The Gryffindors leaned in closer, eager to hear Harry's response.
"I probably won't participate," Harry said after some thought.
Hermione let out a sigh of relief.
"Why not, Harry?" Ron asked, visibly surprised. "If you did, you'd definitely be Hogwarts' champion!"
Harry was concise. "It's a waste of time."
After a pause, he added, "Bullying kids isn't fun."
The older students covered their faces, suppressing laughter.
Bullying kids?
"But you're only fourteen!" Hermione said exasperatedly, giving him a light poke on the back of his hand. "You're still a kid yourself."
"A kid who can beat professors?" Harry replied with a ghost of a smirk.
The Gryffindors all nodded in agreement.
If they hadn't seen Harry start as a small, scrawny first-year and grow year by year into the formidable figure he was now, they wouldn't have believed that the Harry Potter who could take down professors was really just fourteen.
Fourteen? Really?
The chatter grew louder until Dumbledore had to raise his hand, amplifying his voice magically.
"I know many of you are eager to represent Hogwarts as champions and win the Triwizard Tournament," he said warmly, "but—"
He paused meaningfully.
"The three schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction this year. Only students who are seventeen or older will be allowed to apply."
"What?" George exclaimed, hands on his hips. "Professor Dumbledore, that's unfair! Everyone knows Harry's the best student at Hogwarts!"
"But he's not seventeen," Fred added quickly, backing his brother.
Both twins were fifteen, still seven months shy of seventeen, so the age restriction was bad news for them as well.
Dumbledore smiled slightly.
"Of course, we considered that there may be some exceptionally gifted young wizards and witches who are far more talented than sixth or seventh-year students," he explained. "For those confident in their abilities, underage students may submit an application to their Head of House. If your Head of House believes you meet the criteria, they can submit your name on your behalf."
The students immediately turned their eyes toward Harry.
This new clause seemed tailor-made for him.
"This measure is necessary," Dumbledore continued, his tone grave.
"Even with all our precautions, the tasks in the Triwizard Tournament remain dangerous. Even the most talented sixth and seventh-year students will find it challenging to make it through safely."
He paused, surveying the crowd.
"I will personally ensure that no student bypasses the age restriction without a professor's approval."
George and Fred reluctantly sat back down, occasionally sneaking glances at Professor McGonagall and whispering conspiratorially.
Dumbledore pressed on.
"In addition, the delegations from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will arrive in October and stay with us for most of the academic year. I trust everyone will behave themselves."
He stopped for a moment and sighed.
"At the very least, let us keep our house points in the triple digits, shall we?"
The Gryffindor table erupted in laughter, but Professors McGonagall and Snape both shot cold glares in their direction.
"Don't worry, Headmaster!" George shouted jovially.
Fred added with mock seriousness, "After all, we wouldn't bully someone whose dad just went to Azkaban."
At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy slammed his fist on the table, his face turning a blotchy mix of red and white.
"How could you say that?" George chided Fred, shaking his head as if truly disappointed. "It's not nice to mock someone just because their father's in Azkaban."
Fred shrugged innocently. "Can Death Eaters even get out of Azkaban?"
"Mr. Weasley!" Professor McGonagall stood abruptly, her tone calm but radiating an unmistakable aura of danger. "Do you want detention on the very first day?"
"No, Professor McGonagall." George raised his hand in mock surrender, giving a crisp French military salute. "We were simply having a serious discussion."
"About whether having a father in Azkaban makes someone an orphan," Fred added, also saluting. "It's an important question, really."
"I should teach these disrespectful boys a lesson," growled Moody, who had been sitting silently. He made a move to draw his wand.
McGonagall stopped him with a glare. "I'm their Head of House."
Moody grunted and sat back down.
McGonagall turned her sharp gaze to the twins.
"Enough, Mr. Weasley. Both of you!"
The twins immediately sat straight, looking like obedient schoolboys.
Over at the Slytherin table, Malfoy sat rigidly, his face a mask of restrained anger. Even Crabbe and Goyle, usually his loyal lackeys, avoided his gaze and focused on their plates.
