The brief meeting soon concluded, and the people in the hall were still waiting for the results.
In the end, after much discussion and debate, although they still couldn't explain why the Goblet of Fire spat out Harry's and William's names like it had a mind of its own, William ultimately wasn't allowed to compete, of course, partly due to his own strong arguments.
Why risk life and limb in the competition only to be watched like a sideshow when you could make money through live broadcasts?
What? The 3000 Galleons prize for winning?
What a joke. He had already secured the broadcasting rights for the tournament in nine countries, a huge cash cow! — What? What do you mean Hogwarts and the entire Wizarding World aren't exactly electrified? Have you heard of Magic TVs powered by Magic Pattern Stones?
Where did those come from, you ask?
You should ask a certain former Dark Lord who spent all day idle, fishing at the Black Lake, and nearly cast magic on it out of frustration when he came up empty-handed.
Grindelwald truly is a genius. Even after leaving the military industry, he still found it easy to apply magic to consumer electronics.
Besides, it's not like the Muggle world didn't have ready-made examples like TVs, and the Wizarding World already had well-established technology for moving pictures. With just a little modification, it took Grindelwald only half a month to develop Magic TVs, Magic Cameras, and Magic Radios—
[Congratulations, you've drawn SSR—Great Inventor, Grindelwald!!!]
Just last night, before the 'Kelpie' from Castelobruxo came ashore, Grindelwald handed the modified designs of Muggle TVs to William and expressed that he found such alterations uninteresting, preferring to go back to researching his Magic Missiles.
William considered this to be hot air from Grindelwald, rejecting 'customers' because he wasn't paid enough Galleons! The Wizarding World's most advanced tech product was the radio, the hurricane of the third industrial revolution apparently missed this secluded island.
In the tech boom of the Muggle 1990s, it was indeed a blue ocean!
William could almost see the days of sleeping on piles of Golden Galleons... Well, he wasn't a Fire Dragon; better save that bed for Norbert.
Furthermore, while military projects couldn't be done without funds, even if Grindelwald didn't fall for the lure of Galleons, William had another trick—remember the small 'Secret Vaults' (Missile Heads) he gathered during the Quidditch World Cup?
Relying on those, he was confident he could tie the former Dark Lord, whose interests had shifted with age, to ride the wave of this new era—
So, the sails were ready, the ship was built, the only thing missing now were sailors (slaves)—
Hey?
Just right.
He happened to have a group of Death Eaters wasting grain while alive and polluting the air when dead, and a circus of werewolves just finished touring across Europe. Mundungus' ship had just docked at London Port last weekend, so the 'Starry Sky Circus' disbanded on the spot, and the 'London Starry Sky Technology Co., Ltd.' was established—
Black Wizards who used to do misdeeds were only useful as plant fertilizer when killed, but now they are all outsourced (dispatched) to Africa and Siberia to maximize their remaining value.
What if they don't obey? The Ancient Demon Marks on their wrists were not mere decorations—the significance of personal power could not be underestimated.
With the 'selfless contributions' of the Acromantulas, Mundungus had already secured three Muggle factories, with workers being existing werewolves. Once they received the blueprints, production started immediately. The first tournament match was on November 24th, and the factories working at full capacity could generally handle the secured orders—
For now, there were of course no private orders, almost all purchases were made by the various countries' Ministries of Magic. Seeing the first batch of finished products, they paid eagerly—many settled the balance even before receiving their goods. We still don't know if this was related to the werewolf claws they felt on their throats.
William lacked business acumen, so he didn't plan to manage everything himself. Better to leave it to the experts—if he handled everything personally, how could he ever retire? Mundungus Franky, though previously just a slippery character, seemed to have some talent in this area—
As for whether delegating authority could lead to William being overshadowed… yes, once again 'personal power' proved invaluable.
Moreover, William planned to assess Lucius Malfoy to see if he could be used. If so—letting the dogs fight amongst themselves could be the most worry-free and convenient method of balance, and it could make a profit. Even if both men might stuff some into their pockets, they wouldn't dare really take much of William's money.
If you want the ox to plow, you must let it graze. After all, William was no ruthless capitalist.
