"You'd likely have to face challenges alone that were meant for three champions to tackle together," Dumbledore said.
"The whole point of reviving the Triwizard Tournament was to foster exchange between schools."
Dylan's expression remained calm. "That's why I believe the process matters more than the final outcome. Being here, competing, is a rare opportunity, whether I complete every challenge or not."
He paused, glancing toward the Gryffindor table with a faint smile. "Besides, even if I'm a team of one, I'm not truly alone. My friends have my back, and Hogwarts is my strongest support."
"Hawkwood has made his proposal. Now, who's in favor? Who's opposed?"
Dumbledore's voice turned low, stripped of its usual warmth, his gaze sweeping the room with undeniable authority. Hands clasped behind his back, he stood tall, exuding a presence that seemed to drop the room's temperature.
His stance backed Dylan's words—"Hogwarts is behind me"—with action, showing the school's unwavering support.
Everyone in the room knew the score. The Goblet of Fire's glitch wasn't Hogwarts' fault—Karkaroff was the culprit. His attempt to tamper with the goblet was plain as day.
Dylan's suggestion to compete solo and split the scores evenly among the four Hogwarts champions flipped the situation entirely. The "Hogwarts numbers advantage" that had worried others now became a clear disadvantage.
If Dylan faltered and lost points, even stellar performances from Cedric, Harry, and Draco would be dragged down by the averaged score. Hogwarts wasn't gaining an edge—they were putting themselves at a deliberate disadvantage.
The other schools were the real winners here.
This move also neatly sidestepped any accusations of Hogwarts cheating on their home turf, defusing potential backlash.
Everyone understood, but no headmaster wanted to speak first. The silence grew heavy, even the portraits on the walls falling quiet.
Madame Maxime leaned against the wall, fingers tapping. Karkaroff hesitated. Agreeing would make his earlier protests look petty; opposing required a solid reason he didn't have.
The champions held their breath. Cedric watched Dylan with concern, Harry clenched his fists, and Draco rolled his eyes, annoyed at the headmasters' stalling.
"Regarding Mr. Hawkwood's proposal," Barty Crouch Sr. broke the tense silence, adjusting his glasses and fixing Karkaroff with a pointed look. "Any further objections, Mr. Karkaroff?"
Karkaroff cursed Crouch internally but forced a sycophantic smile, spreading his hands. "Mr. Hawkwood's suggestion is so thoughtful—how could I not agree? It's the fairest solution."
"Hmph. Sounds like you just couldn't come up with anything better," Moody scoffed, his wooden leg clunking on the floor. His magical eye, glowing blue, locked onto Karkaroff with open mockery.
Karkaroff's face turned liver-red. He opened his mouth, shot Moody a venomous glare, then turned away, pretending not to hear.
Crouch, ignoring the tension, nodded impassively. "Good. One less objection."
Madame Maxime straightened, scanning the room. "If there are no objections, I agree as well."
Dumbledore's warm smile returned. He raised a hand for quiet. "Since we're all in agreement, it's settled."
"The judging panel will finalize the first task's details soon. Champions, you may return to your dorms and await further notice."
"Been looking forward to this part!" Ludo Bagman's eyes lit up, seizing his chance to chime in. He stepped forward, rubbing his hands eagerly. "Since we're all on the same page… Barty, isn't it time to brief the champions on the first task?"
"Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Bagman," Crouch said with a slight nod, adjusting his glasses again. His gaze swept the champions lined up in the room. "As you've chosen to enter and represent your schools, I assume you're familiar with past Triwizard Tournaments?"
The champions nodded—some with calm confidence, others with eager double nods, standing straighter.
"Then you know past tournaments always had three champions," Crouch continued, tapping his notebook. "All our preparations were based on that. But due to certain… human-induced—"
At "human-induced," Karkaroff grimaced, rolling his eyes dramatically, his mouth twisting into a scowl.
"My apologies—unforeseen circumstances," Crouch corrected quickly, pushing his glasses up faster than usual, his tone slightly strained. "We must adjust the tasks accordingly."
