, and won't run off to visit other portraits and spill the beans."
"Are you that confident?" Ron raised an eyebrow, his tone full of doubt, but his steps didn't falter.
"My Ronald, this is golden experience we've accumulated from years of sneaking out at night!" Georgepatted his chest, his voice full of pride, "To doubt this is to doubt our professional sneaking-out abilities!"
"Should we… be a little quieter?" Neville clutched his wand nervously, scanning his surroundings vigilantly, his voice barely a whisper, "What if we run into Filch on patrol while going down the stairs? His Madam Norris is very sharp!"
"Don't worry!" Fred turned and glanced at Ron, a confident smile playing on his lips, "We have plenty of ways to deal with Filch; we'll make sure he can't even catch our shadows."
"Sounds really reliable." Ron rolled his eyes dramatically, his tone sarcastic, "If you hadn't instinctively glanced at me when you said that, I might actually have believed you."
"My Ronald, I have to say, you're getting sharper now, oh no, you're getting funnier!" George patted Ron's shoulder with feigned emotion, almost making him stumble.
Just then, Neville suddenly stopped, his face pale, his voice trembling: "Wait a minute… did you hear footsteps? Is it Filch and Madam Norris coming?"
"Hmm?" Fred and George immediately held their breath, standing still and listening intently.
Footsteps came from below the stairs, accompanied by faint chatter.
"Neville, good job! Your ears are really sharp!" Fred let out the breath he was holding and praised with a smile, "But it's not Filch, I guess…"
"It must be people from other houses, with similar intentions to ours!" George picked up, his eyes understanding, "They must be going to prepare celebratory things for their champions!"
No sooner had he spoken.
The moving staircase slowly turned, and a group of figures appeared on the steps opposite.
Leading them was Luna, wearing a light blue dressing gown, with a silver star hairpin in her hair.
Behind her were several people carrying empty baskets, as well as members of the RavenclawQuidditch team, about the same number as the Gryffindors.
The two groups met in the middle of the staircase.
The Ravenclaw students clearly had little experience with sneaking out; Anthony Goldstein was so startled he nearly jumped backward, his hand reaching for his wand, looking ready to bolt back.
"Luna, you should've said something earlier, we could've helped you all carry things!" Fred waved cheerfully, breaking the brief awkwardness.
"Exactly!" George quickly agreed, somewhat encouragingly, "But as Hogwarts students, you've got to sneak out at night at least once before graduating, right? This is such a good opportunity; it'll definitely be an unforgettable memory to look back on later!"
Luna blinked her silvery-white eyes, a faint smile on her face: "Thank you, but we'll manage ourselves."
She turned and looked at her nervous companions behind her, clapping her hands softly, "Don't worry, just follow them, you won't be discovered."
After a series of stumbles and hurried escapes, the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor groups finally met at the portrait leading to the kitchens.
Chapter 332: We Gryffindor have two warriors! Awesome!
Ron leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, sweat dripping down his forehead and soaking his robes.
He complained between gasps, "I get it now. If we run into Filch at night, we absolutely cannot run with Fred and George! That guy only chases you two!"
"I told everyone to split up and run!" Fred spread his hands, looking innocent. "You were the one who insisted on sticking with us."
Ron glared at him, his voice full of grievance, "You two were the ones who thumped your chests and said not to doubt your night-time sneaking abilities! And what happened? We almost got scratched on the heels by Filch's cat!"
"But we weren't caught!" Fred retorted, raising an eyebrow, a hint of pride in his voice. "Doesn't that count as ability?"
George stepped forward and clapped Ron heavily on the shoulder, his tone full of encouragement, "But seriously, I underestimated you. I didn't think you'd be able to keep up the whole way without falling behind. Big improvement!"
Just as Ron was about to retort, Luna raised her hand and scratched the lifelike pear painted on the portrait.
The next second, the pear suddenly let out a comical "cluck" sound, slowly swelled up, and finally transformed into a smooth brass doorknob.
Seeing this, everyone quickly lowered their voices and, one by one, twisted the doorknob and slipped into the Kitchens.
As soon as they entered, they froze.
The Hufflepuff students were already busy inside.
Some were learning how to package pumpkin pies with the House-elves, some were loading baskets with iced pumpkin juice, and others were selecting golden-baked cookies, having clearly arrived before them.
The students from the three Houses exchanged glances, instantly understanding each other's intentions.
They were all there to prepare celebratory food for their respective House Champions.
However, Ravenclaw didn't have a Champion, but fortunately, in their eyes, Dylan was no different from someone from their own House.
He had even found the ravenclaw's diadem.
That's why they risked coming out this time to prepare a surprise for Dylan.
When it came to finding food, the Hufflepuff students were experts.
They skillfully guided everyone on which pastries were most popular, which drinks tasted best, and even taught them how to pack food in magic fresh-keeping boxes.
With their help, Luna, Fred, and the others quickly filled several baskets with their spoils, and even Neville held a small bag containing honey cakes.
On the way back, as they turned a corner in the corridor, they saw Gregory Goyle from Slytherinstanding alone, staring blankly at the ground.
Luna was the first to stop, taking a packet of Chocolate Frogs from her basket and handing them over. Seeing this, the other students also took out their snacks and shared them with Goyle.
Fred gave him a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Anthony gave him a toffee, and even Ronhesitantly offered a cookie.
When Draco Malfoy returned to the Slytherin common room, he immediately saw a variety of food piled on the long table.
Chocolate Frogs, pumpkin pies, and juice bottles covered the surface.
He frowned and asked, puzzled, "Where did all this come from?"
