After centuries of hiatus, the restarted Triwizard Tournament was no longer merely a symbol of friendship between the three schools; it now also involved the first formal contact between wizards and Muggles, leaving no room for the slightest carelessness.
"......While completing the tasks, champions must not request or accept any help from others. Therefore, during the first task, a champion's sole weapon will always be their own wand." At this point, Crouch's gaze flicked briefly to Harry's waist. "Hm, perhaps a sword or hammer as well, but no people."
"You will only learn about the second task after the first one ends. And because the competition is extremely demanding and lasts a long time, student champions will be exempt from end-of-year exams."
"Wait, I have a question," Karkaroff asked. "Since Principal Potter has become a champion, doesn't that mean he already knows in advance— This was supposed to be the three tasks we decided on together! That's what I mean!"
"I know, Karkaroff," Barty Crouch said expressionlessly. "But time is tight now, and there's no room for changes. The first task will proceed as planned, but the next two will be appropriately adjusted."
"To be honest, it's not that big a deal," Bagman shrugged beside him. "We all know what the Triwizard Tournament's traditions are."
As soon as those words left his mouth, the room fell silent—no one spoke. The adults shared a knowing look, while the minors glanced around curiously, unsure what riddle the grown-ups were hinting at.
"I think that's about it, then? Principal Potter." Crouch turned to Harry, his tone still laced with impatience.
"It should be," Harry nodded slightly. "I'm sorry this accident happened. I'm afraid someone with ill intentions has infiltrated Hogwarts again… It's truly embarrassing. I'll arrange personnel to ensure security."
"You'd better," Karkaroff snorted coldly.
In the Great Hall outside, the students had long since dispersed. Members of all four houses had their own things to do—they needed to celebrate the champions their house had produced.
Especially Gryffindor.
Madame Maxime exchanged greetings before pulling Fleur and the other Beauxbatons champions away. She seemed to be imparting some experience to Fleur, but her voice was too low for anyone else to hear.
As for Durmstrang's group, aside from Krum giving Harry a slight bow before leaving, the rest followed Karkaroff's steps with sour expressions. But truthfully, no one cared about Karkaroff's displeasure.
At least Harry didn't.
Right now, he only wanted to know why the hell Hogwarts had been infiltrated again, why someone had cast a powerful Confundus Charm on the Goblet of Fire, and why they'd ultimately entered his name—Harry just couldn't understand how Hogwarts was like some drafty old sieve, with ill-intentioned people sneaking in year after year.
Was it another of Voldemort's Horcruxes?
How many pieces had that guy split himself into?
Or had Voldemort's main soul already resurrected from the Twisting Nether?
Could a kid pull this off? Had they pledged allegiance to some Abyssal Lord or Demon Lord?
A turncoat?
Utterly mysterious.
"Congratulations, mentor," Cedric leaned in and said. "Good thing you're on the professors' side, or I really wouldn't know how to beat you."
"The tournament is scored, Cedric," Harry replied casually. "You just need to perform beautifully enough to get high marks. Don't be afraid."
"Then what about Professor McGonagall and me?" After everything settled, Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall approached. The white-haired little old man grumbled, "This is just great. How am I supposed to defeat you?"
"There might be a chance," Harry thought for a moment. "The professors' tasks will be more realistic and brutal. There'll be opportunities for champion duels."
"That's hardly good news," McGonagall pursed her lips. She rarely joked, but she did now. "I hope you'll tell your earth elemental to go easy."
"We're on the same side, Professor," Harry joked back.
"There's also the individual prize, Professor Potter," McGonagall said with a smile. "Let me say in advance—I won't give up."
"Neither will I," Flitwick chimed in. "Thank goodness I was chosen as a champion too, or I can't imagine how Ravenclaw would be mocked for being left out of such a grand event."
"So you can head back to the common room and enjoy the celebration now, Filius," McGonagall said, in an exceptionally good mood. "I suspect tonight won't end easily."
The usually stern and proper old professor was unusually lighthearted in front of the students.
Three—Gryffindor had produced three whole champions!
Even though Harry was the headmaster, when he was headmaster, he was still a Gryffindor! His seven years as a student hadn't even ended yet!
"Oh! Thank heavens! Professors, you're finally out," Colin said, standing at the door and looking around anxiously. He only relaxed when he saw them.
"Did something happen?" McGonagall asked sternly.
"Er, no, nothing happened," Colin stammered under McGonagall's gaze. "I mean, er, they told me to wait here for you, to, er, invite you to the common room when you came out— I mean, of course Gryffindor's common room! Everyone wants to celebrate properly!"
"I see," McGonagall's expression softened. She thought for a moment, then said, "I'll go, but I need to stop by my office first."
"That's perfect," Colin said immediately.
"As for you two," McGonagall's gaze lingered on Harry and Hermione. "You probably haven't been back to your own house common room in a long time, have you, Headmaster Potter… Remember not to stay too late."
McGonagall's voice carried a rare teasing note, because Hermione was flushed with excitement and clutching Harry's arm.
They walked quickly.
It wasn't curfew yet, but Hogwarts was eerily quiet tonight. The corridors were unusually empty—at least everywhere outside the common rooms. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students had returned to their carriages and ship, so as Harry and Hermione passed through the long hallways, it was just the two of them.
