Chapter 569: Warrior Selection 3
“You didn’t notice?” Padma shot him a look, exasperated. “Mando didn’t bring any girls at all.”
The group glanced around, and sure enough, it was true—this was the only school among the four where no female student had been selected.
“Mando didn’t recruit any girls?” Michael asked.
“How could they not?” Padma snapped. “Magic Ability doesn’t care about gender! Only someone inside would do something like this! Because of their gender, some people are denied a fair chance from the start!”
“How can they do that?” Michael frowned. “Everyone should be free to grow, to have equal opportunity to show their talent—no one should be predetermined by gender about what they can or can’t do.”
“Exactly,” Padma said, her eyes lighting up. She glanced at Michael, then quickly looked down, whispering, “Thank Merlin I came to Hogwarts.”
“Akatim School—”
As the two spoke, Dumbledore had already drawn the next name.
“Zaxid Al Faris!”
A boy with dark, wavy hair strode straight toward the hut.
“Layla Ben Rashid!”
A girl with deep brown hair stood up, her amber eyes scanning the room before she stepped forward.
“Rahma Abu Ali!”
A tall boy with unusually prominent cheekbones walked silently down the aisle, expression unreadable.
“One school left!” Anthony clenched his fist instinctively, stating the obvious.
Michael resumed drumming on the table, his leg bouncing uncontrollably, muttering under his breath.
The Great Hall fell abruptly silent. Everyone had nearly forgotten to applaud Pull Hema’s performance, their eyes fixed instead on the flame that had just turned blue-white. Then, it flared red, shooting a towering tongue of fire into the sky. A parchment emerged from the tip of the flame.
Dumbledore reached out, caught it, glanced at it, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.
He lifted his eyes and declared, “The Hogwarts champion—Wade Gray!”
“Wade! It’s you! I knew it was you!” The Ravenclaw table erupted in thunderous cheers. Michael slammed the table hard, clapping. Anthony stood up for the first time, yanking Wade to his feet and pulling him into a forceful hug, shouting, “Great!”
Even students from the other Houses were applauding. Dumbledore had to shout “Silence!” twice to regain order and announce the second champion.
“Cedric Digory!”
A roar erupted from Hufflepuff, louder than ever—almost like the previous match. Many Hufflepuffs leapt up and down, cheering, stomping their feet, nearly jumping onto the tables in joy.
Cedric beamed as he stood, hugging and high-fiving everyone around him.
At that moment, Dumbledore reached for the third name. His smile faltered slightly, then he cleared his throat and announced, “Harry Potter!”
Harry’s face froze in shock. He was nearly overwhelmed by the crowd. Gryffindor went wild—cheers rose in waves, thunderous applause shaking the hall like an explosion.
Only Slytherin remained unusually quiet. Those who had been clapping slowly lowered their hands, hesitating under the weight of others’ gazes.
Once the noise had finally died down, Dumbledore raised his hand in a downward gesture. The hall gradually quieted.
“Now, I understand your excitement,” he said. “But for now, let’s give our champions back their freedom. Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch need to speak with them about the tournament.”
Laughter rippled through the hall. The three champions finally escaped the sea of enthusiastic embraces and handshakes, adjusting their rumpled robes as they hurried toward the hut.
Wade felt it—the weight of every eye on their backs. Even though most stares carried no malice, the collective gaze was suffocating.
They stepped through the door into a smaller room behind. Wizard portraits lined both walls. The previously chosen champions were scattered around—some seated by the fireplace, others leaning against the wall, a few whispering quietly with their companions.
As the three entered, all eyes turned to them. Then Fleur Delacour arched a brow, glancing at the thirteen-year-old girl from the Magic Institute, Asada Chika, and said, “Oh~ Two more kids?”
There was no real malice in her tone, but it carried an unmistakable arrogance—flippant, dismissive.
Wade/Harry: ...
What a shame—such a beautiful face.
A moment later, the Great Hall behind them suddenly grew noisy—clearly, the feast was ending, and students were leaving.
Not long after, the door opened again. Two Ministry of Magic officials entered.
Bagman walked with a spring in his step, grinning broadly. Crouch, however, looked weary—like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Excellent! Excellent!” Bagman declared. “All the champions have been selected. That means, in your respective schools, you were the top three among those who signed up!”
“I… I was really one of them…?” Harry whispered, dazed, his face caught in a dreamlike expression—still struggling to believe he’d actually become a champion.
Of course, he’d imagined this moment. But he knew he wasn’t Wade. There were so many talented students at Hogwarts—especially the sixth and seventh years, who had mastered so many powerful spells. Even Fred and George were formidable. And when he dueled Malfoy, it was always a close fight.
Harry’s mind was flooded with scattered thoughts, voices echoing in his head. Dazed, he barely registered Bagman’s next words.
“You are bound by a Magical Covenant. Anyone chosen by the Triwizard Cup must compete in this tournament—but not everyone will make it to the end.”
“What does that mean?” Viktor Krum frowned, his thick brows knitting together. “Does someone have to drop out during the competition?”
“Exactly,” Bagman said, stroking his chin with a sly smile. “This year’s tournament uses a knockout system. Only sixteen will advance to the second round.”
The room’s atmosphere shifted instantly. Tension rippled through the group.
In past Triwizard Tournaments, the champions had always competed to the very end, no matter their earlier performance. Everyone had a chance to turn things around.
But this time… there was only one chance to fail. And after the first task, some schools might lose all three champions.
The thought chilled them. They couldn’t even imagine what would happen if that happened—what kind of punishment they’d face upon returning.
The air seemed to freeze. The low murmur of the room vanished in an instant. Everyone felt the crushing pressure.
(End of Chapter)
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