Even devils honor contracts, merely indulging in word games... But have you ever seen a capitalist consider the 'Labor Law'?
Ahem, if we continue, there won't be any books left to read... In short, thanks to Mundungus' efforts, before the Eight-Team Tournament begins, dozens of Wizard Taverns worldwide will be installed with Magic TVs capable of broadcasting the tournament's live footage—later, news, newspapers, Quidditch World Cup...
William could hardly imagine how many Galleons he could earn—he might even sit on a talk show and claim he wasn't interested in money.
...
...
Who is trying to kill him...?
Harry could answer that question, and even Senior William had already provided the answer.
Voldemort.
Yes, indeed there were people who wanted him dead, someone has wanted him dead since he was one year old... and that is Voldemort. In the dream Harry had, the one where he woke up with his scar hurting, Voldemort wasn't alone... he was constantly talking to someone... plotting to kill Harry...
They had even made efforts for this, that House-Elf, who was slapped to death by Kabuda (in reality, killed by an Evil Curse, but Harry didn't know), was the evidence.
If he really participated in the tournament, would he really be killed during the competition?
Senior William said there's no need to worry with him watching over, but... at that time, the dagger was less than half a foot away from his chest.
Could the senior really protect him...
The next moment, the boy woke up with a start, looking at the swathes of colors and the canvas almost bumping into the tip of his nose, he instinctively stopped — he almost walked into the wall.
He hadn't noticed where his feet had taken him, and he was already standing in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.
Surprisingly, the Fat Lady was not alone in her frame — now, a wrinkled witch was sitting proudly beside her, Harry thought she looked familiar, as if from a portrait in the Great Hall. Both the witch and the Fat Lady were looking at him with great interest.
"Oh, oh, oh!" the Fat Lady exclaimed, "Violet just told me everything, who's just been chosen as the school champion?"
"Nonsense."
Harry's voice was a bit dry.
"Absolutely not!"
The wrinkled witch angrily waved her arms, and her dress with purple tassels swayed slightly.
Harry suddenly thought that the dress looked quite similar to Ron's dress robes this year.
"No, no, Violet, that's the password."
The Fat Lady comforted, then she didn't delay any longer, swung open, allowing Harry to enter the common room.
When the portrait opened, the sudden noise that flooded his ears almost made Harry fall backward, then he suddenly found himself being pulled into the common room by about a dozen hands, facing all of Gryffindor House, everyone was screaming, cheering, and whistling.
"You should have told us you'd signed up!"
Fred yelled, looking half angry and half excited.
"How did you manage to get through without growing a beard? That's fantastic!"
George was also shouting loudly... or was this Fred, and the previous one was George?
"I didn't," Harry shook his head repeatedly, the fear of death still lingering in the boy's heart, "I don't even know how this happened—"
"Oh! You can get back at Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Harry!"
Katie Bell suddenly screamed, also a Chaser on the Gryffindor team.
Could I say that I actually have a good relationship with Cedric? Just before we parted in the entrance hall, he had comforted me...
"Hey, we got food, Harry, come and have some—"
No! I'm not hungry at all!
But nobody cared whether Harry was hungry or not, just like no one wanted to hear him say he hadn't put his name in the Goblet, it seemed like no one noticed he didn't have the mood to celebrate this...
Lee Jordan somehow brought out a Gryffindor House flag, insisting on wrapping it around Harry like a cloak.
Harry had no way to escape, whenever he tried to sneak to the stairs leading to the dormitory, the crowd would close in on him, surrounding him tightly, forcing him to drink another Butter Beer, or stuffing biscuits and peanuts hard into his hands, making him tell again how he avoided the Age Line—
Even if Harry hadn't said a word, the Little Wizards had come up with seven or eight different versions themselves.
For instance, Harry threw a dart with parchment into the Goblet—
Or like Harry was actually an old monster reborn—
Or, yet again, Harry dug up the ceiling above the entrance hall in the middle of the night—
The commotion ended with Professor McGonagall's roar, the witch in a light green dressing gown stood in the middle of the room, a bunch of Little Wizards shuffled to their respective dormitories like a line of quails, and Harry even saw the Weasley Twins making a cheering gesture towards him as they left.