The Slytherin students of the same year all turned their heads, their gaze falling on Goyle, who was secretly munching on a cookie nearby.
"I... Luna, and some Gryffindor people gave them to me."
Goyle said indistinctly, his mouth full of food, "Then everyone else followed and gave me some too."
He paused, then added, "Oh, and the Weasley twins gave me some too, but I've already finished their Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and I didn't find anything wrong with them. It's quite strange..."
"Alright." Draco Malfoy shook his head helplessly, walked up to Goyle, and pressed, "Didn't they say anything? Giving you things for no reason?"
"Luna said a few things." Goyle tried to recall, his brow furrowed. "She said everyone is a HogwartsChampion, so of course, good things should be shared... That's roughly what she meant. The Weasleytwins said the same thing."
Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow, didn't press further, but just looked at the food on the table, a smile unconsciously curving his lips.
He understood, of course, that this was the other Houses' way of celebrating the special moment of Hogwarts having four Champions.
As Dylan reached the entrance of the Gryffindor common room, before he could even step inside, a deafening clamor erupted from behind the door.
Cheers, applause, and chatter mixed together, almost making him stumble back half a step.
"What's going on?" Harry was startled.
Before he could react, the door suddenly opened, and several Gryffindor Quidditch team members immediately swarmed around him, grabbing him without a word and lifting him steadily.
"Let's go! Our Champion is back!" The group worked together to lift Dylan and Harry and quickly walked towards the center of the common room.
Dylan subconsciously held onto the arm of a teammate beside him, only to realize when he looked down that his feet weren't touching the ground at all.
The common room, which should have been quietly sleeping at this hour, had completely transformed, exuding a lively atmosphere.
Below the ceiling, a dozen transparent crystal balls floated in mid-air, slowly rotating. With each rotation, they refracted colorful light, illuminating the entire common room with an extraordinary brightness.
Layers of colorful ribbons, red, blue, and gold, were intertwined around the room, gently fluttering in the breeze.
When he was placed on the soft cushion in the center of the common room, Dylan finally saw his surroundings clearly.
Almost all the Gryffindor students were gathered there, some holding pastries just brought from the Kitchens, some holding juice cups, and every face wore a genuine smile.
As soon as he and Harry stood firm, a chorus of congratulations immediately erupted.
"Dylan! Harry! You guys are amazing! You really didn't disappoint us!"
"I knew you two would definitely become Champions! I was so anxious in the Great Hall just now!"
"Our Gryffindor has two Champions! Awesome!"
After the cheers subsided slightly, someone couldn't help but bring up a question everyone was concerned about.
"But with Hogwarts suddenly having an extra Champion, how does the panel of judges plan to handle it?"
No sooner had the words fallen than others echoed them.
"Yeah, just now in the Great Hall, Durmstrang's Principal's face was practically black. They definitely won't let this go."
"Karkaroff was even cursing. He might try to make things difficult for you!"
Dylan pressed his hands down, signaling everyone to quiet down, a gentle smile on his face, "We've already discussed this with the Principals and come to a conclusion."
He paused, then clearly stated, "Now I am considered the fourth contestant. I will complete the tasks individually during the competition.
After all the tasks are finished, my score will be added to Harry's, Cedric's, and Malfoy's scores, and only the average score will be calculated in the end."
He looked at everyone and added, "I guess tomorrow morning, a formal explanation should be posted on the announcement board at the Castle entrance. Then everyone will be able to see the detailed rules."
"So that's how it is!" Fred breathed a sigh of relief, clapping his hands with a smile. "No matter what, it's great that you're a Champion! Come, try the pumpkin pie we got from the Kitchens. The Hufflepuffstudents said this is their specialty!"
As soon as he finished speaking, someone handed over a beautifully packaged pumpkin pie, and enthusiastic cheers erupted once again, the light refracted by the crystal balls dancing on everyone's faces, full of celebratory atmosphere.
Harry woke up earlier than usual.
As soon as he opened his eyelids a crack, he saw a faint, pale yellow glimmer seeping through the bed curtain, soft like a thin veil.
It was clearly still dawn, and the Castle was quiet, even the birdsong outside the window carried a sleepy drowsiness.
He slowly sat up, propping himself on his arms, his back leaning against the cold stone bed frame, his fingers inadvertently touching something smooth.
Looking down, the object was pressed by the pillow, its edge still exposed outside the duvet.
Harry bent down to pick it up, and with a gentle pull of his hands, he spread it open to reveal a Gryffindor banner embroidered with a golden lion, the fabric feeling thick and smooth.
He suddenly remembered the excitement of last night.
The cheers in the common room, the fluttering ribbons, Lee Jordan rushing over with this banner.
He had, without a word, tied it around his neck like a cape, shouting, "Our Champion must have style!"
Hmm, they had wanted to get one for Dylan too, but he had refused.
In short, that excitement was still swirling in his mind.
But now, holding the banner, Harry felt his arm suddenly heavy, the weight spreading from his fingers to his heart.
Lee Jordan's voice from last night suddenly echoed in his ears, as clear as if it were right in front of him: "Look at this banner! A genuine old Gryffindor artifact! Harry, you're the hope of our House, you can't lose to those guys from other schools!"
This sentence was like a small stone, hitting Harry's heart and sending ripples through it.
He instinctively straightened his back, but felt as if a heavy weight was pressing on his shoulders, sinking a little with each breath.
A thought suddenly popped into his head.
He didn't seem ready at all.
What was the first task?
What spells would he need?
Would he encounter dangers he couldn't handle?
He couldn't answer any of these questions.
