"Wh-what, I—I'm going to—to participate with—with you guys?"
The words stumbled out of Ron's mouth in broken fragments catching on the shock that had seized his vocal cords and refused to let go.
When Harry had excitedly, enthusiastically told him that the three of them would be appearing together in the Triwizard Tournament, standing side by side on the competition field as a team, Ron's eyes had immediately widened in shock.
His mouth hung open, gaping wide enough that one could easily fit a egg inside.
This was the Triwizard Tournament!
The words echoed in Ron's mind like a mantra, each repetition making the reality feel both more real and more impossible simultaneously.
This wasn't some casual school competition, wasn't house Quidditch or a classroom challenge. This was the Triwizard Tournament—a legendary, centuries-old magical competition that brought together the finest young witches and wizards from across Europe's most prestigious magical schools.
This was the Triwizard Tournament being broadcast live, in real-time, to the entire European wizarding world. Countless wizards from dozens of countries would be closely following the competition, watching every move.
The thought made Ron's stomach perform complicated acrobatic maneuvers.
Not only would appearing in such a competition be an unparalleled honor but if they could actually win, if they could emerge victorious, they would receive an enormous reward in Galleons.
Ron hadn't forgotten that at the very beginning of this school year, when Hermione had been unexpectedly selected as a fourth champion for the Tournament, he had even fallen out with both Hermione and Harry out of jealousy.
And now, unexpectedly, there would come a day: this day, right now in this very moment, when he, Ronald Bilius Weasley, sixth son of Arthur and Molly Weasley, perpetual hand-me-down recipient and afterthought, could legitimately stand on the competition grounds as an actual participant rather than just another face in the crowd of spectators!
It wasn't just Ron whose world had been turned upside down by those words. Even Lavender, Seamus, and Dean who had been nearby and had therefore inadvertently overheard this conversation, now wore expressions of complete and utter astonishment.
"Have you really decided?"
Ron asked the question slowly whose intimate, embarrassing behavior with Lavender had just been walked in on by Harry and Hermione, found that his red face didn't deepen further in color as one might have expected. Instead, quite paradoxically, it turned pale.
He looked at Hermione and stammered, "You're really considering... you're actually thinking about letting me be your teammate?"
"Unless you don't want to?"
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
"Oh, no, of course I—of course I want to, that's not—but—"
Ron bit his lip.
"But your teammate in Physical Education class..." Ron's voice trailed off for a moment before he forced himself to continue. "Neville might be the best choice. His sword might be more useful than I could be."
Lavender immediately grew anxious, but before she could say anything, Harry stopped her with a stern look.
"Neville has already been chosen by Cedric, Ron—"
Harry interjected into the silence.
"Then Ginny—"
Ron's breathing quickened slightly. His tone sounded less like he was trying to convince Harry and Hermione and more like he was trying to convince himself.
"She's also your teammate in Physical Education class, isn't she, Hermione? I know that Ginny is actually very talented and—"
"Yes, that's absolutely true—"
Hermione interrupted Ron's increasingly frantic justifications.
"Ginny is talented. I won't deny that for a moment. But I chose you, Ron. I've already submitted your name to Professor Watson officially. There's no chance to change it now. So if you're unwilling to participate, then Harry and I will simply go onto the field as a pair."
In an instant, as if someone had cast a color-changing charm on him, Ron's face flushed bright red again but this time the color wasn't from embarrassment or shame.
"Of course I'm willing, Hermione but..." Ron struggled with the words. "I just... well, I might hold you back, mightn't I? After all... I'm not as professional as you two."
"Don't talk nonsense, Ron—"
Hermione pressed her lips together and smiled.
"We know you've been working very hard. I believe you'll coordinate well with Harry and me."
Ron finally smiled as well.
The group returned to the sofa by the fireplace, and the atmosphere became more relaxed.
"So, did Professor Watson tell you what you'll actually be competing in for the third task?"
Seamus asked eagerly, unable to contain himself.
"Oh, we don't know—"
Hermione said with distress, her eyebrows were drawing together in frustration.
"Professor Watson's sense of secrecy is far superior to the Ministry of Magic's. So far, all we know with certainty is that the venue will be somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. Beyond that, we're completely in the dark."
"The Forbidden Forest."
Dean Thomas repeated the words slowly, his voice tinged with awe that showed he was imagining all manner of terrifying possibilities.
