Chapter 662: Emergency Notice
Ron came sprinting over, barely catching a glimpse of Krum’s crimson cloak vanishing around the corner.
“What was Krum—this home guy—doing here?” he panted, gasping for breath as his eyes darted quickly over Hermione.
“He just came to ask about a message,” Wade said, returning to the group of companions. “Karkaroff must’ve escaped.”
“Escaped?” Harry’s eyebrows nearly vanished into his hairline. “He definitely knew something and refused to say—then just ran off!”
“But now we can’t bring him back for interrogation,” Michael frowned. “The real question is… what kind of threat would make a headmaster abandon his students and flee in the middle of the night?”
Ron blinked, utterly confused. “Escaped? Karkaroff? What are you talking about?”
A group of students laughed and ran across the lawn, one even doing a somersault at the end, completely unaware of the serious conversation happening among their peers.
…
The weekend passed in a flash. For two full nights, Harry, Hermione, and Ron had sneaked into the Restricted Section of the library using the Invisibility Cloak, poring over dark magic texts normally forbidden to students.
The cloak was already too tight to cover all three properly, so Harry had to make two trips every time, bracing himself with every step as he fetched his friends back into the library.
After classes on Monday, Hermione couldn’t help but voice her thoughts:
“I finished Cursed Skeleton, and also The Art of Sacrifice and The Origin of Dark Magic.” She lowered her voice. “We can’t rule out the possibility that the killer used the bones to cast some kind of curse…”
Harry signaled her to be quiet, then pointed ahead. “Look—Durmstrang students.”
Two students in deep-red robes were walking toward the Great Hall, surrounded by a few Slytherins. They chatted and laughed easily, appearing perfectly at ease.
“That’s strange,” Ron murmured. “Karkaroff’s missing—yet it doesn’t seem to affect them at all. If anything, they seem… happier.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully. “Karkaroff must’ve been a strict disciplinarian. Did you see how he spoke to his students? To him, everyone else was just weeds—except Krum.”
Hermione nodded in sympathy. “Exactly. Even Viktor wasn’t spared. Before he became famous, Karkaroff treated him just as harshly as anyone else.”
Ron’s smug expression vanished instantly.
When they reached the Great Hall, they found it packed to the brim. A sea of students stood on tiptoes, craning their necks to read the large wooden board posted beside the stairs, their chatter a chaotic buzz.
Ron, the tallest, pressed his hand against Harry’s shoulder and strained to stretch his neck—then shouted:
“Emergency Notice: To prepare for the Third Tournament Project, classes are suspended today. All students must assist in arranging the venue. Please report to the Quidditch Pitch at 3:30 p.m.”
“Suspension?” Harry’s eyes lit up—then narrowed. “Wait… arranging the venue?”
The past two tournaments had seen Ministry of Magic workers erect the stands overnight—no student involvement whatsoever.
“Anything’s better than class!” Ron grinned. “Great! No classes today—no assignments!”
Before he even finished speaking, the surrounding students erupted into cheers.
To them, any kind of work—no matter how tedious—was infinitely more exciting than sitting in a classroom.
“What?” Hermione stared, stunned. “Why suspend classes? I already had my learning plan all set! Couldn’t this be done over the weekend?”
But she was the only one who seemed angry. Everyone else was nearly jumping for joy, some even nearly tossing their backpacks in excitement.
“Wait… so sudden…” Harry frowned. “Could this be connected to what Wade mentioned?”
Hermione huffed. “Of course it is! Maybe the school wants everyone out of the castle so they can search freely. But why not just do it on the weekend?”
Harry sensed that Hermione was in one of her stubborn moods—silent, unyielding. He said nothing.
…
After lunch, students began streaming toward the Quidditch Pitch. Harry and Ron bounded down the staircase with light steps, while Hermione trudged behind, still carrying her backpack—packed with thick books.
“You’re seriously going to study now?” Ron glanced back, incredulous.
Hermione lifted her chin. “Who knows how long this will take? Maybe there’ll be free time.”
Wade, descending the stairs just then, overheard the exchange. He sighed inwardly—once again reminded of why, despite her kindness and willingness to help others improve their academic performance, Hermione still had few friends in Gryffindor.
By the time they arrived, the professors had already begun. The Quidditch Pitch had transformed into a massive open-air workshop. Professor McGonagall stood at the entrance, handing out tasks.
Inside, Professor Flitwick moved with effortless grace, his wand dancing through the air like water. Old wooden seats were instantly restored, and more wooden panels floated up, assembling themselves into brand-new, polished seating.
Professor Sprout was busy too, her basket overflowing with vines that shot out like living threads, weaving elegant fences around the rows of seats.
Filch dragged a large crate of ropes slowly across the field, and students hurried to clear a path in front of him.
Students skilled in Transfiguration, like Wade, were assigned to decorate the Head Table. With a flick of his wand, he turned an old, scarred stool into a beautifully carved armchair.
Harry and the others were assigned to clean the entire area. Buckets of magical cleaning solution arrived via hovering charm, filling the stadium with the sharp, refreshing scent of rosemary and mint.
Even first-years had tasks—hanging tapestry ribbons, making banners, arranging golden bells and other small decorations.
Most professors were casting Strengthening Charms on the newly created seats, ensuring the stands wouldn’t collapse under the weight of the crowd or revert to their original form when the magic wore off.
Michael, carefully coloring the intricate carvings on a chair with magic, grumbled to Wade:
“This is such a hassle… Why can’t we just bring part of the Quidditch Final stadium over? How many people are even coming? It’s not like all ten schools’ students need to attend.”
“Impossible,” Wade replied. “Light Wagadoo alone has over ten thousand students. They’re probably only inviting a select few—mostly guests from various Ministries of Magic around the world.”
As he spoke, Wade glanced toward the center of the field—toward Professor McGonagall.
He noticed Professor Snape wasn’t there. Nor was Professor Moody.
Compared to the upcoming tournament, what truly puzzled him was this: in such a tense moment, was the school really just arranging decorations—or was there something more?
(End of Chapter)
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