Chapter 570: The Chosen One
“Alright, relax,” Bagman said with a grin, rubbing his hands together. “The odds of making it to the second round are actually quite good, aren’t they? Hmm… Barty, how about you give the first match’s instructions?”
Crouch lifted his eyes listlessly, stepping forward two paces. “The first task is designed to test your courage, wisdom, and overall magical ability. The competition will take place on November 24. During the event, champions are forbidden from seeking or accepting help from anyone outside the stadium. No magical puppets, curse-deflecting vests, or other magical artifacts are permitted…”
Several pairs of eyes flickered toward Wade, carrying faint expressions of relief—seemingly convinced that this restriction would strip away much of his potential advantage.
“—Your only weapon is your wand.”
Facing the unknown is a vital trait of any wizard, so we cannot reveal even the slightest clue about the challenge beforehand.
“You’ll only learn about the second task after the first one concludes. Also, since the demands are so high and the duration long, the champions will not be required to take their end-of-year exams.”
After a pause, he added, “I think that’s all… You may go.”
The students turned to leave, and as they passed through the door, Wade heard Bagman’s cheerful voice echo behind them:
“Today’s main job’s done. Barty, fancy a drink in Hogsmeade? I miss Madam Rosmerta’s Butterbeer!”
“No, there’s still much work at the Ministry,” Crouch replied sharply. Then, turning to Bagman: “Did you get in touch with Machionni about the broadcast coverage?”
The door clicked shut behind Cedric, sealing off the two men’s voices.
The Great Hall was now empty. Students and Hogwarts professors had departed, leaving only the eleven heads of famous magical schools lingering at the staff table, chatting casually.
The champions approached their respective headmasters, speaking in their native tongues as they made their way back to their resting quarters.
At Ilvermorny, Seraphia complained to Professor Egilbert: “Besides knowing we’ll lose half our number after the first task, we’re told absolutely nothing else…”
“I know no more than you do, child,” Egilbert replied. “No matter what lies ahead, break through it. And when the time comes… you might consider this…”
He lowered his voice, murmuring something in a hushed tone.
“That… isn’t really fair, is it?” Adam, a dark-haired boy, hesitated.
“For the honor of Ilvermorny, children,” Egilbert said firmly. “Think of the consequences if we fail. Some rules can be… bent.”
…
Dumbledore smiled warmly at the three students before him. “I suggest you return to your common room. I imagine your friends are already waiting to celebrate with you once you’re back.”
The three said nothing, exchanged polite farewells with the headmaster, and left the Great Hall together.
“So now we’re opponents?” Cedric said, smiling in the corridor.
Wade shook his head. “33 to 16. If possible, we should eliminate others from different schools first.”
“That works,” Harry said, exhaling. “In any case… we’ll just do our best.”
“True enough,” Cedric said, extending his fist. Harry and Wade glanced at each other, then each raised their own fist and bumped it against Cedric’s.
“Good luck!” Cedric beamed. “Hope we both make it to the final!”
“Got it!” Harry replied cheerfully.
Wade nodded silently, his eyes lingering on Cedric’s warm smile, saying nothing.
Soon, the three split—Cedric heading down, Wade and Harry walking upward.
The staircase was empty, the portraits on either side emitting soft snores. As the two passed, some of the frames suddenly snapped awake, shouting:
“Triwizard Tournament’s back! Hogwarts is still the best!”
The words trailed off, and the portraits promptly drifted back into slumber.
When the silence returned, Harry finally allowed himself to speak openly:
“I never thought it would actually be me… Angelina’s abilities are strong. I honestly didn’t think I had a chance.”
A hint of unease crept into his voice. “Among all the students at Hogwarts who entered, am I really one of the top three?”
He glanced at Wade, who remained resolute. He wasn’t sure what answer he wanted—truthful acknowledgment of his shortcomings, or affirmation that he truly deserved this?
“The Triwizard Cup chose you,” Wade said. “It judged you worthy. That makes you unquestionably a champion.”
“The cup must consider magical ability, yes—but it can’t rely solely on that. It probably weighs courage, determination, perseverance, moral character, mental strength… all these factors.”
His meaning was clear: perhaps Harry wasn’t the strongest in raw magic—maybe even less so than Angelina. But in other aspects, the cup had seen something greater in him. And that was why he’d been chosen.
Whether this was true or not, Harry felt an immediate weight lift from his shoulders.
He paused, then said, “Wade… why aren’t you surprised at all? About me being chosen?”
Because, in Wade’s mind, Harry had always been one of the champions.
“Someone who’s defeated Voldemort twice? What’s so strange about being chosen?” Wade replied calmly.
Harry chuckled awkwardly. “You know… Voldemort disappeared because of the magic my mother left behind. Not because of my own abilities.”
Wade countered, “Wealth, power, wisdom, appearance, strength, magic—whatever you possess, it’s part of your strength. Fleur Delacour is stunningly beautiful. That’s an advantage. Should we make her ugly just to make it ‘fair’?”
Harry burst out laughing, the sound shaking his shoulders. The anxiety and confusion in his eyes vanished instantly.
At the crossroads, they parted ways. Harry headed toward the Gryffindor Tower.
Wade paused, looking up at the endless, winding stairs—some of which still creaked faintly as if shifting. He sighed softly.
Moments later, an eagle shot through the window, wings flaring wide as it soared toward the Ravenclaw Tower.
As it flew through the night, it caught sight of a cheetah circling the Black Lake. The sleek creature stretched its body into a near-straight line, each powerful push of its hind legs launching it forward like a bullet.
It was a different kind of freedom—the pure essence of speed itself.
The eagle’s eyes held a quiet smile. Then, with one final beat of its wings, it cut through the darkness and landed gracefully atop the tower’s highest spire.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
