The six Headmasters, along with Crouch and Bagman, surrounded the Grail, exchanging awkward glances.
This novel artefact had piqued their curiosity since arriving at Hogwarts. Each Headmaster had previously examined it in Dumbledore's office, yet gleaned little from their studies. Now, this inspection was merely procedural.
Bagman, feeling the least pressure, put on a solemn face and waved his wand over the Grail with great ceremony, occasionally nodding with feigned understanding before stepping aside.
"Everything appears in order."
Next came Fontaine, who spent two minutes admiring the intricate engravings before running his fingers along them.
"Let's inspect the Age Line," Crouch suddenly suggested, earning nods of agreement from Madame Maxime and others.
Karkaroff circled the Age Line, remarking, "Truly Dumbledore's work – flawless magic. Even I would struggle to dismantle it."
"Why would you consider dismantling it?"
Crouch fixed him with a cold stare. "Karkaroff, curb your scheming tendencies. I've ample free time now – enough to keep you under constant surveillance."
Karkaroff's expression darkened. "That's slander! I was merely praising Dumbledore! Who said anything about dismantling the line?"
"See that you don't," Crouch snorted dismissively.
Their history ran deep – Crouch had originally sentenced Karkaroff to Azkaban. Only by betraying numerous associates had Karkaroff secured his freedom. Naturally, no love existed between them.
Yet Karkaroff hadn't anticipated Crouch's open hostility.
As Durmstrang's Headmaster, surely he deserved some professional courtesy?
Fifteen minutes later, they returned to their seats. Dumbledore rose again. "The selection period will last two days. We'll announce the champions during the Halloween feast..."
Noticing some students' eagerness to enter, Dumbledore reiterated:
"I must emphasise – the Holy Grail War isn't child's play. Please deliberate carefully before submitting your name. The timing of your entry won't affect your selection chances. Consider this seriously..."
With the Headmaster's warning so explicit, rushing forward now would constitute blatant disrespect.
However impatient they felt, students would have to wait until tomorrow.
As the crowd dispersed in orderly fashion, Wayne approached the Beauxbatons table to collect Gabrielle.
Tonight, he'd promised the little girl an entire evening of stories. Only tomorrow morning would Gardevoir return her to Fleur's dormitory.
Now, Wayne's daily schedule was packed to the brim, barely maintaining a balance—it was exhausting enough to merit a poor rating.
As for the Holy Grail and tournament matters, he couldn't be bothered to care anymore. Let old Dumbledore handle those headaches.
Fred and George deliberately slowed their pace, seemingly waiting for someone.
"Barty, Ludo, care for a drink?" Dumbledore extended an invitation to the two men who'd come from afar, though his eyes only settled on Crouch.
Understanding Dumbledore's implication, Crouch turned his head. "Ludo, the Ministry requires today's report. Would you mind drafting it for me?"
Bagman, who'd been about to accept Dumbledore's offer, immediately nodded obsequiously. "Leave it to me, Barty. I'll head back to the Ministry right away."
"Apologies, Albus. Save the drink—I won't miss it next time."
With that, he hurried towards the entrance. Fred and George, who'd been watching him intently, immediately approached.
In the past, Bagman would've turned tail and fled, but now... he had powerful backing!
"This isn't the place to talk. Take me to any room."
Before the twins could speak, he took the initiative.
Fred and George exchanged uncertain glances but led Bagman away nonetheless.
Dumbledore watched their retreating figures thoughtfully. "It seems... Ludo holds you in high regard?"
Crouch didn't evade the question. "Mr Lawrence is quite adept at using money to achieve minor objectives—and has the capital to do so."
Investing wealth to maintain connections and expand influence.
This had become second nature to the old London aristocracy.
But Dumbledore had only mentioned it in passing, uninterested in the intricacies. Keeping Crouch back wasn't for such trivialities.
The two men entered the office.
Dumbledore produced a suitcase, opened it, and led Crouch inside.
The space within was roughly the size of the office, containing nothing but a bed where Barty Crouch Jr lay unconscious.
Seeing his son for the first time in months, Crouch's expression remained impassive, as though observing a stranger.
"I've arranged for a house-elf to wake him for meals at scheduled times. Otherwise, he remains comatose."
