The award ceremony for the Six... Seven-Wizard Tournament was a truly grand affair.
Whether it was six schools or seven, nobody much cared at this point. Whatever names the Goblet of Fire had spat out, those were the champions.
The entire Hogwarts Great Hall had been decked out magnificently. The four house tables had been pushed to the walls, replaced by hundreds of gilded chairs arranged in neat rows, filled with guests from all corners of the world.
Nearly half the wizarding press seemed to have turned up.
The Daily Prophet, The Wizarding Weekly, The Magic Daily, The Witch's Voice, The Quibbler—alongside reporters from France, Germany, the United States, Brazil, and various parts of Africa, all aiming their Quick-Quotes Quills and magical cameras at the podium like rows of artillery.
Flashbulbs crackled and popped, sharp enough to sting the eyes.
Cornelius Fudge stood center stage in a brand-new pinstriped robe, wearing the kind of smile that only ever surfaced in front of a camera.
He cleared his throat, his voice magically amplified, carrying across the hall.
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, colleagues from across the international wizarding world—"
He paused, sweeping his gaze over the packed crowd below. "After a year of fierce competition, the... er, the first Triwizard Tournament has come to a successful close!"
Applause broke out.
"Now, on behalf of the British Ministry of Magic, I have the honor of announcing—"
He turned and took the Triwizard Cup, still burning with blue-white flame, from a nearby attendant.
"The champion of this tournament is—"
He drew the moment out.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—Harry Potter!"
Thunderous applause.
Harry rose from his seat, face flushed bright red, and walked up onto the podium with stiff, awkward steps.
His wrist still sat wrapped in bandages, where a Death Eater had cut him, but at that moment he could hardly spare it a thought.
Fudge handed him the cup and pulled out a giant novelty check.
"Along with a grand prize of one thousand Galleons!"
Harry took the check, standing there awkwardly, unsure whether to look at the cameras or the cup.
Flashbulbs kept firing in a steady barrage.
Down below the stage, Edgar sat beside Lynn, sighing between claps.
"Sigh—"
Another sigh.
"Sigh—"
William pushed his glasses up and glanced at him. "That's enough."
Edgar shook his head, a look of deep regret on his face.
"Who could've seen this coming? Who could've! That freak Lynn tore through everything like a hot knife through butter—took down an ice dragon, killed a giant octopus, scared Durmstrang half to death—and then got intercepted right at the finish line!"
William stayed quiet a beat. "...I really didn't see that coming either."
Edgar kept sighing.
"But that's just how it goes. Blame the Dark wizard who snuck into the tournament and decided to pick a fight specifically with Lynn."
He paused, adding, "Guy's just got rotten luck."
Ollie chimed in for once, brief as ever: "He's still alive."
Edgar nodded. "True enough. That Dark wizard died so thoroughly there wasn't even ash left."
He glanced at Harry, still posing for photos with Fudge onstage, then over at Lynn standing off in the corner, and couldn't help but remark.
"This also proves just how strong Lynn actually is—beating magical creatures is one thing, but taking down an actual wizard is the real deal."
The applause gradually faded.
Fudge and Harry posed for a photo together; Harry held the cup while Fudge stood beside him, smiling like some kindly elder.
Then Fudge waved the other champions up onto the stage.
"Come, come, all champions up here! Let's get a group photo!"
Fleur, Krum, Ryan, Amina, Cedric, Roger... one by one they climbed up and lined the podium.
Lynn was among them.
He stood at the far end, expression flat, betraying nothing.
The flashbulbs crackled again.
Once the group photo wrapped, the champions began filing off the stage.
Lynn had just taken a step—
"Mr. Lynn, one moment, please."
Fudge's voice came from behind him.
Lynn paused. He turned, looked at Fudge, then glanced over at Dumbledore seated at the judges' table.
His eyes asked the obvious question.
Dumbledore gave a small nod, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
That expression said plenty enough: something good's coming.
Lynn raised an eyebrow and turned back around.
A flurry of whispers broke out below the stage.
"What does Fudge want with him?"
"He's not going to be held responsible for the killing, is he?"
"No chance—they'd have arrested him already if that were the plan."
"Then what is it?"
Fudge cleared his throat, addressing the crowd below.
"Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen—"
He launched into another round of speechmaking.
"This Triwizard Tournament has concluded successfully, and the champions of every nation have shown remarkable strength and courage..."
Blah blah blah.
"However, one particular champion demonstrated excellence well beyond his years throughout this competition. Not only did he complete his own tasks, he stepped forward in a moment of crisis to rescue several champions who found themselves in danger..."
Blah blah blah.
"And at the final moment, he confronted the Dark wizard who had infiltrated the tournament and killed him on the spot, preventing further loss of life..."
Blah blah blah.
"Following the Wizengamot's final ruling—"
Fudge's voice rose.
"It has been decided that Mr. Lynn will be awarded—"
He drew out the pause. "An—"
The entire hall held its breath.
"Order of Merlin, First Class!"
The audience fell silent for a split second, then erupted into a roar loud enough to shake the mountains!
The applause rolled through like a tide, wave upon wave, making the whole Great Hall tremble.
