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Chapter 567: Warrior Selection 1
Harry nodded shyly, then added with a hint of embarrassment, “If I’m not picked, it’d be perfectly normal—I mean, my Mastery of Magic isn’t even close to Wade’s level. But I still want to try… just in case.”
“Trying is always good,” Theo said. “Besides, your Combat Ability is strong—maybe you’ll actually get chosen!”
Wade silently agreed.
Harry’s academic performance in the Written Examination wasn’t among the top tier—after all, he’d always been a bit lazy when it came to memorizing textbooks. But when it came to real combat, he was far stronger than his counterpart in the original timeline, the one who’d broken into the Department of Mysteries.
Time passed swiftly. Night fell, and the group arrived at the Great Hall, then split off toward their respective House Long Tables.
Above them, the ceiling had transformed into a starry sky, the Milky Way winding like a silver river across the vast expanse. Stars—sparse and dense—scattered the heavens, shimmering in harmony with the floating candles below. Bats fluttered through the air, and jack-o'-lanterns drifted lazily overhead. But no one paid attention to the Halloween decorations. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the Staff Table, where the Triwizard Cup sat atop a chair.
Michael entered the Great Hall with a broad smile, escorting Daphne. He walked her all the way to the Slytherin Long Table with chivalrous care, exchanged a polite greeting with Astoria, then returned to Ravenclaw.
“There are only three spots,” Michael said as he sat down. “Wade, you’re definitely one of them. But I wonder who the other two will be?”
“Soon enough, we’ll know,” Wade replied, glancing around at students from the other Houses.
Cedric from Hufflepuff was a given—most likely one of the champions. But beyond him, several Prefects and Student Council Presidents from each House were also strong contenders.
“Look!” Michael suddenly nudged Wade, signaling him to the entrance.
Hagrid and Madam Maxime were entering together. Their towering frames nearly blocked the entire main archway. Only when they stepped through the corridor toward the Staff Table did people notice the Beauxbatons students trailing behind.
The focus, however, remained on Hagrid. He’d tied his hair into two neat, slicked-back braids, and was wearing a hideous brown suit. As he passed by, a thick, pungent aroma wafted through the air—overpowering, strange, a mix of perfume and machine oil.
“…Merlin’s beard,” Wade finally heard Lisha mutter, her voice barely containing disbelief. “I never thought someone could look worse trying to dress up than when they’re a mess.”
“Madam Maxime really has a lot of presence, doesn’t she?” Padma said earnestly. “I thought all the French were arrogant.”
“Professor Hagrid needs a personal image consultant,” Michael said, adjusting his collar. “For the sake of my eyes, I’m going to have to find time to talk to him.”
Then, with a thoughtful glance at Wade, he added, “Wade, when do you have time?”
“Me?” Wade said, surprised. “I’m not exactly good at fashion or image design.”
“I know,” Michael said. “But I need your Magic Ability.”
“…How about tomorrow?” Wade replied uncertainly. He had no idea why they were discussing this at a moment like this—right before the Triwizard Cup selection.
“Perfect!” Michael nodded. Then he coughed quietly into his hand. “Uh… if I bring Daphne along, would that be okay?”
Wade glanced at the Slytherin table. “I don’t see why not. Slytherin girls do tend to have a better eye for these things.”
Even in identical black cloaks, the girls from Serpent House always added subtle, distinctive touches—embroidered horns, uniquely tailored robes that fit like second skin, jewelry that was minimal but unmistakably high-quality.
But most importantly—Michael clearly wanted to include his new girlfriend in their circle. Helping Hagrid redesign his image seemed like the perfect opening.
…
The Halloween feast was as lavish as the night before, but hardly anyone cared. After dinner, every student sat with bated breath, eyes fixed on the front.
Dumbledore stood, smiling. “The Triwizard Cup will now select the champions worthy of its rules. The person whose name is called—please step forward to the far end of the Great Hall and enter the room behind the staff table. There, you’ll receive your initial instructions.”
He pointed toward an entrance tucked behind the Staff Table.
Then, with a wave of his wand, the ceiling dimmed. Only a few scattered stars remained. Most of the candles in the hall went out, leaving only the flickering flame inside the pumpkin lanterns.
The Triwizard Cup blazed with brilliant light, sparks flying in all directions, casting eerie shadows across the Great Hall. The atmosphere felt charged. The students’ expressions grew unreadable.
Suddenly, the blue-white flame flared crimson. A fiery serpent shot into the air, and from within it, a charred parchment shot out.
Dumbledore caught it, examined it carefully, then announced, “The champion from Durmstrang—Viktor Krum!”
The Great Hall erupted in cheers—especially from the Durmstrang students. But Viktor Krum looked unimpressed, trudging toward the door with little enthusiasm.
“Brilliant, Viktor!” Karkaroff called out. “I knew it would be you!”
A few seconds later, another name emerged.
“Natalia Volkova!”
A tall, golden-haired girl stepped from the Durmstrang line. Her expression was cold, and the applause that followed was muted.
“Caspar Grove!”
A pale young man with striking features and soft chestnut hair stepped forward. He fist-bumped a friend beside him before walking confidently toward the hut.
“Beauxbatons’ champion,” Dumbledore announced, catching another parchment, “Fleur Delacour!”
The silver-haired girl—strikingly similar to the Bulgarian team’s bride—rose gracefully, gliding through the space between the tables with effortless elegance.
“Lucas Barrow!”
A boy with curly chestnut hair looked utterly stunned—clearly not expecting to be chosen. He glanced at Madam Maxime first, then hurried forward, nervous but determined.
“Clementine Durand!”
The freckled girl screamed—then clamped her hand over her mouth. She dashed toward the hut, leaving behind a tearful girl who hadn’t been selected.
“Why isn’t the first champion from Hogwarts?” Michael grumbled, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table.
“Look on the bright side,” Anthony said. “The most important one’s probably still to come.”
Sparks flew again. Dumbledore continued.
“Champion from Ilvermorny—Seraphina Piqueli!”
The girl who’d greeted Wade earlier leapt to her feet, hugging her friends, then walked forward with a radiant smile.
“Adam Cagni!”
A gentle-looking boy with a serpent-shaped bracelet on his wrist stood up.
“Ryan Smith!”
A broad-shouldered, athletic-looking boy rose from the crowd, receiving cheers as he walked forward.
The cup’s flame flickered between blue-white and red. After a brief pause, it flared once more—announcing another name.
(End of Chapter)
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