The atmosphere in the Great Hall turned strange in an instant.
The Goblet of Fire's blue-white flames surged into a vivid crimson, and another singed slip of parchment floated out from the blaze.
"The third champion from Hogwarts is—"
Dumbledore's gaze swept over the Slytherin table, his voice ringing clear across the hall.
"Draco Malfoy!"
Snape leaned back in his chair, his tense expression melting away, his breathing visibly lighter.
Applause broke out, a reflex from the Hogwarts students as their hands shot up.
But halfway through, many froze, hands hovering in midair, confusion clouding their faces as the name sank in.
It wasn't "Dylan Hawkwood."
The clapping in the hall petered out.
Only the students from the other schools kept up a polite, scattered applause, the sound awkwardly out of place.
It wasn't until the Slytherin table snapped into action that the awkwardness broke. Draco's cronies leapt to their feet, slamming their hands on the table, shouting until their faces turned red.
Other Slytherins joined in, and the applause grew louder, though it still carried an uneasy edge.
Draco stood up, his brow furrowed so tightly it could've crushed a fly, his fingers unconsciously clutching the hem of his robe. The confusion in his eyes matched Cedric's and Harry's.
He instinctively turned, his gaze locking onto Dylan at the Gryffindor table, as if seeking confirmation.
Three slips of parchment had been drawn.
Everyone assumed the selection was over.
Barty Crouch Sr. was the first to rise from the staff table, straightening his crisp suit jacket and nodding to the other headmasters to follow.
Ludo Bagman hurriedly grabbed his file bag and scurried after them, a relieved grin spreading across his face.
"Mr. Diggory, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, standing by the Goblet and gesturing toward a side door, about to continue when—
The Goblet of Fire erupted like dry kindling, bursting into a blinding crimson flame unlike anything seen before.
The red glow flooded the hall, so intense it drowned out the starlight decorations on the ceiling, forcing people to squint.
Every face was bathed in red. Barty Crouch and the others froze mid-step, turning in unison, their eyes glued to the Goblet.
Barty's hand, adjusting his glasses, stopped in midair.
"Again? Is this a twist? I knew something was off!" Fred clenched his fist, leaning forward, eyes wide as he stared at the dancing flames, his voice buzzing with excitement. "I called it! Halloween's Eve always brings surprises!"
The Gryffindors, despite squinting against the red glare, refused to look away.
Some shielded their foreheads, others forced their eyes open, and even Ravenclaw's Luna stood on tiptoe.
All eyes followed the flames, waiting for the slip of parchment they'd been hoping for.
The Goblet didn't disappoint.
A charred-edged parchment, glowing with embers, shot out, floating like a willow seed before circling and landing gently in Dumbledore's open palm.
"Let's see," Dumbledore said, brushing the singed edge with his fingertip, his calm smile unwavering. He read aloud, "Dylan Hawkwood!"
A tidal wave of cheers erupted, engulfing the hall.
The Gryffindors shot to their feet, pounding the tables, shouting, and even whistling.
The noise was relentless.
George, in his excitement, grabbed Fred in a bear hug, nearly knocking him off his chair.
Students from other houses joined in, the applause shaking the ceiling's bat decorations.
"I knew it!" Ron slammed his fist on the table, rattling the plates. His voice brimmed with uncontainable excitement, as if he were the one named champion. "No way Dylan wasn't in! The Goblet had this planned all along!"
The Gryffindor table exploded.
Students stood, clapping, high-fiving, craning their necks to glimpse Dylan, or shouting their approval, channeling all their earlier confusion and unease into celebration.
The energy was just as fierce as when Harry had been named.
Other Hogwarts houses breathed a sigh of relief, genuine smiles spreading across their faces.
Hufflepuff had Cedric, Gryffindor had Harry and Dylan, Slytherin had Draco—Ravenclaw was the only house feeling a bit left out.
Still, the Ravenclaws weren't upset; the outcome felt complete, and many joined the applause willingly.
But the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang weren't so at ease.
They craned their necks toward the Goblet, their eyes filled with wariness and curiosity.
Someone muttered, "Will there be more? Could our schools get another champion?"
They stared at the Goblet's rim, hoping for another flare, but the flames didn't comply.
The vibrant crimson glow began to fade, the volcanic burst of light dimming to reveal the blue-white flames beneath.
By the time Dylan stood up, the blue-white fire was flickering faintly, dimming visibly, like a candle burning out.
Dumbledore's warm smile never wavered as he gestured for Dylan, Cedric, Harry, and Draco to step forward.
As the four reached the Goblet, the last flicker of blue-white flame went out. The once-mystical chalice was now just a plain wooden cup, its rough carvings unremarkable in the candlelight.
The Goblet's glow was gone, but the hall erupted in chatter. Durmstrang students whispered among themselves, while Beauxbatons students frowned and debated.
Madame Maxime and Karkaroff stood up, protesting loudly to Dumbledore, their voices growing sharper.