He paused, his gaze serious. "For now, the only guidance is this: the first task tests your courage. Facing the unknown is a core quality of a great wizard."
Silence followed as the champions processed the vague directive. Some frowned, others exchanged puzzled glances or scratched their heads.
Fleur Delacour spoke first, brushing silver-blonde hair from her shoulder with graceful poise. "Mr. Crouch, when will the first task take place? This guidance is broad—we'll need time to prepare."
"The exact date isn't set," Crouch replied, flipping through his notebook. "As I mentioned, the tasks are bound by a magical contract with the tournament. With more champions, the challenges must be scaled up to meet the contract's standards. Our current preparations fall short."
"We'll restart the planning to ensure the tasks fully comply with the contract," he added, his gaze briefly flicking to Karkaroff. "This delay is due to unforeseen circumstances. I hope you understand."
"Unforeseen, huh? Caused quite a mess," Moody grumbled, his sarcasm dripping, his magical eye swiveling to pin Karkaroff. "Guess someone's gotta wait it out."
Karkaroff pretended not to hear, staring at the ceiling as if fascinated by the brickwork.
"Mr. Crouch, when was the first task originally scheduled?" Cedric Diggory stepped forward, his tone steady, his expression composed.
"November 24th," Crouch answered without hesitation, clearly familiar with the schedule.
He turned to Dumbledore, tilting slightly. "Albus, shall we let the students rest? The judging panel needs time to work."
Bagman walked the champions to the entrance hall, muttering about task preparations—one moment calling the first task "thrilling," the next lamenting the logistical headache of extra champions.
At the oak doors, as the champions prepared to leave in silence, Bagman suddenly blinked, slapping his forehead. "Wait! Almost forgot something important!"
The champions stopped, turning to him, their serious expressions shifting to curiosity. After the delay news, they were eager for any tournament updates.
Dylan glanced at him, Harry leaned forward, ears perked, and Fleur adjusted her robes, waiting.
Bagman raised an eyebrow, milking the moment. "This is huge! Think about it—you'll be spending tons of time preparing for the tasks. That's not a one-day job…" He raised his voice. "So, you're all exempt from this year's exams!"
"That's it?" Draco frowned, disappointed, expecting task specifics. "Mr. Bagman, no other… practical news? Like what the tasks are?"
"That's all I've got for now," Bagman said, scratching his head at their lackluster reactions. "Don't you think this is worth celebrating?"
He stepped closer, trying to sell it. "Exams are brutal! Charms theory, potion ratios, Transfiguration practicals—hours buried in books! You're juggling unknown challenges and studying. That'd drive anyone nuts. This isn't good news?"
"I think it's good news," came a steady voice—Barty Crouch, now standing by a stone pillar in the hall, eyeing Bagman.
"At least you remembered your duties and filled in what I missed."
"Old Barty!" Bagman jumped, nearly stumbling, grabbing the doorframe. "Why're you out here? Aren't you meeting with the headmasters?"
"You're a key judge," Crouch said, approaching, his tone flat. "We need your expertise for the task adjustments. You can't just chat out here."
He nodded to the champions. "You're dismissed. We'll notify you of updates."
Bagman opened his mouth but stopped at Crouch's look. He gave an awkward smile, waved, and followed Crouch back to the meeting, muttering, "Nobody thinks skipping exams is good news?"
As Crouch and Bagman left, the hall's tension eased. The champions relaxed, some exhaling, others sharing relieved glances.
The crowd thinned. When Viktor Krum vanished through the door, only the four Hogwarts champions remained.
The torchlight on the stone walls stretched their shadows long.
"Should we start preparing? Maybe dig into past tournaments?" Cedric broke the silence, his brow furrowed, already planning.
"Can't believe… we're actually champions," Harry said, his voice distant, rubbing the back of his head, still processing the Goblet's announcement.
"Good thing I didn't go to Durmstrang," Draco sneered, leaning against a pillar, rolling his eyes. "Stuck with a cheating headmaster like that? Humiliating."
Their voices overlapped, cutting through the hall's quiet, lightening the mood.