"Then the possibilities are quite literally endless... there's everything imaginable in there. You know there are many dangerous magical creatures living in those woods that most students never even hear about because they're kept deliberately secret to avoid panic."
He shuddered slightly, remembering tales he'd heard among older students about things that lurked in the forest's deeper parts.
"But since you already faced fully-grown dragons in the first task—"
Harry raised a reasonable objection. His green eyes were thoughtful behind his glasses, already trying to anticipate what Professor Watson might throw at them.
"There are creatures just as dangerous as dragons dwelling in that forest, Harry or even considerably more dangerous, if you can believe the accounts."
Hermione's voice emerged with concern and growing anxiety. As she spoke, seriously considering this question and running through her knowledge of magical creatures, her face turned pale.
"The New York Ghost published an article several months ago reporting that Professor Watson successfully dealt with a Nundu during an incident in New York."
Hermione's voice rose slightly with each word, her anxiety was building up. "That creature is fast as lightning—reportedly capable of moving faster than the human eye can track. Its breath is highly toxic, lethal even in small doses, capable of killing with a single exhalation. The toxin is so potent that there's no known antidote if you're exposed to significant quantities."
She swallowed hard, before continuing with even greater distress: "The article mentioned that according to standard creature classification guidelines, it takes a minimum of one hundred wizards working in coordination to safely handle a single mature Nundu. One hundred! And that's just to contain it, not even to defeat it in combat."
Hermione's breathing was becoming increasingly rapid and shallow: "If we encounter even one such creature during the third task—"
Her demeanor had become visibly anxious and deeply uneasy.
"Should we go to the library right now to research and find some way to counter a Nundu? Or at least to defend against one long enough to escape?"
"That's all completely uncertain though, Hermione."
Harry interjected rationally.
"We can't possibly prepare for every conceivable threat we might hypothetically face. We'd go mad trying. We need to be strategic about our preparation."
He paused, then said a more practical suggestion: "I suggest we ask Hagrid for advice. Think about it—no one knows better than him what dangerous creatures actually live in the Forbidden Forest."
A flicker of interest passed through Hermione's troubled eyes at this suggestion. The idea clearly appealed to her on multiple levels. But then, after a moment's consideration, her expression clouded again with doubt and ethical uncertainty.
Her sense of fairness troubled her despite the temptation: "No, Harry. We can't do that. That would be cheating, wouldn't it?"
Harry secretly rolled his eyes at this predictably Hermione response, though he took care to do so in a way she wouldn't notice. He knew that Hermione's stubbornness about rules and fairness was acting up again.
"Just go ask, Hermione, what's the harm in asking?"
Though he had only just decided minutes ago to participate in the tournament, Ron was already so nervous about the prospect of facing unknown dangers that his lips had turned pale.
"Isn't gathering intelligence through whatever means available actually one of the tests of the Triwizard Tournament?"
That was actually true. Hermione furrowed her brows, falling into thought, while everyone around her, sensing an opportunity, kept chattering their persuasions.
"Oh, just stop it! All of you, be quiet!"
Hermione finally called out in annoyance, irritated by the noise.
"I need time to think carefully about whether this is appropriate!! I can't make this kind of decision with everyone shouting at me. Just... give me some space to consider it properly!"
Harry and Ron exchanged knowing glances.
Both their expressions showed helplessness. But at the same time, through this eye contact, they reached a mutual consensus that required no discussion: regardless of whether Hermione eventually decided she was willing to find Hagrid for "extra coaching" they two were definitely going to seek him out anyway.
By lunchtime, when the Great Hall filled with hundreds of hungry students and the enchanted ceiling showed a pleasantly sunny afternoon sky, the news that each Triwizard Tournament champion could recruit two assistants to fight alongside them had spread through Hogwarts like wildfire through dry kindling.
The young wizards on their respective house tables throughout the vast Great Hall were all engaged in discussions.
Two topics dominated every conversation, appearing in endless variations at every table: first speculation about the reason behind Professor Watson's clever arrangement to allow teammates.
And second, equally intense curiosity and speculation about the mysterious final exam for Physical Education class, about which the students who'd been present had been infuriatingly tight-lipped.
"Professor Watson told you specifically not to say anything?"