"Order of Merlin, First Class!"
"Merlin's beard! How old is he?!"
"That's the highest honor in the wizarding world!"
"He's earned it! Absolutely earned it!"
Flashbulbs flickered nonstop, nearly blinding Lynn. He stood there, momentarily at a loss for what expression to even make.
Just then, Dumbledore rose.
He waved his wand.
The entire Great Hall's decorations transformed in an instant!
The magnificent gold curtains turned deep purple, embroidered with a massive silver letter "W." The tablecloths across all four house tables shifted to match. The magical candlelight overhead settled into a more solemn silvery-white.
At the same time, Dumbledore's own robes changed.
His usual deep purple robes vanished, replaced by a set of formal Wizengamot court robes—deep purple base, wide cuffs, a golden scale emblem stitched across the chest.
He walked slowly toward the podium.
Every eye in the room fixed on him.
Dumbledore came to a stop in front of Lynn.
He took the glittering gold medal from Fudge's hand and pinned it to Lynn's chest.
Then he stepped back, facing the full hall.
"Ladies and gentlemen—"
"Let's give a warm round of applause to welcome the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, in the history of British wizarding society!"
The applause exploded again, even fiercer and more frenzied than before.
Lynn looked out at the crowd, the corners of his mouth curling up faintly.
Not bad. Worth the trouble, this haul.
...
After the grand ceremony wrapped up, just as everyone assumed the evening was over—
Dumbledore stood at the podium, looking as though he were hesitating to speak.
He still held the empty Order of Merlin box he'd just handed off to Lynn. His gaze swept over the dark sea of faces below, lips twitching faintly, though no sound came for a long while.
The mood in the hall began shifting into something subtler.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, staring down at his own arm with a lonely expression.
An eerie tension began spreading through the Great Hall.
No one spoke.
Every eye stayed fixed on Dumbledore.
His gaze swept across every young face below, over the familiar faces at the staff table, across the seats of the international delegations, and finally landed on Cornelius Fudge.
Fudge sat at the judges' table wearing a satisfied smile.
Everything tonight had gone perfectly. The tournament had wrapped up successfully, Harry Potter had won, and Lynn had received the Order of Merlin, First Class—all political wins, as far as he was concerned.
Tomorrow's Daily Prophet front page would surely be plastered with his photo.
He was quite happily lost in that thought when Dumbledore's gaze landed on him.
That look sent his heart skipping a beat.
After a long pause.
Dumbledore finally spoke.
"I'm sorry to take up everyone's time," his voice came out soft, yet carried clearly to every ear, "but there's one matter—"
Fudge's heart lurched.
He sat bolt upright, eyes locked deathly on Dumbledore.
"The Ministry of Magic..."
The moment those four words left Dumbledore's mouth, Fudge couldn't hold back any longer.
"Dumbledore!" he barked, low. "I told you—"
"Cornelius." Dumbledore didn't even look at him, cutting him off calmly. "Let me finish."
Fudge opened his mouth to say more, only to find no sound would come out at all.
His eyes went wide, staring at Dumbledore, lips moving frantically, without a single word emerging.
A wave of whispers rippled through the hall.
"What's wrong with Fudge?"
"He can't talk?"
"Did Dumbledore do that?"
"No idea..."
Dumbledore ignored the murmuring. He took a breath and faced the crowd below.
"There's something," he said, "the Ministry of Magic would rather I not tell you."
His gaze swept over every young face in the room.
"But I believe hiding the truth would only make matters worse."
The hall fell silent enough to hear a pin drop. Everyone held their breath, sensing what was coming.
"Lord Voldemort has returned. His followers have already resumed operating throughout the wizarding world. The Dark wizard who died in the maze was one of them."
His voice echoed through the hall, lingering long after he'd finished speaking.
Silence.
Dead silence.
And then—
Whoosh—!!!
The whole hall erupted!
Screams! Gasps! Camera shutters! Chairs clattering over! Cups shattering sharply! All of it blending together into chaos.
"You-Know-Who?!"
"That's impossible!"
"Isn't he dead?!"
"Dumbledore must be joking!"
"Is that even a joke you're allowed to make?!"
At the Gryffindor table, several first-years huddled together in fear. Over at Ravenclaw, some clapped hands over their mouths while others went pale. Among the Hufflepuffs, Hannah gripped Ernie's arm so tightly her nails nearly broke skin.
Only at the Slytherin table did true silence reign.
The pure-blood students there wore expressions caught somewhere between conflicting emotions.
The reporters' flashbulbs never stopped firing.
Dumbledore stood at the podium, watching the chaos unfold below, saying nothing.
He let the noise gradually die down on its own.
Then he spoke again. "Now—go and rest. Tomorrow will come regardless."
With that, he turned and walked slowly down from the stage.
Behind him, flashbulbs kept flickering wildly, reporters scribbling like mad.
Just as Lynn was about to head back to the common room, a swarm of reporters closed in around him.
"Mr. Lynn!"
"Mr. Lynn, one moment, please!"
"Your thoughts on Lord Voldemort's return?"
"As the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, do you feel ready to face the Dark Lord?"
Lynn: "..."
---
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