Hearing Cedric, Harry turned to Dylan, concern in his eyes. "Dylan, if you need help with research or practicing spells, just say the word. I'm in."
"Tch, that's nothing," Draco scoffed, but added, "My dad's tight with the Ministry folks co-running this thing. If there's insider info on the tasks, I'll get it first and let you know."
"Wouldn't that break the rules?" Harry asked, frowning hesitantly.
"Pfft," Draco shrugged, unbothered. "Cheating's par for the course in the Triwizard Tournament. Probably as traditional as hiding the Sorting Ceremony details. Karkaroff's pulling stunts—what's my move compared to that?"
"Harry and Malfoy both have points," Cedric said, looking at Dylan earnestly. "If you need research, a practice partner, or anything else, just ask. I've got your back."
"Don't worry, I won't hesitate with you or Harry," Dylan said with a smile, nodding. He pointed to the corridor beyond the hall. "But for now, let's head back to our common rooms. I bet our classmates are already planning celebrations—maybe even a surprise."
After the Halloween feast, the Gryffindors followed Professor McGonagall to their common room. She stood before the Fat Lady's portrait, urging them to rest and stay out of trouble. Once they nodded, her heels clicked away down the corridor.
The moment her footsteps faded, the common room buzzed with rustling. Fred and George exchanged a look, stood, and signaled Ron, Neville, and others to hush.
The group tiptoed to the portrait hole, but as they crossed the threshold, the Fat Lady leaned out. "Wait! Don't go!"
They froze. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Did Gryffindor pick a champion? I asked earlier, but nobody spilled!"
"Madam, we're just grabbing food from the kitchens to celebrate our champion!" Fred said, flashing a sly grin. "We'll tell you everything when we're back—no details spared!"
"Better be quick!" she said, squinting suspiciously. "I'll be waiting—don't dawdle!"
"Done!" Fred waved, leading the group to the stairs, whispering, "Keep her curious, and she'll stay put, not blabbing to other portraits."
"You sure about that?" Ron raised an eyebrow, skeptical but keeping pace.
"My dear Ronald, this is golden wisdom from years of sneaking out!" George thumped his chest proudly. "Doubting this is doubting our sneaking skills!"
"Shouldn't we be quieter?" Neville clutched his wand, glancing nervously around, his voice barely a whisper. "What if Filch is patrolling? His cat's sharp!"
"Relax!" Fred shot Ron a confident grin. "We've got tricks to dodge Filch. He won't catch a glimpse of us."
"Real convincing," Ron said, rolling his eyes, "especially since you kept glancing at me while saying it."
"Oh, Ronald, you're getting sharper—or should I say, funnier!" George teased, patting Ron's shoulder so hard he nearly stumbled.
Neville froze, his face paling, voice trembling. "Wait… do you hear footsteps? Is it Filch and Mrs. Norris?"
"Hm?" Fred and George held their breath, listening. Footsteps echoed from below, mixed with soft chatter.
"Nice ears, Neville!" Fred exhaled, grinning. "Not Filch, though. I bet…"
"It's another house, probably on the same mission!" George finished, eyes knowing. "Grabbing stuff to celebrate their champions!"
As he spoke, the moving staircase shifted, revealing a group on the opposite steps.
Luna led, in pale blue pajamas, a silver star hairpin in her hair. Behind her, Ravenclaws carried empty baskets, including their Quidditch team, matching the Gryffindors' numbers.
The groups met mid-staircase. The Ravenclaws, clearly new to sneaking, jumped. Anthony Goldstein nearly bolted, hand on his wand, ready to flee.
"Luna, you should've said something! We could've helped carry stuff!" Fred called, breaking the tension with a cheeky wave.
"Exactly!" George added, egging them on. "But as Hogwarts students, you gotta sneak out at least once before graduating, right? Perfect timing—great memory to look back on!"
Luna blinked her silvery eyes, smiling faintly. "Thanks, but we've got it covered."
She glanced at her nervous group, clapping softly. "Don't worry, stick with them, and we won't get caught."
After some scrambling, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors converged before the kitchen's fruit-bowl painting.