The days that followed Adrian's visit to Moody's office settled into an oddly familiar rhythm, filled by the distant echo of disappointment that seemed to drift through the castle corridors.
Just as Adrian had predicted, Dumbledore did not approve Moody's passionate request to increase the number of Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.
However, recognizing Moody's genuine dedication to student preparedness, Dumbledore did extend a compromise: he was granted permission to establish his own club.
Moody readily accepted this compromise. Within days, notices appeared on the common room bulletin boards, written in Moody's angular handwriting: "Advanced Defense Club - Practical Training for Real Threats - Serious Students Only."
Unfortunately, the reality proved to be far more disappointing than the ambitious vision. Very few students responded to the call, and tellingly, not a single Slytherin student stepped forward to join.
More disheartening still, even the handful of brave Gryffindors, curious Ravenclaws, and practical Hufflepuffs who had initially volunteered began to drift away.
Whispered reports filtered through the students about Moody's training methods: the tales of grueling physical conditioning, relentless spell practice until wands felt heavy as lead in trembling hands, and theoretical scenarios so intense they left participants shaken and pale.
"He made us practice shield charms for three hours straight," one fifth-year Hufflepuff was overheard complaining to his friends in the Great Hall. "My arm felt like it was going to fall off, and he kept shouting 'Faster! In real combat, you don't get second chances!'"
Within two weeks, the Advanced Defense Club found itself reduced to empty classrooms and abandoned ambitions.
In the end, the club had no choice but to hastily suspend its activities.
Time moved forward and soon the castle found itself wrapped in the golden embrace of mid-October.
On a morning that seemed no different from any other, with the usual bustle of students hurrying to classes and house-elves scurrying through hidden passages, everything changed.
The notice that appeared on Hogwarts' main bulletin board was written in McGonagall's handwriting, but the words themselves seemed to shimmer with excitement:
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ANNOUNCEMENT: TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
Representatives from Beauxbatons Academy and Durmstrang Institute will arrive at Hogwarts on October 30th for the revival of the historic Triwizard Tournament.
All students are expected to maintain the highest standards of behavior and demonstrate the finest qualities of Hogwarts hospitality.
---
It was as if someone had cast an Enervation Charm on the entire castle inhabitants. Students gathered around the notice board in excited groups, their voices rising in vigorous speculation.
"Do you think they'll really let anyone particiapte?" whispered a third-year Ravenclaw to her friend.
"My older brother says the tasks are deadly dangerous," replied a Hufflepuff, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination.
Even the ghosts seemed more energetic, with Nearly Headless Nick holding court in the Great Hall as he amused anyone who would listen with stories of Triwizard Tournaments from centuries past.
The professors, too, were affected by this sudden shift in the castle's atmosphere.
During lunch, Adrian was sitting at the staff table between Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout.
"Pomona, which color bow tie should I choose?" Professor Flitwick's voice had a tone of genuine anxiety as he sat on his chair, which was raised by not one but two thick cushions to bring him to proper table height.
In his tiny hands, he held two bow ties that seemed almost comically large in comparison, one was a royal blue, the other a deep red.
His usually cheerful face was creased with worry lines as he looked toward Professor Sprout with the expression of a man facing a crisis of the highest degree.
"The blue one, dear," Professor Sprout replied patiently, "Though I should remind you, Filius, the actual Triwizard Tournament selection is still weeks away. There's no need to work yourself into such a state just yet."
"Oh, but it's coming so quickly!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed, immediately beginning to tie the blue bow tie around his collar with hands that trembled slightly from excitement.
"I'm not just preparing for the tournament itself—I'm thinking ahead to the Christmas Ball. It's traditional, you know, part of the festivities. I want to make sure I have everything perfectly coordinated well in advance."
"Christmas is still months away, Filius," Professor Sprout said with gentle amusement, turning her attention to Adrian. "What do you think, Professor Westeros? Should we be concerned about our colleague's premature planning?"
"Ah, yes," Adrian replied, though his response was somewhat distracted. His mind was clearly elsewhere, but there was an unmistakable aura of contentment about him, a satisfaction that made his eyes brighter and his posture more relaxed than usual.
For Adrian, today was indeed a day worth celebrating, though his joy had nothing to do with international magical tournaments or the arrival of foreign students.
Just that morning, when the castle still slept and even the earliest-rising house-elves had not yet begun their daily rounds, the Tree of Wisdom had finally completed its painstaking work.
The soul fragment that had been attached to Slytherin's locket had been purified completely.