Harry looked across the Gryffindor table at Fred and George who both wore their mischievous grins. His eyes were filled with bewilderment at this unusual show of discretion from the twins.
The Weasley twins were many things creative, chaotic, brilliant in their own way but "good at keeping secrets" had never been among their defining characteristics. They were far more likely to be the source of leaked information than its guardians.
"But..." Harry gestured helplessly, trying to understand this change from their normal behavior. "What's there to keep secret exactly? It's just an exam, isn't it? What could possibly be so sensitive about an end-of-term examination that it requires this level of confidentiality?"
Hermione, sitting beside Harry and equally curious despite her attempt to appear nonchalant about the whole business, also cast a questioning, look at Ginny who sat across from them.
"Sorry, Hermione."
Ginny responded to Hermione's questioning gaze with an apologetic smile, though the expression carried hints of playfulness and anticipation.
"Professor Watson made all of us sign confidentiality agreements and safety agreements before he'd tell us anything about the exam. So even if I wanted to tell you, I literally can't without facing some pretty unpleasant penalties."
'Confidentiality agreements and safety agreements...'
Harry's mind latched onto those specific words. He blinked his eyes rapidly, his brain making connections and pulling up relevant memories, recalling the thick stack of parchment that Professor Watson had brought to class that morning.
At the same time, another memory surfaced: that unique, unforgettable Defense Against the Dark Arts "practical lesson" from their second year, when Professor Watson had been new to Hogwarts and had surprised everyone by requiring similar agreements before unleashing an actual Inferius on the class.
"Don't tell me?!"
Harry stared at Fred and George with astonishment and something approaching horror.
"Professor Watson is going to make you lot deal with a whole bunch of Inferi at once?!"
"Ahem, sorry mate, but we really can't say—can't tell you even if we wanted to!"
George's face remained full of those mischievous, twinkling smiles, yet his serious tone made all three of them roll their eyes in exasperation.
"If you ask questions like that, we definitely can't tell you the answers."
"That's right—no point in fishing for information!"
Fred added cheerfully, clearly enjoying this rare opportunity to have secret knowledge that even Harry Potter couldn't access. "We're sworn to silence. Lips sealed. Tight as Gringotts' vaults. You'll just have to wait and see like everyone else!"
While the young wizards throughout the Great Hall anxiously continued discussing these two mysterious questions over their meal in a very different setting elsewhere in the castle, Bryan was in a much more formal meeting.
In the Student Safety Office, Bryan was carefully briefing the other two champions and their accompanying staff.
"The rules are as follows—"
Bryan said pleasantly to Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour, who sat on the office's sofas looking attentive and serious, and to Madame Maxime. Bryan held up two fingers in a clear gesture.
"Each of you can select two assistants for yourselves to accompany you in the third task. However, the selection pool is limited—you may only choose from among the young wizards you brought with you from your own schools."
After a brief silence, Madame Maxime expressed her displeasure somewhat.
"This arrangement isn't entirely fair, Bryan. We brought a quite limited number of students with us. Meanwhile, Hogwarts's two champions have a vastly broader selection range. So..."
Madame Maxime glanced at Fleur, who was deep in thought, and held up her own fingers adorned with emerald and opal rings showing three.
"The champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons should have three assistants."
"I'm very sorry, Madame—"
Bryan shook his head with a smile.
"Although I acknowledge your point that Hogwarts's two champions have a larger pool to choose from, the students that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons brought were all here to compete for the position of Tournament champion. They are the elite of your respective schools. Even if we gathered all the students from both schools, the assistants would only come from among them."
Madame Maxime wanted to argue further, but Bryan continued.
"The assistants that Hogwarts's two champions have selected for themselves are all underage. The youngest among them, Luna Lovegood, is only in her third year and is thirteen years old, Madame. Therefore, I cannot grant your request."
Madame Maxime had nothing more to say.
"Viktor Krum—"
Bryan turned his head to look at the large boy on the opposite sofa.
"Regarding the third event of the competition, I have already notified your Headmaster Drayden in advance. He will arrive at Hogwarts this weekend evening to give you encouragement and guidance."
Viktor Krum nodded silently, his face looking less grim than before.
"That's the situation—"
Bryan stood up and said gently.
"If there are no other questions, I think we can all head down together..."
"Wait—"
Fleur suddenly raised her hand.
"If you don't mind..., could I speak with you privately?"
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