Draco tried to maintain his composure, sitting as elegantly as he could. But his father's words echoed in his mind, mingling with Fred and George's taunts.
Without his father's power and influence, what was he?
Even the so-called friends he had trusted had distanced themselves after the scandal. Plans to meet up over the summer were abruptly canceled after the news broke. And when he visited Diagon Alley alone, he spotted them laughing and chatting together from afar.
The cruelty of human nature had never felt clearer.
"All right," Dumbledore said at last, his tone lightening.
"Let's sing the school song before heading back to the dormitories."
The lyrics appeared in the air, and George and Fred sang boisterously to the tune of an opera aria. They didn't stop at one round, continuing cheerfully until Lee Jordan finished at a deliberately slow pace and the twins reached the end of their fourth rendition.
With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore opened the Great Hall doors.
The students stood and began filing toward the grand staircase.
"Potter."
Harry hadn't gone far when someone stepped in front of him.
"Sorry to interrupt," said a warm, polite voice.
Harry looked up to see Cedric Diggory, the best student in Hufflepuff.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
Cedric took a deep breath.
"I heard you're not planning to participate in the Triwizard Tournament?"
"I can't guarantee that," Harry replied, glancing briefly at the staff table, where Moody was deep in conversation with Dumbledore. "But for now, I have no intention of joining."
Cedric followed Harry's gaze before turning back with a faint smile.
"Looking into our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor already, Potter?"
"Don't worry," Harry said, meeting Cedric's eyes. "You're talented. Believe in yourself. Didn't you lead Hufflepuff to win the House Cup last year?"
Cedric smiled wryly and shook his head.
"If the Weasley twins didn't always start fights with the Slytherins, the House Cup would still belong to Gryffindor."
"Good thing I only have to worry about you for one more year," Cedric joked.
"Next year's Quidditch Cup will be our last clash."
Then he took another deep breath and spoke firmly.
"Potter, whether or not you enter the tournament, I will. But I do hope you decide to join."
With that, Cedric waved and walked away.
As his figure disappeared, Ron frowned.
"Diggory's dad—I mean, Cedric's dad—is annoying."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"We shared a Portkey with them to the Quidditch World Cup," Ron explained.
"On the way, Mr. Diggory kept bragging about Cedric, saying he was the one who beat you, Harry. As if it was some big achievement."
"It was fair play," Harry replied. "Why else would it be him and not someone from Ravenclaw?"
Ron scowled but didn't argue. He just didn't like hearing someone badmouth his best friend behind his back.
"I've never met Mr. Diggory," Harry continued, "but I admire Cedric. He's talented. If Hufflepuff had a true heir, they'd likely choose him."
Ron blinked.
"Is he really that good?"
"If I don't participate, he might become Hogwarts' champion," Harry said simply. "No sixth or seventh-year student matches his skill."
Ron glanced back, trying to catch another glimpse of Cedric, but he had vanished.
"Never mind the Triwizard Tournament," Hermione said as they climbed to the second floor. "What's going on with Professor Moody, Harry? You seemed... suspicious."
"Moody?" Ron chimed in. "He's a bit paranoid, sure, but Dad says he's one of the best. If anyone could be trusted with your life, it'd be him."
Harry tilted his head slightly.
"Your dad's got good judgment."
Hermione exhaled, relieved.
"So maybe you're just overthinking it?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, something feels off."
"What do you mean?" Ron and Hermione asked in unison.
"There's a mix of familiar scents around him," Harry said, frowning. "They combine into something I've encountered before—a potion. But the Great Hall's smells were too overwhelming for me to identify it clearly."
"Which potion?" Hermione pressed.
"I'm not sure," Harry admitted. "But it doesn't seem like a good one."
Ron tugged at his sleeve.
"Harry, Moody's a good guy. Even when he was younger, he refused to use dark magic to catch wizards—just a few nasty curses at most."
"I'm just being cautious," Harry assured him.
"Maybe he's sick and needs dangerous potions to manage his health."
Ron hesitated.
"That... doesn't sound like good news."
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Powerstones?
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