Under the scrutiny of the entire hall, the man approached Dumbledore, shaking his hand as they exchanged quiet words—Dumbledore seemingly questioning, the man merely shaking his head before murmuring a reply and taking the empty seat to the right.
He pulled a plate of sausages towards himself, sniffed them, then produced a small knife from his pocket to slice and eat.
The entire school watched this performance in silence. Harry noticed with sharp intuition that since this man's arrival, Snape had grown visibly restless, as though suddenly afflicted by haemorrhoids.
Just as he was speculating about the man's identity, Dumbledore spoke.
"Allow me to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody."
Moody gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. Normally, everyone would applaud to welcome a new teacher, but apart from Dumbledore and Hagrid, the others remained silent.
"It really is him," Ron couldn't help murmuring, "Mad-Eye Moody!"
"You know him?" Harry looked at him.
"Of course, hardly any wizarding family hasn't heard of him. He's responsible for putting half the prisoners in Azkaban, especially those Death Eaters."
"Dad's on decent terms with him, but I've never actually met him."
Ron paused, "After Moody retired, though – probably from too many injuries – he went completely paranoid, always thinking someone was out to get him. That's why everyone calls him Mad-Eye Moody."
"Never thought Dumbledore would actually hire him as a professor. We're in for a Troll of a term."
Harry thought it sounded all right. "At least he's competent, right?"
"But he's a competent madman."
Dumbledore cleared his throat and resumed his interrupted speech. "Now where was I..."
"You were cancelling the Quidditch House Cup!" Fred shouted.
"Ah, yes, thank you, Mr Weasley. Precisely. This is because we will have the great honour of hosting a spectacular event that hasn't been held for over a century."
Dumbledore said cheerfully, "I am delighted to inform you all that a brand-new Triwizard Tournament will take place at Hogwarts this year!"
"You're joking!" George stood up in shock. The tense atmosphere that had hung over the Great Hall since Moody's entrance was instantly broken as nearly everyone burst into laughter.
Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.
"I am not joking, Mr Weasley," he said. "But since you mention jokes, I do happen to know an excellent one about a Troll, a hag and a Leprechaun who all walk into a pub together, or was it the same bedroom..."
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat very pointedly.
"Oh, if you'd like to hear it, you may visit my office later and I'll tell it to you privately."
Dumbledore wisely changed the subject. "Now, about the Triwizard Tournament. Through the joint efforts of multiple schools and the Ministry of Magic, this competition has been completely revamped."
"The original tournament only involved Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, held every five years. But it was discontinued due to the high death toll."
"However, we now believe the time is ripe. And as times have changed, the exchange and competition between just three schools can no longer meet current needs."
"So..." he announced under everyone's burning gazes, "This time, the number of participating foreign schools has increased to six! Together with our own Hogwarts, champions from seven schools will compete for ultimate victory!"
"In October, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Ilvermorny, Mahoutokoro, Uagadou, and Castelobruxo will arrive at Hogwarts one after another. The ceremony to select the champions will take place on Halloween eve."
"Of course, calling such a grand event the Triwizard Tournament would be rather inappropriate now."
Dumbledore lightly waved his right hand, and a dazzling golden cup appeared before him, spinning gracefully and gleaming brilliantly.
"A generous friend has made an outstanding contribution to this event by donating the Holy Grail as the prize for the winning champion's school."
"Therefore, this year's Triwizard Tournament will officially be renamed—the Holy Grail War!"
The shift from 'tournament' to 'war' immediately heightened the excitement by several notches. Many students were already lost in uncontrollable fantasies.
They themselves, overcoming countless hardships, defeating competitors from other schools, bringing honour and the trophy back to Hogwarts, were greeted by the cheers of their peers and the adoring gaze of their secret crush.
Heh heh heh...
And then, Dumbledore added fuel to the fire.
"In addition to winning glory for their school, the victor will also receive a personal prize of three thousand Galleons."
"How much?!" Ron's voice cracked.
"Three thousand Galleons," Dumbledore repeated with a smile.
"I'm signing up!" Ron's determination was practically palpable...
