Chapter 543: League Announcement
“Thank you, Wade. Excellent Spell idea,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling with genuine delight as he sat at the Staff Table. “Ravenclaw gains twenty points.”
As soon as he spoke, the Giant Hourglass in the Great Hall chimed melodiously—its blue copper-colored gemstones cascaded like a waterfall, clinking softly as they settled. The Ravenclaw hourglass instantly rose a fraction higher than the others, visibly outshining the rest.
“Yesss!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, clenching his fist with sudden enthusiasm. Then, glancing left and right, he cleared his throat discreetly, lowering his arm only to shift his body slightly, unable to hide his pride. He shot Wade a sharp, approving glance.
Beside him, Dumbledore raised his wand and swept it across the ceiling. The stormy sky that had raged moments before instantly transformed into a star-strewn night, shimmering with faint ribbons of aurora light that drifted like silk across the heavens.
No one knew who started it—but suddenly, the Great Hall erupted into applause. At first, it was hesitant, scattered, but quickly grew into a wave of enthusiastic cheers. Someone near the Hufflepuff table even began tapping their fork against their plate, creating a rhythmic clatter.
“Nice one, Wade!” Fred called out.
“Absolutely!” George echoed. “Even if your hair turns into a tail-screw, it’d be worth it!”
Laughter rippled through the hall.
Dumbledore waited patiently, then clapped his hands once. The laughter subsided swiftly, as if a switch had been flipped.
“What a delightful interlude,” he said warmly. “I’m glad our evening has taken such a pleasant turn. But now, let us proceed to the most important part of the night.”
The newly sorted first-years, who moments ago had been cheering and clapping, froze in place. Their expressions tightened. A hush fell over them, replaced by quiet anticipation.
On the high stool, the Sorting Hat split open with a wide, gaping seam. It coughed twice, then boomed into song:
> “Long ago, in days of old,
> When magic first took hold,
> Four great wizards, famed and bold,
> Their names still echo through the fold…
> They built this school with wisdom true,
> To shape the future, old and new…”
Michael nudged Wade’s arm, whispering, “What’s going on? You’ve never been this… noticeable before.”
Wade paused, then asked, “Magic School League. You don’t want to join?”
“Of course I do,” Michael said without hesitation. Then his tone shifted. “But I know my level—probably just a spectator, tagging along. But you? Oh, you’d be the kind to scare off potential rivals just by showing up.”
“Not that lucky,” Wade said. “I just hope that when I become Hogwarts’ champion, no one can question my right to compete.”
“Who would?” Michael mused. “Still, the rules are different this time. If there’s a team event, don’t let your loyalty pull you into dragging along weak links. Higher-year students are more reliable—better magical skill, better control.”
His gaze swept across the long tables, pausing to consider a few names. “Cedric Digory, the Weasley Twins, Miles Breech from Slytherin—strong performers. For us, Roger Davis is solid.”
“It’s too early to worry about that,” Wade replied. “And even if there is a team event, spell proficiency isn’t everything. Complementarity, teamwork—those matter more. I won’t trust my back to someone I can’t rely on.”
Michael frowned, then nodded slowly. “You’re right.”
Applause broke out again—this time, the Sorting Hat’s song had ended. Professor McGonagall stepped forward to begin the Sorting, and all eyes turned to the new first-years.
“Oh my,” Wade heard a girl whisper beside him. “They’re so small!”
He gave a small, involuntary nod.
He hadn’t realized how tiny he’d felt during his own Sorting. Now, sitting among the older students, he saw the first-years as little figures—like a cluster of tiny radishes—nervous, wide-eyed, their faces pale with fear.
“Stuart Ackley!”
A trembling boy stepped forward, sat on the stool, and placed the ragged hat on his head.
“Ravenclaw!” the hat declared.
A round of applause rose from the Ravenclaw table. Wade clapped too, smiling gently as the boy looked up at him, eyes bright with awe. Wade gave a small, reassuring nod.
“I’ll bet,” Michael murmured, “all these first-years are secretly your biggest fans.”
“As long as they don’t follow me around taking photos,” Wade replied with a quiet smile, lips barely moving. “I don’t have Harry’s patience.”
They fell silent as the Sorting continued. When it finally ended, the feast began at last.
After eating their fill, Dumbledore rose once more to announce the year’s rules: forbidden items, the usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest, and several new additions.
No enlarging charms on insects or magical puppets outside the maze. No gambling with magic puppets. No use of the Book of Friends or Communication Peas during class.
At the Staff Table, several pairs of eyes kept flicking toward Wade—some curious, some calculating. He ignored them all, focused only on Dumbledore, as if every word were sacred law.
Then came the announcement: Professor Moody, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. His appearance—gaunt, strange, with a magical eye that spun independently—left the students stunned. Some even forgot to clap.
Finally, Dumbledore revealed the news that sent shockwaves through the Great Hall: The announcement of the annual Magic School League, with eleven renowned wizarding schools set to compete.
“Any student may sign up,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm but firm. “But that doesn’t mean you should rush into danger lightly. The challenges remain formidable. To protect our students from unnecessary peril…”
His gaze swept across the sea of eager faces. He saw fear flicker in some eyes, while others—like Wade’s—remained unreadable.
Wade met his eyes for a split second. His fists clenched subtly.
“—a truly impartial referee will be appointed to select only those students with the proper magical ability.”
“Representatives from the other schools will arrive in October and spend most of the year with us…”
Michael turned to Wade, his tone deliberate. “Did you catch that? Dumbledore didn’t say how many champions each school must send.”
“No,” Wade said calmly. “And that’s the point. Most wizards have little to no experience with teamwork—except us.”
“We’ve already been doing this,” Michael said. “In the Maze, we’ve worked with all kinds of people.”
“Exactly,” Wade said. “If the others know that, they’ll be even less likely to allow team participation.”
“So it’ll be one champion per school?” Michael frowned. “That gives upperclassmen an edge—more experience, stronger magic…”
At that moment, Dumbledore concluded the speech.
“The feast is over,” he announced. “Return to your common rooms.”
Students rose, chairs scraping against the stone floor, and began filing toward the entrance.
“Wade!”
A hand broke through the crowd, slapping his shoulder.
Anthony Goldstein grinned. “Hey, can you stay behind for a bit? I’ve got something to tell you.”
(End of Chapter)
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