What if he performed poorly, dragged down Cedric, Dylan, and the others, and lowered the average score? Would the classmates who cheered for him last night and shoved pumpkin pie into his hands be disappointed?
It seemed that yesterday, everyone thought Dylan was the most outstanding one.
Harry clenched the edge of the banner.
He thought of the other Hogwarts Champions.
Cedric was always steady; he must have been prepared, right?
And Draco Malfoy? Would he also be sleepless with worry about making mistakes, just like himself?
With a soft sigh, Harry turned to look at Ron and Dylan's four-poster brass beds opposite him.
The bed curtains weren't fully drawn, and he could see Ron sprawled out, sleeping soundly.
But if he listened carefully, he could hear a few mumbled dream words from him now and then: "Spiders... don't come closer... go away..."
As he spoke, he would lightly shake his head, his brow furrowed, as if desperately trying to avoid something in his dream.
Harry couldn't help but smile and feel helpless, lightening his movements as he threw back the covers and got out of bed, afraid of waking Ron.
As for Dylan, he seemed to have woken up early and was already out.
He took out his school robes from the wardrobe and put them on. When he fastened the third button, he looked back at the banner, but ultimately folded it neatly and placed it by his pillow before quietly opening the common room door and stepping out.
The Castle was unusually quiet, only his footsteps echoing in the corridor.
Wandering aimlessly, he unconsciously found himself in the Entrance Hall on the first floor.
Just as he turned the corner, Harry froze.
Draco Malfoy was leaning by the fireplace, a wand in his hand, his fingers caressing the shaft.
His face was unnaturally pale, and the dark circles under his eyes were so heavy it looked like he'd been punched, clearly having not slept well.
Harry instinctively wanted to hide.
He and Draco Malfoy had always been at odds, and even though the other hadn't caused trouble recently, they certainly weren't close.
But the moment his steps paused, he remembered Dylan's words about adding scores for an average.
When the tasks began, they would ultimately be considered a Hogwarts team; they couldn't keep being at loggerheads.
Moreover, since the beginning of this school year, Draco Malfoy had indeed changed a lot since that last time he snapped at Dylan like a lunatic.
He no longer mocked people at the drop of a hat like before, and occasionally when they met in the library, Harry would see him intently flipping through thick books, only giving perfunctory replies to Pansy's attempts at conversation.
Thinking of this, Harry took a deep breath and walked straight towards the Entrance Hall, stopping a few steps away from Draco Malfoy, and proactively asked, "Didn't sleep well?"
Draco Malfoy suddenly looked up, a flicker of panic in his eyes, which quickly returned to his usual arrogance. He raised an eyebrow and scoffed, "I just woke up early. I get up at this time every day, unlike some people who need an alarm clock to wake up."
Harry glanced at the dark circles under his eyes, pursed his lips, and didn't expose his lie.
The light in the Entrance Hall gradually brightened, filtering through the stained-glass windows and falling on the two of them. For a moment, no one spoke, only the occasional crackle of the remaining charcoal in the fireplace.
Harry and Draco Malfoy stood in the Entrance Hall for a long time, neither speaking again.
The charcoal in the fireplace gradually cooled.
Just then, footsteps came from the end of the corridor, and Dylan walked in.
"Harry, good morning."
Dylan greeted first, his gaze sweeping over their faces, quickly noticing the heavy dark circles under their eyes and the lingering worry between their brows.
"What's wrong? You both look like you didn't get much rest last night?"
"I just habitually wake up early." Draco Malfoy immediately used his previous excuse, his chin slightly raised, his tone carrying his usual arrogance, and he didn't forget to glance at Harry. "Potter, on the other hand, looks terrible. He definitely didn't sleep soundly."
"You're the one who didn't sleep well!" Harry immediately retorted, his voice rising a few octaves. "When I joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Wood dragged us to the Quidditch pitch to train before dawn every day. I've long since formed the habit of waking up early!"
Afraid Draco Malfoy wouldn't believe him, he quickly added, "Even though Wood has graduated now, I haven't changed this habit. I didn't wake up because I couldn't sleep!"
"I thought you were already asleep yesterday." Dylan nodded, not pressing further.
Dylan looked at Harry and Draco Malfoy, his tone becoming a bit more serious, "Actually, I didn't sleep much last night either. I thought a lot about the tasks."
— He had deliberately stayed up an extra ten minutes.
He paused, Dylan's gaze sweeping over their faces.
"Although the specific content of the first task hasn't been announced yet, it might not be without any clues at all, what do you think?"
"Clues?" Draco Malfoy frowned slightly, as if he had thought of something. "You mean, those historical questions about the Triwizard Tournament during the selection assessment?"
Chapter 333 Durmstrang's Headmaster's Succession Method
"I remember too!" Harry quickly interjected, his eyes brightening, clearly unwilling to be outdone by Draco. "The first task of previous Triwizard Tournaments seemed to mostly involve extremely high-level dangerous creatures. I saw it in old books in the library before."
"Yes, that's indeed crucial information." Dylan nodded in agreement, his tone appreciative. "Do you remember the instructions Crouch gave us yesterday? What exactly did he say?"
Harry tilted his head, thought for a moment, and then tentatively said, "He seemed to mention that preparations had already been made, but due to the change in the number of champions, the event content needed to be re-adjusted."
"Which means—" Draco's eyes narrowed, and he immediately reacted. "The most likely direction for adjustment is to change the number of 5X-level dangerous creatures? For example, originally one was prepared, and now it's increased to multiple?"
