"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 351: Preparations Before the Duel
The wave unleashed by the Daily Prophet was unstoppable. Students who had just finished their exams—or were still pretending to revise—flooded toward the Quidditch pitch. In no time, it seemed as though every student in the castle had made their way there.
As the pitch filled, students clustered in excited knots, grilling friends for details about the morning's events.
Seeing the throng, Dumbledore beckoned Fudge and the others to join him atop the platform.
He eyed the magical crystal ball set at center stage, his lips curling into a smile. "How delightful!"
With a snap of his fingers, silence swept across the Quidditch pitch like a Silencio spell.
"My apologies for interrupting your lively discussions," Dumbledore said, voice warm but commanding. "Time is short. I'd like everyone except our sixth years to please find a seat in the stands. You're welcome to continue your conversations there, of course. Is that all right, my dear students?"
He added with a twinkle, "This event is only open to sixth years. Fifth years, you're not quite ready yet. As for seventh years… well, you know—exams are your top priority. Unless you think today's schedule was too easy for you…"
That earned a round of laughter. Students streamed toward the stands, while the chosen sixth years remained at the center of the pitch, exchanging nervous, excited glances.
When Headmaster Dumbledore speaks, even the most rebellious students know better than to test their luck—especially with the Minister of Magic and a squad of Aurors present. No one fancied giving their parents a reason for a Howler.
As the last rays of sunlight dipped behind the Black Lake, the stands finally settled into a buzzing hush.
By then, the well-fed Heads of House and the officials from the Wizarding Examinations Authority had also arrived.
Douglas Holmes conjured several elegant chairs, transforming the platform into a proper judges' box. He set a long table before them, laden with snacks and fruit.
With a genial smile, Douglas invited the Heads of House and the Authority's members to take their seats, and called Lupin up as well. The officials sat beside Lupin, eyeing him with undisguised curiosity.
Sirius was shooed off the platform by Douglas—ordered back to his post as the fair and impartial "dragonfly referee."
At center stage, Dumbledore surveyed the crowd, then lightly tapped the crystal ball. His own image shimmered into being above the pitch, the projection crisp and clear against the encroaching night.
He gazed up at it for a moment, then shrugged. "It's been ages since I've looked in a mirror. I'd nearly forgotten what this old face looks like."
That drew a wave of laughter from the stands—along with a few cheeky shouts:
"Headmaster, you're the most handsome!"
"Way better looking than Professor Holmes!"
"Headmaster, may you live another hundred years!"
Dumbledore waved a hand, signaling for quiet, but his eyes sparkled.
"I heard some of those compliments—and I must say, I rather agree. Who knows? Perhaps I'll live another hundred years and keep this very face. As Douglas likes to say, I've been thoroughly marinated in honey—and you all know honey has remarkable preserving properties…"
He turned and winked at Douglas.
Professor McGonagall coughed pointedly, shooting Douglas a side-eye and muttering, "None of you ever make things easy for me. Now Albus has another excuse for his sweet tooth."
Douglas grinned. "That's not on me—Bill told me. You know, he's off in Egypt studying pyramids these days."
Dumbledore put on an exaggeratedly innocent smile. "Good evening, everyone. It's a rare treat to gather like this during exam week. I see ink stains on some faces, and a few of you clutching steaming baskets of dumplings. Personally, I prefer honey buns… Well, in any case, tonight you're all witnesses to a very special occasion."
He adjusted his half-moon spectacles and gestured to Lupin.
"Today, Mr. Remus Lupin did something truly courageous—he stood in the sunlight and showed the world that werewolves can be guardians, too.
To be honest, I was worried at first, so I hid in a corner. Not very Gryffindor of me, I'll admit. But what I saw was fear, yes, and confusion—but more than anything, care and support. That's the Hogwarts spirit."
He continued, "Of course, this might be a momentous event for the wizarding world, but here at Hogwarts, we've lived alongside Mr. Lupin for a year. He's watched over you for hundreds of nights…"
At the back of the platform, Fudge clenched his fists, his expression tight.
Sensing the Minister's discomfort, Dumbledore smoothly redirected the focus. "But that's not our main event tonight. Next, we'll have… ah, Cornelius, would you like to say a few words?"
Before Dumbledore could finish, Fudge had already stood and stepped forward, blinking in surprise—wasn't it supposed to be his turn now? Why was Dumbledore so nonchalant?
Just then, Sirius's voice rang out from below:
"And now, I'll explain the rules for tonight's competition."
For a moment, Fudge looked utterly lost—Dumbledore hadn't even given him a speaking slot.
Noticing his "client" being snubbed, Douglas hurried over, lowering his voice:
"Minister, you're our guest of honor tonight. Your job is to oversee everything from the comfort of the box—leave the details to us."
He gently steered Fudge back to his seat.
Fudge took the opportunity to save face, sitting down with a satisfied pat on Douglas's shoulder. He couldn't help but think: Hogwarts does have someone sensible. Shame he's so young—though he stirs things up, he's still just a professor. If only he had more influence at Hogwarts, he might help me get a better grip on the place…
Below the platform, Sirius continued.
"This duel will consist of three matches.
The Ministry will field three Aurors.
Hogwarts will select nine students—three per Auror—and each trio will be equipped with magical items for the match.
Both sides have agreed to these terms. After all, if a seasoned Auror can't handle three sixth-years… well, I'm sure Director Scrimgeour will have something to say about their future employment."
With a flourish, Sirius produced a pair of Void-Walking Insoles, handing them to Ravenclaw's Meg Erin.
He winked. "Don't worry, they're brand new. But whoever's up next will have to use the ones you've broken in."
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