The moment Adrian had felt the tree's magical signature change, indicating the completion of its task, he had immediately rushed to America. After absorbing this soul power, his sister had nearly completed the restoration of her soul.
He only needed to obtain one more of Voldemort's Horcruxes...
He truly hoped there wouldn't be any other complications.
The afternoon classes proceeded with their usual mix of academic instruction and excitement about the upcoming tournament. As the final bell rang and students began their migration toward common rooms and leisure activities, Adrian was surprised to find himself intercepted by a familiar pair of redheaded figures.
"Professor Westeros," Fred began with exaggerated formality, "we were wondering if we might have a moment of your valuable time."
"We have a small request," George added, his tone matching his brother's mock-serious demeanor. "Nothing too difficult, we hope."
"You're asking me for the formula for Aging Potion?" Adrian said after listening to their carefully rehearsed pitch, his eyebrows rising with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Don't think I don't know exactly what you're planning—you want to enter the Triwizard Tournament, don't you?"
The twins exchanged one of their rapid, telepathic communications.
"Please, Professor!" they said in perfect unison, their voices taking on a pleading tone. "We promise we'll be careful!"
Adrian leaned back against his desk, observing them. "Do you even know how Hogwarts will select its champion? Have you put any thought into the actual process?"
The twins straightened up, clearly pleased to demonstrate that they had done their research.
"We investigated materials about previous Triwizard Tournaments," Fred said with obvious pride. "The selection process has remained remarkably consistent throughout history."
"The tool used is a magical artifact known as the Goblet of Fire," George continued seamlessly. "It's been the standard method for champion selection for centuries."
"This particular tradition has continued through multiple tournaments across different eras," Fred added. "We have every reason to believe this time won't be an exception to that."
"Oh, it seems you've put in considerable effort," Adrian said, genuinely impressed. The twins' research showed a level of dedication that went well beyond their usual pranking activities.
"Very well. I can provide you with the Aging Potion formula and even supply some of the more difficult-to-obtain materials. However, I do have one condition."
"What condition?" Fred asked eagerly
Adrian smiled slightly: "Give me a sample of every prank item you've created."
The twins didn't even need to discuss.
"Deal!" they chorused cheerfully, clearly considering this a bargain worth making.
The exchange that followed was like a bizarre version of Christmas morning.
The twins returned within an hour bearing a large wicker basket that seemed to barely contain its contents.
Adrian began examining that impressive range of inventive chaos: Canary Creams that would temporarily transfigure the eater into a large yellow bird, Ton-Tongue Toffees designed to cause rapid tongue expansion, Skiving Snackboxes with designed symptoms to excuse students from unwanted classes, and dozens of other items that demonstrated remarkable magical ingenuity.
In return, Adrian handed over a transcribed copy of the Aging Potion formula, with detailed notes about timing and technique, along with a heavy bag containing rare ingredients that would have cost the twins a small fortune at an apothecary.
However, as he watched them practically skip down the corridor with their prizes, Adrian remained deeply skeptical about their chances of success.
Aging Potion was a N.E.W.T.-level brew that required not only precise timing and temperature control, but also an intuitive understanding of magic that few students possessed. Even accomplished seventh-years who had passed their Potions examinations with Outstanding grades often struggled with its complications.
Still, he reflected with some amusement, if anyone could find a way to circumvent magical barriers through sheer audacity and creative rule-bending, it would be Fred and George Weasley.
Under the united anticipation that had been building for weeks, October 30th finally dawned.
Today was the day for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang representatives to arrive.
Around six o'clock, as the sun began to set behind the Forbidden Forest, the entire school residents gathered in the open courtyard before the castle's main entrance.
The evening wind of October carried a slight chill, but this couldn't dampen the excited expressions on the students' faces at all.
Adrian found himself positioned with the other professors, all of whom had clearly made special efforts with their appearance for this historic occasion.
Most remarkably, even Professor Snape had made concessions to the occasion. His usually greasy hair had been thoroughly washed and styled into something that almost approached respectability, and his robes, while still black and billowing, were clearly his finest set.
"How does my bow tie look? It's not crooked, is it?" Professor Flitwick asked Adrian with nervousness, reaching up to adjust the blue silk that stood out vividly against his formal robes.
"Perfect, Professor," Adrian assured him.
As soon as Adrian finished speaking, exclamations arose from among the students.
"Look at the sky!" A fourth-year Gryffindor called out, pointing toward the darkening horizon.