"I'm afraid not, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore smiled. "Although we have optimised the tournament's events and procedures multiple times, it remains fraught with danger. This is a formidable challenge, so for safety reasons, only students aged seventeen and above may enter."
"That's not fair!" Fred and George slammed their hands on the table. "We're only six months away from turning seventeen—there's hardly any difference!"
This time, before Dumbledore could respond, Professor McGonagall stood up. A single stern glance from her was enough to turn the twins into quivering quails, and the other disgruntled students quickly fell silent.
"This grand event is far more than just a competition," Dumbledore concluded. "The delegations from other schools will spend nearly an entire academic year with us. We will also have additional exchange activities to help everyone progress together..."
Amidst the fervour and restlessness of the crowd, Dumbledore brought the evening to a close.
The students also learned the purpose of the new building. For the coming year, it would serve as accommodation for the visiting staff and students. After their departure, it would become part of the teaching facilities, offering more space and convenience for practical lessons.
But now, everyone had completely lost interest in the building—the Holy Grail War was the only thing on their minds.
Back in the common room, a group of students sighed dejectedly. None of them were old enough to even enter.
Particularly, two sixth-year boys, whose birthdays were in November. If the entry deadline had been delayed by about ten days, they could have participated.
"Cheer up," their friend consoled them. "Even if you could enter, with your skills and grades, you wouldn't be chosen anyway."
One of them flushed red. "Can't you at least hope the professors might go blind and pick us?"
Suddenly, he turned to Cedric. "Cedric, your birthday is next month, isn't it?"
Cedric scratched his head sheepishly. "Got lucky with the timing."
"That's perfect. If you enter, you'd definitely get selected. No one in the whole school can match you."
"Hardly," Cedric replied modestly. "There's Sanders from Slytherin, Penelope from Ravenclaw, and Angelina from Gryffindor – they're all brilliant."
"Penelope's doing her internship at the Ministry of Magic," Wayne interjected casually while watching Hannah finish her homework. "She won't return for the tournament."
His remark drew several pairs of eyes back to him.
"Wayne," one young badger couldn't help asking, "what about you? If you could compete, you'd definitely win the championship and the prize money."
"I feel like this rule is specifically targeting you. Can't you talk to the Headmaster about it?"
Their guess was surprisingly accurate – the criterion was indeed designed to exclude him.
Wayne tilted his head at the group and pursed his lips. "Too late for that now. I've already joined the tournament committee as a judge."
"Can't say much at this stage, but the competition will be exhausting and dangerous. Feel free to enter if you want, though most of you stand little chance. Cedric here has a real shot at being selected, though."
A judge?
Many gaped in astonishment, unprepared for Wayne's dramatic change of role.
Understanding dawned on Cedric's face. "So that's how you knew beforehand. Did Charlie and the others get the news from you, too?"
"No, they probably heard it from the Ministry."
As Cedric nodded, hopeful gazes turned towards him.
With Wayne out of the running, young Cedric became Hufflepuff's sole hope.
Though only in his sixth year, many believed him to be their house's most outstanding student. As for Wayne, only fools would compare themselves to him.
Similar discussions unfolded in other common rooms.
Everyone debated the seven schools, the three thousand Galleon prize, and that damned age line.
Fred and George sighed dramatically, lamenting Molly's failure to birth them a few months earlier.
"Maybe we could find a way around it," George mused mischievously. "Just cast Memory Charms on everyone who knows our birthdays."
Simultaneously, both twins turned to Lee Jordan, who'd been chuckling beside them.
Jordan's grin froze as he waved his hands frantically. "No need for that! I'll cooperate willingly."
"You're oversimplifying things," Hermione said flatly. "The professors will have plenty of methods to verify your ages when the time comes."
"Did Wayne tell you that?" Fred rubbed his chin. "Keeping such fun news from us – that's not very sporting of him."
"Turn into a pretty girl and he'll share everything with you," Hermione deadpanned.
The twins chuckled awkwardly, neither having forgotten Ron's social demise last term.
Yet despite Hermione's warning, their determination remained unshaken.
Three thousand Galleons!
With that sum, even if Ludo Bagman never repaid his gambling debts, they could rent a spacious shop in Diagon Alley and still have plenty to spare...