Barty Crouch stepped forward, nodding politely to the headmasters before speaking softly, trying to calm them.
During the exchange, he clasped his hands behind his back and subtly waved toward Ludo Bagman.
Ludo, as if snapping out of a daze—or eager to escape the tension—grabbed his file bag and hurried toward the four champions.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Ludo said cautiously, "should I take the champions inside? The others are probably getting impatient."
"Perfect," Dumbledore replied with a smile, glancing at the arguing headmasters. "We'll handle things here and join you soon."
Away from the hall's chaos, Ludo Bagman's earlier gloom vanished, his energy returning.
He strode confidently ahead, leading Dylan and the others through the corridor, chattering nonstop. "This is unbelievable! Four Hogwarts champions in the Triwizard Tournament—never happened before! But it makes things exciting, doesn't it?"
He pushed open a door draped with velvet curtains, revealing the other schools' champions waiting inside.
At the sound of the door and Ludo's chatter, everyone turned, their eyes landing on the four newcomers.
"What's all the noise out there? We could hear it from here—something happen?" one asked.
"Hm?" Viktor Krum's brow furrowed, a low grunt escaping his throat.
His gaze swept over Dylan, Cedric, Harry, and Draco, his fingers absently rubbing the school crest on his arm.
He turned to Ludo, his tone probing. "You're not about to tell us… all four of these are Hogwarts champions, are you?"
His words clicked for the others.
Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons raised an eyebrow, her gaze scanning the four.
Every other school had three champions—why did Hogwarts have four?
"This is a bit odd…" Ludo began, raising a hand to explain, only to be cut off by a loud bang.
The door was flung open, slamming against the wall with a gust of air.
The headmasters and Barty Crouch filed in.
Dumbledore led the way, smoothing his robe's hem, his gaze warm as it swept over the champions, a faint smile on his lips.
Madame Maxime's expression was softer but still tense, her lips pressed into a tight line.
Her deep eyes scanned the room, clearly waiting for an explanation.
Her towering frame dominated the room's center, blocking half the window's light and casting a shadow over part of the space, an invisible pressure making nearby champions step back.
Karkaroff's face was raw with undisguised anger.
His fists were clenched, knuckles white, veins pulsing at his temples.
His earlier talk with Barty had clearly gone poorly.
Barty Crouch, by contrast, remained impeccable—his suit pristine, tie perfectly knotted.
Even as Karkaroff's spittle nearly hit his face, he stayed calm, walking in steadily.
Passing the group, he repeated evenly, "Headmaster Dumbledore is already investigating. Please, both of you, stay calm."
With so many people pouring in, the modest room felt cramped.
The champions were pushed to the back, and Ludo's file bag slipped, scattering papers on the floor.
Barty had to sidestep Madame Maxime to reach the center.
The portraits on the walls stirred.
Old wizards leaned forward, some peering over their frames, others whispering to companions, and one witch in a pointed hat tapped her frame, urging everyone to get to the point.
"Why does Hogwarts get one more champion than the rest of us?" Karkaroff finally snapped, his voice sharp. "We didn't come here to watch the host pull strings!"
"This is Hogwarts' failure!"
Suddenly, a rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a wooden leg echoed from the corridor, growing closer.
Alastor Moody appeared in the doorway, his magical eye spinning wildly in its socket, scanning the room before locking onto Karkaroff.
His gravelly voice dripped with mockery. "A coward who used to skulk around, now bold enough to point fingers?"
Moody stomped toward Karkaroff, his wooden leg thudding, stopping so close he could've counted the man's pores.
Both eyes—his normal one and the glowing blue magical one—bored into Karkaroff, as if peeling back his thoughts.
Karkaroff's face went pale, and he stumbled back, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud.
He blinked frantically, trying to dodge that piercing stare.
But Moody didn't budge.
Seconds later, Karkaroff seemed to rally, puffing out his chest and growling, "What do you think you're doing?"
"You may be a Hogwarts professor, but I'm the headmaster of Durmstrang!"
His voice trembled but grew louder, defiant. "You'd better think twice before laying a hand on a headmaster of an international magical school!"
"Ha! A pathetic excuse for a man, preaching about hospitality?" Moody's coarse laugh rang out, buzzing in everyone's ears. He didn't care about Karkaroff's accusations, stomping his wooden leg and kicking up dust.
"You! You're impossible!" Karkaroff shook with rage, teeth grinding, his face shifting from pale to purple, his breathing ragged, as if choked.
"Diffindo!"
Moody didn't give him a chance to continue.
Before the word was fully out, his wand was aimed at Karkaroff's pocket. A silver light shot out, slicing the fabric into neat strips that fell away with a whoosh, revealing Karkaroff's wand tumbling out.
Karkaroff lunged, his fingers grazing the wand's handle, snatching it just before it hit the ground.
But as his fingers closed around it, a red flash streaked toward him like lightning.
"Expelliarmus!" Moody's voice followed, low and forceful.
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