"That's what I'm guessing too." Dylan smiled. "I once read a line in the 'Wizard Risk Assessment Handbook': 'Fear often stems from the unknown.' If we understand what we might face, our worries will lessen significantly. Even if the judging panel hasn't informed us yet, we can prepare in advance."
"Like collecting information on all 5X-level dangerous creatures?" Harry continued his line of thought, his voice no longer as confused as before, but with a touch of certainty. "Figure out their habits, weaknesses, and the spells to counter them."
"We need to get Diggory involved too." Draco added, his brow furrowing slightly as he tried to recall. "I remember his father works at the Ministry of Magic, it's something like... the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? Yes, it should be that department. He might be able to get internal information."
"Hmm, yes, he needs to contact his father more." Dylan narrowed his eyes. "Cedric is also a Hogwartschampion; an extra person means extra strength. Just like now, I was thinking about this for a long time, and we sorted it out after a few sentences. More people always come up with more ideas."
Dylan glanced at Malfoy.
If this guy didn't cause trouble every day, he'd just be an ordinary kid.
"Then I'll go find Cedric!" Harry said immediately, somewhat eagerly, clearly impatient to take action. "That way, the four of us can brainstorm together, divide the work, and definitely be more efficient!"
"I'll write home and ask them to help find some rare materials." Draco also quickly chimed in, afraid of being left behind. "My father knows many collectors in the magic world; he might be able to find out-of-print creature atlases."
Dylan looked at the two and couldn't help but smile.
Although their dark circles were still prominent, the clouds of worry on their brows had largely dissipated, replaced by a keen sense of eagerness.
"Then I'll be in charge of the library, finding basic information."
He smiled and nodded, "There are many types of 5X-level dangerous creatures. We can collect information separately, with each person responsible for a few types, which will save time."
He paused, then added, "Once everyone has collected enough, we can find a time when everyone is free, like during evening rest, to compile the information, supplementing each other. That way, we'll surely consider all possible scenarios."
When Harry and Draco left, their steps were noticeably lighter.
Harry almost jogged towards Hufflepuff, and Draco, no longer gloomy, straightened his back and walked quickly towards the Owlery, his figure exuding a brisk energy.
Dylan turned and walked towards the library. Just as he rounded a corridor corner, he glimpsed a familiar figure.
Dumbledore was holding something, his movements agile for an old man, and with a light leap, he crossed a half-open doorway.
As soon as he landed, the door spun rapidly, and in the blink of an eye, it reverted to an oil painting depicting the Scottish wilderness, even the dust on the frame was exactly as before.
This was clearly a secret passage never marked on the marauder's map.
Dylan understood.
It was probably similar to the prefects' bathroom, a secret passage "for the Principal's exclusive use."
Sirius and Lupin were only students back then, so they naturally had no chance to access such places known only to the Principal. It was reasonable that the map didn't record it.
Dumbledore apparently saw him too, turned around, and waved in his direction, a gentle smile on his face as usual.
As Dylan walked closer, he saw that Dumbledore was holding a small silver tray, neatly arranged with several sweet-smelling cakes.
In his other hand, he held half a cake, cream gently dripping down his fingers.
Judging by the lemon-yellow color and the frosting on top, it must be the lemon cake, a daily limited offering from the kitchen.
"Good morning, Headmaster Dumbledore." Dylan quickened his pace to meet him, greeting him proactively.
"Good morning, Dylan. Would you like a piece?" Dumbledore shook the tray in his arms, specifically offering it forward, and the aroma of the cake grew stronger. "Just baked in the kitchen, still very warm."
"Thank you, no need." Dylan smiled and waved his hand, his gaze falling on the tray. "Did your judging panel meeting last very late last night?"
"Not late in my opinion." Dumbledore shook his head, a smile in his eyes as he recalled. "But for Mr. Bagman, it was probably an ordeal. He fell asleep in the armchair at least two or three times while we were discussing the plan."
He took a bite of cake, not caring that cream was on the corner of his mouth, and continued, "But he's very alert. As soon as our discussion volume dropped slightly, he would immediately wake up and ask, 'What were we just talking about?' with a serious look, which is quite a remarkable skill."
Dylan tried hard to keep a straight face to avoid laughing out loud. He blinked, suppressing his smile, and asked, "So, you and the other Principals have already decided on the event plan?"
"We have a result, but—" Dumbledore deliberately drew out his words, stuffing the remaining half of the cake into his mouth, chewing slowly, a hint of mystery in his eyes.
"Is it because of the judging panel's magic contract that you can't reveal it early?" Dylan interjected at the right moment, nodding in understanding, and then skillfully guided the conversation deeper. "What happened last night, after all, should have just been an accident, right?"
The two walked side by side into a secluded corridor. Dumbledore clearly called out to a gargoyle statue squatting by the wall, "Sugared lemon cake!"
The gargoyle immediately folded its broad stone wings, nimbly jumped aside, revealing the hidden spiral staircase behind it.
"You think it was an accident?" Dumbledore countered, taking another large bite of cake, his eyes squinting in satisfaction, completely oblivious to the cream on his beard.
They slowly ascended the spiral staircase, and Dylan, as he walked, stated his conjecture: "Mr. Karkaroff's Confundo, I think, was more like a mistake made in panic."
"Do you remember the Horcrux we found before? Perhaps, Lord Voldemort has already resurrected."
Dylan raised an eyebrow: "I specifically asked Harry to check the marauder's map, and Lord Voldemort's name wasn't on it, nor did we find a second Barty Crouch Jr."
After saying this, he quickly ascended two steps and was the first to reach out and twist open the Principal's office door.