"Something's coming!" Added a Hufflepuff, his voice cracking with excitement.
Adrian looked up with everyone else and saw what had captured their attention, a point of light that seemed to be growing steadily larger against the backdrop of the evening sky.
Twelve enormous winged horses were pulling an enormous pale blue large carriage through the air.
Adrian immediately recognized the breed of horses: Abraxans.
Abraxans were a type of winged horse he had once introduced to students during class.
These magnificent creatures were among the largest winged horses in existence. Only Abraxans could possibly manage the feat of pulling such a massive inflight transportation.
The spectacle of their arrival was breathtaking.
The great horses descended in a controlled spiral, their hooves eventually touching the surface of the Black Lake with barely a splash.
Water droplets flew up in sparkling arcs, catching the last rays of sunlight like scattered diamonds. The carriage settled onto the open ground before the castle with surprising grace for something so enormous.
"They certainly know how to… make an entrance," Professor Flitwick said in wonderment, his small size requiring him to crane his neck at an almost painful angle to take in the full height of the vehicle.
The carriage door swung open. From within emerged Madame Maxime, the headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy, and Adrian found himself understanding immediately why such a large vehicle had been necessary.
Madame Maxime was a woman of truly extraordinary size. She stood even taller than Hagrid yet where Hagrid's size gave him a somewhat wild appearance, Madame Maxime carried herself with the grace of European aristocracy.
Behind her came the Beauxbatons students, and they too seemed to embody their headmistress's emphasis on elegance and presentation.
Their uniforms were crafted from what appeared to be the finest silk, dyed a powder blue that complemented the twilight sky. The students moved with practiced steps, but their eyes darted constantly around the unfamiliar surroundings, taking in every detail of Hogwarts' architecture with a mixture of curiosity and nervous excitement.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime," Dumbledore said with his warmth, stepping forward with arms spread in greeting.
Although Dumbledore himself stood well over six feet tall, Madame Maxime still had to bend gracefully to shake his hand.
However, Adrian's attention was drawn away from the diplomatic pleasantries unfolding between the headmasters by something completely unexpected. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted a familiar figure among the Beauxbatons delegation.
"Ruskin?" he murmured to himself.
He was surprised to discover that the owner of the magical creatures shop in Diagon Alley was mixed in among the Beauxbatons students, with a stunningly beautiful little girl beside her who appeared to be only about ten years old, chatting and laughing with her.
While Adrian was puzzled over this unexpected development, trying to understand what could possibly have brought a Diagon Alley shopkeeper to Hogwarts as part of a French delegation, Ruskin followed Madame Maxime and her students to one side of the courtyard.
The group arranged itself in a neat formation, clearly preparing to await the arrival of their other participants from the north.
As if sensing his scrutiny, Ruskin looked around the crowd until her eyes met Adrian's. Her face immediately lit up with recognition, and she gave him what could only be described as a mysteriously knowing smile.
The smile lasted only a moment before she turned her attention back to the Beauxbatons group.
The Beauxbatons delegation had barely settled into their positions when a new commotion arose from a different direction. This time, the disturbance came from the Black Lake itself.
The previously calm water began to churn and bubble as if some massive creature were stirring in its depths.
Students pressed closer to the lake's edge, their excitement overriding any concerns about safety. The disturbance grew more violent, creating a whirlpool that seemed to reach down to the very bottom of the lake.
Then, with a sound like thunder rolling across the water, something began to rise from the center of the maelstrom.
It was a ship but not like any ship Adrian had seen in ordinary maritime use. The hull was black and seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Water flowed from its sides in torrents as it breached the surface. The ship gleamed with a cold, metallic luster that gave it an almost supernatural appearance—beautiful in its way, but undeniably ominous.
As the ship settled onto the lake's surface with surprising stability, a bridge extended from its side to reach the shore. The Durmstrang students began to disembark, and the contrast with their French friends could not have been more clear-cut.
Where the Beauxbatons delegation had emphasized elegance and refinement, the Durmstrang students embodied strength and endurance. They wore heavy fur cloaks, and their movements were precise and military in their formation.
They marched down the bridge in perfect synchronization. There was something both impressive and slightly intimidating about their presentation, they looked less like students than like young soldiers.
Leading this march was Headmaster Igor Karkaroff, whose sharp gaze swept around the area before settling on Dumbledore with an enthusiastic smile.
"Albus!" he called out, striding forward with arms extended as if greeting a long-lost brother. "My dear friend, how wonderful to see you again!"
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