Dumbledore spoke softly. "Mr Crouch, do you have anything to say?"
"Nothing." Crouch shook his head lightly. "Mr Lawrence has informed me of everything. If it helps defeat the Dark Lord, his death now would be inconsequential."
"Oh?" Dumbledore sounded intrigued. "Wayne insisted I must preserve his life. Handing the decision to you, I assumed you'd spare him."
"Dumbledore."
Crouch's tone cooled. "Spare me pointless tests. I rescued him back then due to my late wife's plea—I couldn't have foreseen the Dark Lord's return."
"Had I known... he'd have vanished from this world the moment he left prison."
Not an ounce of falsehood laced those words. Dumbledore could tell Crouch meant every word.
Though...
Did you really think I was that sinister? I was just relaying Wayne's decision.
Dumbledore felt somewhat aggrieved. "I brought you here simply because you're his father."
"Absolutely unnecessary." Crouch shook his head decisively. "From now on, I'll act as if I never had this son. You can use him however you see fit."
Dumbledore felt even more distressed.
Was it that anyone who knew Lawrence would stop speaking like a normal human being?
"However..."
Crouch's expression suddenly turned hesitant.
"Any difficulties?" Dumbledore inquired.
"None." Crouch's hand twitched, and his wand transformed into a whip covered in barbs.
"I just thought, since I'm already here, merely looking at him seems like a waste. I'd like to... stretch my limbs a bit."
Dumbledore: "..."
After a long pause, he finally said, "Don't kill him."
"Don't worry, I know my limits." A gleam of excitement flashed in Crouch's eyes as he brought the whip down.
Now he understood why Wayne enjoyed whipping his son so much.
"Albus, help me lift his Stunning Spell."
...
Half an hour later.
Crouch left the Headmaster's Office with an expression of satisfaction and regret.
The whipping had been thoroughly satisfying – the only regret was discovering this pleasure so late.
The Hufflepuff common room was buzzing with activity.
"Any more takers for the sign-up?" a student shouted.
"I'll give it a go," said the seventh-year Hufflepuff female Prefect with a smile. "The chances of being selected are slim, but participation matters most."
"Fair point. I'll try too."
"But what if I actually get chosen? I don't want to get hurt. The books say loads of competitors died in previous tournaments – it's too dangerous."
"I'd love to join, but my birthday's still two months away."
Amidst the chatter, Wayne and Cedric sat by the fireplace warming themselves. Gabrielle had been placed inside a box, where she was playing with the Niffler and teasing Tuantuan.
"So, made your decision?"
"I'll enter," Cedric grinned. "As long as freaks like you don't sign up, my chances seem decent."
Wayne raised a middle finger. "Your real competition isn't in this school – it's outside."
At these words, Cedric's face fell.
"You mean Miss Delacour? Wayne, you can't favour other schools, even if she is your girlfriend."
"Cho, Hermione, and Astoria—that's three to one. And we haven't even counted Penelope and Grace. You should be helping me."
"Piss off. I'm not helping anyone. It's all about skill," Wayne said dismissively, waving his hand.
"Besides, who said Fleur is your biggest rival? She barely counts as half."
Fleur hadn't been Cedric's match before. She was somewhat one-sided and lacked his steadiness. Though she'd signed a contract with the Round Table last year and improved her talent, the gap between them hadn't widened much yet.
"Then who are you referring to?" Cedric asked, puzzled.
Wayne said softly, "Sakura."
"Huh?"
"That cute girl from Mahoutokoro?" Cedric double-checked.
"You heard right. If nothing unexpected happens, Sakura is the most likely to win."
Wayne picked up some pistachios from the coffee table, munching as he spoke. "Don't let her age fool you. She comes from a prestigious family and has incredible talent. Don't underestimate her."
Sakura was probably one of the most talented individuals Wayne had ever met, on par with Snape.
But her talent lay more in developing Clow Cards.
Whereas Snape excelled in spell creation and potion research.
"I see," Cedric said, his expression turning serious. He wouldn't doubt Wayne's words and immediately raised his guard against Sakura to the highest level.
...
The next day, Friday.
At seven o'clock, the moment the Great Hall doors opened, a flood of young wizards rushed in, bread clutched in their teeth, eyes darting to see who else might sign up.