The room was empty; the Phoenix Fawkes was not on its perch. Dylan guessed it was probably out foraging—
For a Phoenix, fresh berries covered in morning dew were a rare delicacy.
"Honestly, having such a map, and such a careful user as yourself, this is very good." Dumbledoreplaced the tray on the corner of the desk, picked up a tissue, and wiped the corners of his mouth. "If I were someone with ulterior motives, I would probably have to carefully consider whether or not to easily step into Hogwarts."
Hearing this, he turned and looked at Dumbledore: "You mean... Barty Crouch Jr. has already found Lord Voldemort? Is that why those Death Eaters disappeared from the map, hiding in a more secret place?"
"Yes..." Dumbledore nodded slowly, his fingers gently tapping the edge of the desk, the previous gentleness fading from his eyes, replaced by a touch of solemnity. "They have successfully reunited, on September 1st—the day our school year began."
"After Barty Crouch Jr. and Lord Voldemort reunited, did they go to another magical world?" Dylan immediately followed this clue. "Did they go to Durmstrang? Headmaster Dumbledore, do you think we should immediately notify the local Ministry of Magic to conduct a search?"
Recently, he had also received a lot of information reported by his subordinates.
Many Death Eaters were being gathered by someone.
However, many Death Eaters, or rather, Dark Wizards, were unwilling to follow someone's footsteps again.
Because they now had a new Dark Lord they could worship.
As for Karkaroff, he had previously escaped due punishment by offering a token of allegiance, and then fled the British wizarding world overnight, clearly fearing retaliation from other Death Eaters.
No one expected that after so many years, he would transform into the Principal of Durmstrang.
If Lord Voldemort wanted to restart his plan, Durmstrang was undoubtedly an excellent stronghold.
This school was inherently unique; it never admitted Muggle-born students, and it didn't even have a Defense Against the Dark Arts Class. Instead, it directly listed the Dark Arts as a formal course, allowing students to systematically learn spells that other schools considered taboo.
With this clarification, Dylan understood.
For Lord Voldemort, who had become more cunning, a place like Durmstrang was practically a natural hiding place and a breeding ground for developing his power.
He asked Old Deng's this to see his attitude.
"I'm afraid it's not that easy." Dumbledore gently shook his head, picking up the last piece of cake from the tray but not eating it, merely twirling it lightly between his fingers. "You should be aware of Durmstrang's modus operandi, shouldn't you? They don't accept Muggle-borns and openly teach the Dark Arts."
"I understand."
Dylan nodded as if enlightened, "If Lord Voldemort really settled in Durmstrang, perhaps the local Ministry of Magic would not only not oppose it, but would secretly support it? After all, their ideologies inherently align."
"Precisely so." Dumbledore spread his hands. "However, looking at it from another perspective, this isn't entirely a bad thing."
"You mean..." Dylan smiled, "A magic school has its own rules. Even if Lord Voldemort stays there, he can't rule with violence as the 'Dark Lord' like before?"
He paused, "Especially since Durmstrang itself has its own order. If he used coercive methods, it would cause a backlash, so he has no choice but to rein in his actions?"
"At least for now, they do intend to do so." Dumbledore's smile reappeared, and he cast an approving glance at Dylan. "Do you know Durmstrang's method of succession?"
"Method of succession?" Dylan tilted his head. "Are you referring to... the way the Principal is appointed?"
"Exactly." Dumbledore nodded in confirmation.
"I've only seen scattered records in a few old books about strange anecdotes." Dylan recalled, "It's said that the position of Principal at that school can be contended for through duels."
"Its founder was Nerida Vulchanova. When the school was flourishing, she suddenly died mysteriously, and then Harfang Munter took over as Principal."
"So there have always been rumors that Durmstrang allows duels, and even dishonorable means like murder, to complete the succession of the Principal's position."
At this point, Dylan seemed to suddenly realize: "You mean, if Lord Voldemort wants to control Durmstrang, he must abide by their rules and take the Principal's position through a duel? This would actually limit his actions?"
"According to the descriptions in those books, Harfang Munter set a very bad precedent."
"After him, the incident of taking the Principal's position at Durmstrang by similar means has actually happened several times, each time accompanied by internal purges."
At this point, he looked at Dumbledore, his tone a little uncertain: "Headmaster Dumbledore, do you think... Lord Voldemort has already taken the Principal's position through a duel?"
"Not yet." Dumbledore gently shook his head, tapping the desk twice with his finger. "But I must say, they plan to thoroughly reorganize Durmstrang internally while we're busy preparing for the Triwizard Tournament, and then push forward with the next phase of their plan after the competition ends."
He paused, his voice lowering slightly: "But Lord Voldemort is still the same, extremely cautious."
"He only revealed this to Barty Crouch Jr., and also painted a grand picture for him, saying he would build a new world belonging to pure-blood Wizards, making Barty Crouch Jr. feel like a core figure in the future."
"So, Lord Voldemort must want Barty Crouch Jr. to do something." Dylan stated his suspicion, his tone certain. "Otherwise, there's no need to give him so many promises."
"That's hard to say." Dumbledore suddenly showed a sly smile, and his tone became lighter. "Perhaps you'll have a more accurate judgment if you see it for yourself."
He stood up and walked to the walnut cabinet in the corner, carefully taking out a translucent stone basin.
It was the Pensieve.
The sun was shining brightly outside the window, and the daylight made the Pensieve's surface glow faintly.
Dumbledore raised his wand, its tip gently pressed against his temple. With a slight pressure of his finger, a silver thread of memory was pulled out, as light as moonlight.