Before they knew it, morning arrived.
The storm outside had long subsided, yet the ceiling of the Great Hall remained overcast with gloomy clouds.
The twins were clutching a thick book, flipping through it in search of some magical method to make themselves older and slip past the age line, while Ron's gaze kept drifting towards them involuntarily.
Wayne nibbled on his bread as he scanned this term's schedule.
Herbology class in the morning would be shared with Gryffindor, while Care of Magical Creatures was optional for him.
In the afternoon... two consecutive Divination lessons.
Tomorrow would feature double periods of Charms and Transfiguration, with Defence Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic not coming until Wednesday.
After leisurely finishing breakfast, Wayne left the castle with Hermione, who'd been waiting there all along.
"What's wrong?" Wayne asked curiously, studying her.
As they walked across the springy turf, Hermione kept her head down, silent and visibly despondent.
"Hogwarts has over a hundred house-elves," she said abruptly. "Right there in the kitchens. You must have known already."
The boy raised an eyebrow. "More or less. I've met most of them, actually. Being a Hufflepuff, it'd be impossible not to visit the kitchens at least once in all these years."
"Cho, Astoria and the others know too."
"Hermione, don't tell me you're sympathising with them."
Hermione stared at Wayne in astonishment. "Shouldn't I be? They don't even get paid, yet they do all the hardest work."
"From my perspective, I don't see a problem with it." Wayne gazed at a gourd-shaped cloud drifting across the sky. "Because I'm part of the privileged class. I won't undermine my own interests to liberate former defeated parties."
"Defeated parties?" Hermione looked at him, puzzled.
"Read up on house-elf history." Wayne patted her head. "You'll have more authority to speak after understanding the full context. If you still feel the same way, then..."
Hermione watched him expectantly.
"I still won't help you." Wayne grinned, prompting Hermione to swat his hand away indignantly.
...
In Herbology class, Professor Sprout introduced an extremely revolting plant - the Bubotuber.
More resembling a giant slimy slug than a plant, it wriggled continuously after emerging from the soil, covered in luminous pus-filled swellings that appeared to contain liquid.
The young witches and wizards' task was to collect this disgustingly precious pus while wearing dragon-hide gloves, as the undiluted fluid could cause burns.
Just looking at it made Wayne nauseous, let alone handling it personally - gloves or not.
He paid Ron a Galleon to complete both his and Hermione's assignments.
Faced with such a windfall, Ron worked until his hands nearly smoked. When Professor Sprout witnessed this, she affectionately ruffled the boy's hair and let him continue his antics.
Everyone had their likes and dislikes - even professors couldn't force preferences, could they?
"Madam Pomfrey will be pleased," Professor Sprout remarked as she sealed the final bottle. "Bubotuber pus is the best remedy for stubborn acne. This should stop students from picking at their spots."
Wayne had noticed how many students were developing acne or freckles as they hit puberty.
He pondered whether this presented an opportunity to help girls spend their pocket money.
Making a mental note of the idea, Wayne parted ways with Hermione as the young witch headed to Care of Magical Creatures, leaving his morning free.
Gazing up at the Headmaster's Office's shuttered windows, Wayne decided to visit Dumbledore.
After all, Moody had been Astoria's grandmother's old flame, and they'd established some rapport last summer. He couldn't just let Barty Crouch Jr imprison the man for a whole academic year.
As this thought crystallised, the system pinged.
[Major Event - The Shortest-Serving Professor in History, generating now...]
Huh, even the system recognised Barty Jr as this year's professor?
Standing before the gargoyle, Wayne's expression turned peculiar.
"What's wrong, young Lawrence? Not coming in? Or do you fancy a chat?" the gargoyle inquired.
"Going in. Let's save chatting for another time - I need to discuss something with Dumbledore."
"No problem, see you later." The gargoyle stepped aside to clear the passage.
Wayne took the escalator to the door, knocked, and only entered after hearing Dumbledore's voice from within.
Inside the room sat not only Dumbledore but also Professor McGonagall and Snape.
His appearance surprised both professors, but it was Phineas on the wall who spoke first.
"Brat, you've come at just the right time! I've got business with you!"