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"I want to participate!"
As soon as Dumbledore finished speaking, excited shouts erupted from different parts of the Great Hall.
The promise of honor and reward struck a chord with the students, igniting their youthful ambition.
All around, faces lit up with excitement at the mere thought of earning such prestige and wealth.
At each house table, students could be seen whispering eagerly to their neighbors or watching Dumbledore with attention, their anticipation palpable.
Dumbledore raised a hand for silence before speaking again.
"I know you're all eager to bring the Triwizard Cup home to Hogwarts," he said, his tone calm but firm.
"However, after discussions with the Ministry of Magic and the participating schools, it has been decided that there will be an age restriction for this year's tournament. Only students aged seventeen or older will be allowed to enter."
The moment his words fell, an uproar swept through the hall.
Cries of protest rang out as younger students voiced their frustration, their shouts echoing off the enchanted ceiling.
It was clear they were deeply dissatisfied with being barred from such a thrilling event.
Dumbledore, however, remained unshaken. His voice rose above the clamor, effortlessly commanding attention.
"This decision is necessary," he explained.
"The tournament remains extremely dangerous, despite the precautions we will take. The challenges involved are simply beyond the capabilities of younger students. I personally guarantee that no one underage will be able to deceive our impartial judges into selecting them as a Hogwarts champion. So, if you are under seventeen, I advise you not to waste your time applying."
As Dumbledore's gaze swept over the hall, his piercing eyes meeting those of the students, the room gradually fell silent.
The murmurs faded, and soon, an uneasy quiet settled over the gathering.
With the hall now still, Dumbledore continued.
"A delegation from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive in October and remain with us for most of the school year," he announced.
"I trust that you will all extend them a warm and friendly welcome. And once a Hogwarts champion is chosen, I expect you to support them wholeheartedly."
Though the students no longer dared to voice their protests openly, whispers of discontent still lingered among them.
Seated at the professor's table, Ethan frowned.
Given the tense atmosphere in the wizarding world, he couldn't understand why Dumbledore had insisted on holding the Triwizard Tournament at such a precarious time.
Dumbledore, however, moved on briskly.
"Now, onto other matters!" he declared.
"We are delighted to welcome a new teacher this year. Professor Slughorn, a former colleague of mine, has graciously agreed to return to his post as Potions Master."
As Dumbledore introduced him, Horace Slughorn stood up hurriedly, eager to make himself seen.
However, rather than focusing on Slughorn, the students' gazes shifted to Professor Snape.
For years, Snape had been the Potions Master, and curiosity buzzed through the Great Hall—why had someone else taken his place?
Among those most delighted by this development were Harry and Ron.
For a fleeting moment, they believed Dumbledore had finally come to his senses and dismissed Snape.
After all, Snape had treated them with relentless cruelty over the years.
Only two years ago, he had sentenced them to an entire term of detention—a memory that still stung.
However, their joy was short-lived.
Dumbledore's next words shattered their excitement completely.
"Meanwhile, Professor Snape," Dumbledore continued, raising his voice over the murmuring crowd, "will be assuming the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."
A wave of shock rippled through the Great Hall.
"Professor Lupin had other business to attend to," Dumbledore added.
"He has left Hogwarts and will no longer be teaching."
"No!" Harry groaned under his breath.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was his favorite subject, and Professor Lupin had been one of the best teachers he had ever had.
Lupin had taught them fascinating spells and useful dueling techniques, and—most importantly—he had been fair.
Now, Snape would be taking over.
Harry could already foresee the disaster this would bring.
Gritting his teeth, he tried to console himself.
"Well, at least Snape won't last long in that job," he muttered.
Ron frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The position is cursed," Harry said darkly.
"No one has lasted more than a year—Quirrell didn't even survive it. Maybe we'll get lucky and—"
"Harry!" Hermione cut in sharply, looking horrified.
"You can't just wish for someone to—"
But Harry wasn't listening.
At the staff table, Snape rose briefly, his expression unreadable, then sat back down.
Ethan, observing from his seat, felt something was... different about Snape.
After a closer look, he finally realized what it was.
Snape had washed his hair.
For the first time in years, his greasy locks were gone, replaced by clean, neatly groomed hair.
Even more shockingly, Ethan caught the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of Snape's lips.
It made sense—Snape had wanted this position for years.
Now that he had finally achieved it, he had even taken the time to tidy himself up for the occasion.
Dumbledore's voice cut through the silence once more.
"Of course, there is another matter we must address." His tone was grave.
"I'm sure many of you have heard rumors over the summer—rumors that Voldemort is not dead and is, in fact, trying to regain his power."
A tense, suffocating silence fell over the Great Hall.
Harry instinctively turned to look at Malfoy.
Draco's face was pale, his usual arrogance nowhere to be seen. Unlike before, he was no longer surrounded by Crabbe and Goyle.
The reason was clear.
Their fathers had been arrested—and thrown into Azkaban for their ties to the Death Eaters.
Because of Lucius Malfoy's involvement, Crabbe and Goyle had completely distanced themselves from Draco.
Now, Malfoy sat alone, his head bowed in silence. The usual air of confidence was gone, replaced by something far more vulnerable.
At the Slytherin table, a noticeable gap had formed around him.
Pureblood families were careful strategists.
Lucius Malfoy had made a grave misstep, and with the political climate uncertain, these families had chosen to distance themselves from Draco until they were sure of their own positions.
The only one still by his side was Pansy Parkinson, who had always clung to him.
She remained seated next to him, his lone supporter.
Ron, watching Malfoy's miserable state, smirked in satisfaction.
"He deserves it," Ron muttered under his breath.
"Ron!" Hermione whispered sharply.
"You shouldn't say that! His father actually helped the Ministry by exposing a whole group of Death Eaters!"
Ron sighed. "Alright, alright. I didn't mean it."
He was quick to back down—he knew better than to argue with Hermione.