He flicked his wrist, and the thread slowly fell into the Pensieve, instantly blending completely into the silvery-white liquid in the basin without a single ripple.
"Come and see, these are fragments of memory I extracted from some associated traces." Dumbledoregestured for Dylan to come forward.
Dylan took a deep breath, bent down, and plunged his head into the Pensieve.
A strong sense of weightlessness instantly enveloped him, as if falling into a bottomless abyss.
The next second, his feet landed firmly on the ground.
Chapter 334: Little Barty is quite suitable to be a professor
He opened his eyes to find himself standing outside a classroom door, peering through the half-open crack.
The classroom was unusually spacious but permeated with a bone-chilling cold. There were no windows on the walls, only a few brass lamps hanging from the beams, casting a dim light.
The students in the classroom were all wearing heavy black cloaks, their shoulders hunched, hands tucked into their sleeves, eyes fixed with reverence and fear on the person by the podium.
That person was Barty Crouch Jr..
To conceal his appearance, he had Transfigured himself a thick, dark brown beard and hair, with sideburns covering his cheeks and even a layer of short hair on the bridge of his nose, leaving only a pair of exceptionally sharp eyes visible.
Perhaps being back with Lord Voldemort, he seemed incredibly energetic, his back ramrod straight, and his voice loud when he spoke.
Dylan's gaze fell on the podium, where an open textbook with a worn cover clearly showed its title.
— "Practical and Potent magic Collection."
Evidently, Barty was teaching, and he was teaching the Dark Arts.
At this moment, he was pointing to a passage in the textbook, explaining an obscure spell.
"This is the Bloodletting Curse, a high-level Dark Arts spell, but you must master it," Barty's voice echoed through the door, carrying an undeniable authority. "Don't think about being lazy; every syllable's pronunciation, every flick of the wand, must be precise and flawless."
Barty, like Moody, placed great emphasis on practical application. Throughout the entire lesson, he wasted no words, meticulously outlining everything from the spell's origin and principles to the force techniques required for casting, and even the potential consequences of errors.
What startled Dylan even more was that Barty interspersed some theories about the soul in his explanation, subtly hinting at the idea that the soul could be strengthened by external forces.
When it came to the spell's application, he was even more direct.
"First, use a Severing Charm to create a wound on the enemy. While they are bleeding and disoriented, cast this spell, and it can drain a third of their blood within ten seconds—this is the most practical suppression method on the battlefield."
The students in the classroom listened with bated breath, only the "shush" of pen tips scratching paper intermingling with Barty's explanation, creating an indescribable eerie atmosphere.
As Barty spoke, Dylan, combining his own understanding of the Dark Arts, quickly realized that the blood loss caused by this spell was far more complex than it appeared on the surface.
Barty confirmed this in the second practical lesson, emphasizing that while the spell stripped away blood, it would also travel along the blood vessels with magic, interfering with the opponent's soul, causing damaged soul fragments to be lost along with the blood.
This was its core as a high-level Dark Arts spell. Barty spoke vaguely, but Dylan's research into the Dark Arts was deeper than his, and he easily grasped its profound meaning.
"The core of practice is only one thing—to strip away all life from the opponent, leaving them no chance of recovery!" Barty concluded in class, his voice devoid of extra emotion.
Dylan noticed that he taught advanced students intricate techniques of soul interference, while lower-grade students learned basic casting gestures.
Clearly, the teaching progressed in layers, with even the practice dummies having different levels of magic resistance.
What surprised Dylan even more was that Barty also mentioned the existence of the "Otherworld."
"There's no need to delve into the spell's origins. Wizard casting inherently relies on the connection between oneself and magic. Master the knack, hone the technique, and you will naturally unleash its full power."
He even extended his explanation, stating that the spell's principle could be applied across different fields.
—In Potion, it could precisely separate Potion components; in Herbology, it could rapidly extract plant essences.
Even in daily life, it could be used to debone fish, simply by adjusting the frequency of magic output.
What could be drained was not just blood.
Dylan stayed in the memory for an entire day.
From the theoretical class in the morning to the practical class in the evening, his understanding of the spell became more comprehensive. He could even, within this very short time, deepen some of the spell's shortcomings.
After nightfall, the Durmstrang dining hall was lit by candlelight.
Barty finished his lesson and came here, his plate quickly piled high with food.
For example, some golden-fried meatballs coated in thick gravy, alongside neatly sliced smoked salmon drizzled with yogurt-lemon juice and yellow mustard sauce.
Lord Voldemort did not seem to be in the Castle. Barty barely spoke throughout the meal, simply eating quietly, occasionally glancing at the surrounding students with a hint of detachment in his eyes.
After eating, he went straight back to his office.
When Dylan followed him in, he saw him immediately sit down at his desk, without even a moment's rest, picking up his quill and writing on parchment.
Even after teaching all day, he remained full of energy, his eyes gleaming with excitement, clearly enjoying his current state.
Dylan walked to the desk and saw the contents of the parchment clearly.
It was all about Wizard families, but it was completely different from the usual "pure-blood theories."
Barty seemed to be constructing a brand new ideology.
Abandoning the distinction between "pure-blood" and "half-blood," returning to the essence of Wizardidentity, emphasizing that a Wizard's power comes from his own magic and talent, rather than bloodline inheritance.
However, this draft was clearly not going smoothly.
He would write a few sentences, then frown and cross them out, his quill poking ink dots onto the parchment.
Dozens of discarded parchment balls were already scattered on the floor. The coffee pot next to him emptied and refilled. By the time he finished his fifth cup of black coffee, a new piece of parchment was again defaced.