Before long, the Durmstrang upper-years arrived. They lined up before the Grail, each meeting the entry requirements.
"Begin," Karkaroff said darkly, standing aside to watch.
The first student stepped into the circle, mimicking Dumbledore from the day before, channelling a burst of magical power. In under ten seconds, the Grail flickered—confirmation of a successful entry.
Then the second, the third...
When Krum's turn came, the murmurs around them grew louder. Karkaroff offered him warm encouragement, as if Krum were his only student.
"He's definitely going to be a champion," Ron said enviously.
Harry disagreed. "Not necessarily. Being good at Quidditch doesn't mean he's magically powerful."
"That's because you don't know the inside story."
Ron lowered his voice. "I asked around with the Durmstrang students. Krum's grades are excellent. Their Headmaster thinks highly of him—it's practically a done deal."
Hearing this, Harry's impression of Krum soured further.
Not long ago, he'd accidentally witnessed Moody and Karkaroff arguing and learned about Karkaroff's past as a Death Eater.
It had instantly made Harry wary of Durmstrang.
Now, hearing how much Karkaroff favoured Krum only deepened his discomfort.
But he kept it to himself. This was just his own judgement—he wouldn't impose it on others.
The two continued watching the Grail as student after student took their turn.
As if by prior arrangement, the Durmstrang students finished registering, followed immediately by those from Uagadou, then Beauxbatons.
The Hogwarts students, seeing such a lengthy queue, could only watch from the sidelines.
By breakfast's end, with classes about to begin, only half of Beauxbatons' students had registered.
Getting the Grail to react was no simple feat. Some students took mere seconds, while others spent several minutes staring at the motionless cup before being called down by their respective headmasters.
If they couldn't even pass this hurdle, registration was pointless – no need to waste everyone's time.
When Fleur successfully registered, Wayne smiled at her before leading Tomoyo towards the History of Magic classroom.
Truthfully, Wayne had sensed it the moment the first Durmstrang student registered – as the Grail's true master, he'd felt the ancient ritual activate. Now it merely awaited its final champion to unleash its full power.
Even he couldn't alter the established process.
Yet he retained certain minor privileges to make the competition more... entertaining.
"I feel like you're plotting something mischievous," Tomoyo suddenly remarked, hugging her textbooks while studying Wayne's face.
The boy snapped back to attention, shaking his head vigorously. "No, absolutely not, don't be ridiculous."
"You were smiling just now." Tomoyo blinked her large eyes, leaning closer with curiosity. "Did you think of something interesting? Can you tell me?"
"Really, nothing concrete yet. Or rather, I haven't fully decided."
"You must tell me when you've decided then."
"We'll see."
As they ascended the stairs, Sakura stood in the entrance hall watching their retreating figures, her mouth slightly agape.
Something felt... off.
...
By afternoon, numerous Hogwarts students had registered.
At noon, Angelina stepped into the magic circle and successfully activated the Grail, nearly causing the Gryffindors to flip their tables in celebration.
Then came Cedric, surrounded by cheering Hufflepuffs as he too succeeded.
Angelina snorted disdainfully, tossing her high ponytail as she returned to her seat.
Ever since last term's Quidditch match, where Cedric had deployed his "charm offensive" strategy, the boy had become the least popular among Gryffindor girls, many now calling him "that heartbreaker".
To think he'd resort to such underhanded tactics just to win a match.
Cedric could only lament his undeserved reputation to the heavens.
It was Wayne's idea! Why was he shouldering all the blame?
How was he supposed to find a girlfriend like this?
"We can't go on like this, George."
Hiding in the entrance hall, the twins gazed longingly at the shimmering Grail, their fingers itching.
"All or nothing, Fred. That's three thousand galleons we're talking about."
Though Bagman had returned their money yesterday, who'd refuse extra gold?
The twins still chafed at being excluded from the Holy Grail War by mere months of age difference.
George produced a small vial of vivid blue liquid. "Ageing Potion. Just one drop each. With two of us, our chances double."
Fred shook his head. "Too reckless. That's Dumbledore's magic we're dealing with."
"Are you really Fred?" George stared at his brother in astonishment. "Got a better plan, then?"
"What do you think about this..." Fred whispered something in George's ear, and George nodded emphatically.
The two stood up and found Ron eating dinner.