"Come to think of it, I haven't congratulated you in person for becoming Hogwarts' champion," Harry said after a moment. "Congratulations. Your name will probably go down in magical history—the first batch of champions in the restarted Triwizard Tournament—"
"Thank you!" Hermione said loudly. "I mean— Thank you for everything you taught me! Whether it was magic, elementals, or anything else— If it weren't for you, I'd probably collapse after casting two spells!"
Growing more excited, Hermione suddenly pulled Harry to a stop, stood on tiptoe, and hugged him tightly—as if trying to drag him down—before letting go just as abruptly.
If Hermione's face had only been faintly pink before, it was truly red now.
"That was your own effort," Harry said gently. "Your hard work deserves this reward."
"Oh, you sound just like Dumbledore now," Hermione muttered, looking down.
In a place no one could see, a flicker of disappointment—and a hint of irritation—crossed Hermione's face.
This idiot…
Fred was completely wrong. Even when she suddenly hugged him like that, he just smiled, like some old man hugging his grandson—ptooey ptooey ptooey! What a terrible analogy!
"I'm nowhere near that, at least I don't have a white beard," Harry shrugged. "Sorry, I've been dealing with those people too much these past few months, so my speech might be a bit…"
"It's fine, let's hurry," Hermione quickened her pace.
"Huh?" Harry blinked, then caught up. "By the way, how's that thing working out?"
"Pretty good," Hermione clenched her fists and answered quickly. "Very smooth— It's really helped me a lot, letting me attend so many classes at once."
"Ron told me you've seemed a bit irritable lately," Harry tilted his head. "You're pushing yourself too hard, Hermione."
"No, I'm not tired," Hermione said, a little angrily. "That's just normal. Didn't you and Professor McGonagall warn me when you approved my application? It's normal! Even Percy said so!"
Third-year students faced the dilemma of elective courses. Hogwarts offered numerous electives, but a week had limited hours. This meant that if a particularly studious student chose all of them, many classes would completely conflict in scheduling.
But it was no problem—marvelous magic would solve it. Such exceptionally diligent students, after proving their ability and applying, would receive a magical item called a Time-Turner. With it, the user could turn back time and attend two classes at once.
Such a wondrous device naturally came with heavy restrictions, but Hermione had indeed obtained one. That was also the reason for her recent irritability.
More class time than other students, more homework, more knowledge—these were not just rewards for the studious; they were a heavy burden, both physical and mental.
In recent decades, only one person had successfully borne this burden and graduated: Percy Weasley. He had taken every course and graduated with perfect marks.
This was one of the reasons Harry admired Percy—the boy was truly exceptional.
"Alright, if you insist," Harry sighed softly. "I just want to tell you, there's no need to follow Percy completely. Many courses really aren't necessary to master… Just follow your interests."
"Then my interest is mastering all knowledge and becoming stronger!" Hermione declared, turning around with hands on her hips. "If Percy can do it, so can I! That's it! Let's go!"
With that, Hermione turned and strode quickly toward Gryffindor Tower.
Watching his friend's back, Harry scratched his head in confusion—he didn't understand why Hermione's mood had suddenly dropped when she'd been excited about becoming a champion just moments ago.
So mysterious… women.
Girls too.
Gryffindor's common room was once again decorated, er, in an extravagantly golden and scarlet way—shiny golden and scarlet.
Someone had enchanted the ceiling, and images of the six champions floated in a row overhead, each smiling and waving down at the cheering crowd below. Honestly, it was a bit creepy—especially the image of Professor McGonagall smiling like Dumbledore. That wasn't like her at all.
Harry was certain that once McGonagall arrived, she'd have a word with whichever student had cast this spell about the finer details of their magic.
It felt like two years ago, when Harry had first won big on the Quidditch pitch. He'd opened the common room door and been yanked inside by dozens of arms, hoisted up amid cheers—Hermione didn't get quite the same treatment; ladies always needed gentler care.
But even so, Hermione was still surrounded by a noisy crowd. The people who usually thought of her as a bookworm who only ever read seemed to have vanished. Everyone was congratulating her or loudly asking how she'd done it.
In the blink of an eye, Hermione became one of Gryffindor's most popular people.
The festive atmosphere didn't peak until Professor McGonagall pushed open the common room door. To everyone's shock, Gryffindor's lioness queen—their great head of house—had swapped her usual severe black robes for light, casual clothes.
No student had ever seen McGonagall like this, which showed just how happy she was—even if she was usually stern, Professor McGonagall was, at heart, a Gryffindor.
And no Gryffindor could resist honor—the Triwizard Tournament champion!
If only students could participate, that would be one thing. But now, she was a champion too!
An exceptionally lively night.
The students nearly cleared out the kitchen's stock of house-elf-prepared snacks. The diligent little creatures squeaked as they restocked, only for everything to be carried off by members of all four houses.
Some older students had somehow procured alcohol, and McGonagall had a few cups herself, leaving her cheeks rosy.
The entire Halloween weekend was extraordinarily lively, and the newly selected eighteen champions received enthusiastic cheers wherever they went.
For the first time, Hogwarts students were united in their determination to defeat the other two schools.