Dylan stayed for another half an hour, seeing that Barty was still repeatedly revising this draft without any other actions, so he voluntarily withdrew his consciousness.
The sensation of weightlessness returned.
The next second, he had straightened up, back in the Principal's office, the silvery-white liquid in the Pensieve still gently swaying.
"How was it? Was this memory very enlightening?" Dumbledore's voice sounded at the right time. He was sitting on the sofa, holding a cup of hot cocoa.
"From any perspective, it's quite astonishing." Dylan blinked and nodded. "To be honest, Barty Crouch Jr. is actually quite suitable to be a Professor. He teaches clearly, can explain complex spells in an easy-to-understand way, and can even extend them to other fields."
"Yes, that is indeed very regrettable."
Dumbledore put down his cup, a hint of regret flashing in his eyes. "The first time I saw this memory, I had the same thought. He could have had a completely different life."
"And Lord Voldemort, it seems, has indeed changed quite a bit from the image I had of him."
Dylan changed the subject. "Barty clearly enjoys his current life. When drafting those contents, there was no resistance or fear on his face, but rather a sense of certainty. This indicates that everything he does is at Lord Voldemort's behest, and it might even be something they agreed upon before proceeding."
"Exactly!" Dumbledore nodded emphatically, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest of the sofa. "However, based on my current observation of Barty Crouch Jr., he is actually safer by Lord Voldemort's side now than before, at least he won't act recklessly and wildly as he used to."
He paused, his gaze fixed on the window, somewhat complex: "Perhaps for the students of Durmstrang, having a Professor like Barty is not necessarily a bad thing. He teaches clearly and knows how to teach in layers, so students can understand the Dark Arts more systematically, rather than blindly misusing it."
"But where has Lord Voldemort gone?" Dylan followed his gaze out the window. "Headmaster Dumbledore, has he… has he already resurrected? The Horcrux we found last time, although I destroyed it, does he have other Horcrux?"
"As far as I know, not yet." Dumbledore gently shook his head, took a sip of the hot cocoa on the table, his tone firm. "But what is certain is that he is fully preparing for the resurrection ritual, and every step he takes is exceptionally cautious."
"So, he's not at Durmstrang because he's putting all his energy into resurrection?" Dylan said.
After all, for Lord Voldemort, nothing was more important than regaining his physical body.
Dylan had recently learned why Old Deng's had suddenly become so concerned about Lord Voldemort.
Leaving aside the convergence of the timeline, the mere fact that Lord Voldemort had been extensively recruiting Dark Wizard lately made it difficult to conceal his whereabouts.
In fact, if it were before, Lord Voldemort would probably just shout, "I'm about to resurrect!" and many Dark Wizard would transform into Death Eater and rejoin his ranks.
But now, with the existence of Karthus, a demon who brought considerable hope to the Dark Wizarding World.
Some people felt that the Ministry of Magic had not yet caught Karthus, and the latter was even like a ghost, uncontactable by anyone, but was constantly researching a great magic.
This seemed much better than constantly agonizing over whether to be pure-blood or not.
Therefore, many people were no longer willing to approach Lord Voldemort, who could only shout louder, or even resort to force.
But this would, in turn, incite more hatred.
Finally, the commotion grew larger and larger, making it hard not to be noticed.
And Old Deng's, presumably, had observed this long ago.
At least, from what I know of him, yes." Dumbledore put down his cup, his eyes growing more solemn. "Lord Voldemort will surely resurrect, he will surely return. This is an obsession etched into his bones."
No sooner had he spoken than a clear smile spread across his face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out: "But these past few years, his luck hasn't been good at all; he's failed too many times. That's why he's become so cautious."
Dylan interjected, the empty Death Eater names on the marauder's map flashing through his mind.
"That's normal. There are simply too few people like Barty who can genuinely help him. Most Death Eaters either betrayed him or have long lost their ambition from back then."
"Yes, perhaps this could be called… returning to his true self?" Dumbledore blinked, as if recalling distant memories, a hint of melancholy in his voice. "When he was young, he was extremely cautious, always liking to have a backup plan for everything he did."
"It was only later, as he grew stronger and more Death Eaters flocked to his banner, and everyone started calling him by titles like 'Dark Lord,' that the adulation and awe went to his head, and that caution slowly disappeared."
His fingers lightly tapped the table, his voice deepening slightly. "But some things are ingrained in one's bones, like what he relies on most: his own magic talent and the absolute power that talent brings."
"It is precisely because of this that he is extremely unwilling to expose his weaknesses."
Dumbledore's gaze sharpened. "He absolutely does not want to reveal his most vulnerable state in front of Death Eaters, especially those who once betrayed him."
"You can think of quite a few such people, can't you? He would rather wait until he is fully resurrected and at the peak of his power before summoning those traitors before him, to savor their panic-stricken expressions."
Dumbledore's analysis of Lord Voldemort was terrifyingly accurate.
Dylan nodded silently.
Just as Dumbledore said, Lord Voldemort would never confront his former subordinates while he was weak.
Otherwise, in the years after his downfall, there were actually many opportunities for him to regain his strength.
For example, the House of Malfoy, with their financial resources and connections, could have easily helped Lord Voldemort recover even a fraction of his power.
But Lord Voldemort preferred to remain anonymous rather than bow to his former traitors. This pride and obstinacy were precisely his most fatal weaknesses.
Even recently, though he was recruiting Dark Wizards again, he wasn't doing it himself but relying on the strength of his few remaining subordinates.
Dylan's thoughts raced.
Lord Voldemort had never actively sought out those traitors before, choosing instead to lie dormant alone until he regained a little strength in recent years, only then becoming active again.
Even so, he didn't contact his old subordinates; instead, he sought out Professor Quirrell.
These fragmented clues intertwined in his mind, gradually forming a clear outline.
The Killing Curse had no effect on Harry, the magic protection on Harry, the blood magic that merged soul fragments, Barty's bloody curse taught at Durmstrang.
And this Triwizard Tournament, which suddenly had an extra participant… all clues, as if pulled by an invisible string, ultimately pointed in the same direction.
"Headmaster Dumbledore… is Lord Voldemort planning to…" Dylan's voice slowly emerged, reminding the other, "use that blood magic to absorb Harry's blood to complete his resurrection?"
He leaned forward half a step: "He tried to harm Harry many times before, even with the Killing Curse, but it was all in vain. I know Harry has special protection. If he wants to resurrect through blood, he might be able to bypass that protection."
"That's right."
Dumbledore nodded, his expression still calm, clearly not surprised that Dylan could deduce this.
He clasped his hands in front of him, leaning slightly forward. "Sirius told you about the magicprotection on Harry, didn't he?"
"I remember when he came to see me last time, I mentioned to him that this matter could be told to trustworthy children like you."
"Yes, he told me."
Dylan nodded in confirmation. Sirius had told him a lot before, and Dylan had deliberately extracted a lot of information about Harry from him.
So, even when facing Old Deng's current inquiry, he wasn't flustered about how he knew so much.
"I heard Sirius say that this protection on Harry only lasts until he comes of age, right?"
"Indeed, after coming of age, the magic will expire." Dumbledore's gaze deepened. "Adulthood and non-adulthood are two completely different stages, and this is crucial."
"Crucial?" Dylan raised an eyebrow. "Headmaster Dumbledore, if Lord Voldemort's goal really is Harry's blood… is this actually a result you are happy to see?"
"Hmm…" Dumbledore blinked, a flicker of genuine surprise in the wrinkles around his eyes, clearly not expecting Dylan to get to the core so quickly. "It seems you've figured out quite a few key points."
"I've studied some materials on magic contracts before."
Dylan stated the basis of his deduction. "This magic is far more dangerous than Transfiguration; a slight mistake can lead to a backlash from the contract. The protection on Harry is actually tightly bound to a magic contract."
He paused. "The relationship between the two is like an egg protected by an eggshell—the protection is the eggshell, and the contract is the egg itself; neither can exist without the other."
"That's a very clever description, I like it." Dumbledore raised a hand to stroke his beard, a hint of approval in his eyes.
"I also think it's very apt." Dylan smiled, then composed himself and returned to the main topic. "The reason Lord Voldemort couldn't harm Harry was entirely due to the protection of this 'eggshell'."
"But if he wants to take Harry's blood to gain the right to harm Harry, he must bear a consequence—he will actively become part of that magic contract."
At this point, Dylan squinted at Old Deng's. "But I can't understand why Lord Voldemort would be willing to bear the bondage of a contract just to gain the right to harm Harry? This simply doesn't fit his modus operandi."
Dumbledore didn't answer directly, merely raising his hand and conjuring a pattern in the air with his wand. The lines lingered in the air for a few seconds before slowly dissipating.
"A Vow? So, is it because he exchanged 'love' for a Death Vow back then?"
"Which means he doesn't understand what 'love' is at all, and naturally overlooked the hidden power of this magic contract, which is built on 'love'."
"Exactly. The punishment of a Vow is always unimaginably severe."
Dumbledore nodded, a hint of melancholy in his tone. "All knowledge related to 'love' is destined to be beyond Lord Voldemort's reach, no matter what method he uses or what price he pays, it is impossible."
Dylan raised an eyebrow again: "Really, no matter what method, he can't obtain it?"
"Absolutely." Dumbledore clasped his hands, fingers intertwined, his two thumbs circling each other, his gaze fixed on the Phoenix feather quill on the corner of the desk, as if recalling distant memories. "How much do you think Lord Voldemort understands about this protection?"
He frowned slightly, slowing his speech: "I guess, at most, he only knows it's an ancient magic, an unforeseen obstacle from back then. Precisely because his knowledge is limited, he can only try to break this protection based on his own understanding of magic."
"Which is with blood magic." Dylan's mind flashed with the content of Barty's lessons. "By absorbing Harry's blood, he transfers that protection to himself, thus bypassing the obstacle."
At this point, he couldn't help but shake his head.
The Vow was simply too special; even with the vast collection of books in the Hogwarts library, there wasn't a single mention of it on the shelves.
Fortunately, he had Ravenclaw, who had told him a lot about this area of knowledge.
"Well, it seems I still need to find an opportunity to invite Slytherin out. Actually, I wanted to wait until the other three Principals appeared before releasing him."
Every Principal must possess knowledge unique to themselves.
These were all things Dylan desired.
But they were, after all, just portraits, and their memories were not complete.
So Dylan knew that the Vow was an ancient magic that exchanged power for a price, and he also understood some ways to use the Vow, but he was completely ignorant of its deeper principles.
It was only now, hearing Dumbledore say this, that Dylan gained a more tangible understanding of the price of obtaining a Vow.
Lord Voldemort had exchanged love for a powerful Death Vow back then.
With this power, he was able to rise in a short time, contend with Dumbledore, and ignite the great war that swept through the Wizarding World of England.
But to permanently lose the ability to understand "love," to forever be unable to touch knowledge related to "love"… in Dylan's opinion, this price was terrifyingly brutal.