The plates in the Great Hall were clean and shiny, waiting to be filled with the delicious food prepared by the house elves, while the buzz of conversation from hundreds of students filled the air in the hall. The entire Great Hall fell silent almost instantly when Albus Dumbledore stood up at the teachers' table.
The headmaster, in his midnight blue robes sprinkled with silver stars, smiled at the crowd.
"Now that we are all seated at our respective tables, I must ask for your attention for some important announcements at the start of the school year," Dumbledore began, his amplified voice echoing clearly. "Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that the list of prohibited items has been extended and now includes Screaming Yo-yos and Fanged Frisbees. The complete list is on your door."
Dumbledore paused dramatically, interlacing his fingers.
"I also have the painful duty to inform you that this year there will be no House Quidditch Cup."
A collective cry of indignation erupted in the hall. Harry and the Weasley twins looked devastated, and from the Hufflepuff table, Cedric Diggory sighed resignedly as he took a sip from his cup.
Dumbledore raised his hands, asking for silence.
"I know, I know, it's sad. But this is due to an event of great magnitude. I have the immense pleasure of announcing that over the next few months, Hogwarts will have the honor of hosting a legendary event: The Triwizard Tournament."
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the excited whispering of the wizarding-born students explaining to the Muggle-born students what on earth that was. Dumbledore proceeded to explain the history of the tournament, the eternal glory, the thousand Galleon prize, the international magical cooperation. Blah blah blah.
At the Slytherin table, Hestia and Flora leaned toward Aurelian, their eyes shining with excitement.
"You should enter, Aurelian," whispered Hestia, squeezing his arm. "You're the most powerful wizard in the school."
"I'm sure you'd win," Flora added, looking at him with a big smile. "The other champions wouldn't stand a chance against you, my Lord. The 'eternal glory' is rightfully yours."
Aurelian, who had been listening to Dumbledore's speech with an expression of great boredom, turned his face toward them and offered them a soft, affectionate smile.
"It's sweet that you think that," Aurelian replied softly, "but you underestimate your own talent. You two are exceptional witches, either of you would be capable of crushing the competition and winning that cup. Remember... you are the most beautiful and powerful girls I know."
The girls blushed violently at the compliment. Not caring who was watching, they leaned over at the same time and kissed Aurelian on each cheek, a public display of affection that made several nearby Slytherins look away uncomfortably. Even after so many years, seeing them was... strange.
"You're too good to us," they murmured.
Dumbledore, however, continued speaking, his tone becoming serious.
"Although the Tournament is an exciting opportunity, we cannot ignore that historically it has been deadly. Therefore, the heads of the participating schools and the Ministry of Magic have agreed to impose a safety restriction."
The headmaster scanned the sea of students.
"Only students over the age of seventeen may submit their names for consideration as Hogwarts champions."
A new burst of protests filled the air.
"That's rubbish!" shouted Fred and George Weasley from the Gryffindor table, banging their fists on the table.
At the Slytherin table, disappointment was also palpable. Hestia and Flora, who had just turned sixteen a few months ago, sighed, suddenly losing their previous enthusiasm.
"It's unfair," Flora complained, playing with her fork. "Not even Aurelian will be able to participate."
"Or us, to offer you victory," Hestia added with a pout.
Aurelian smiled at them, maintaining his relaxed composure. He knew he couldn't participate, and he had no intention of doing so anyway. He reached out his hands and gently stroked both girls' heads, an affectionate and reassuring gesture that made them purr under his touch.
"Calm down," he whispered in their ears, in a voice only they could hear. "It's better this way. You don't have to participate in some stupid tournament organized by an incompetent Ministry. It's a circus to entertain the masses, not a real test of courage."
He leaned in a little closer, brushing their hair with his lips.
"Besides, I'd rather have you safe here with me than risking facing who knows what creature for a silly brass trophy."
Aurelian's words had the desired effect. The twins' disappointment turned to relief and gratitude.
"You're right," whispered Hestia, looking at him with wide eyes. "We couldn't bear to see you in danger, my love."
"If anything happened to you... we would burn the world down," Flora assured him seriously.
Aurelian smiled even more broadly, hiding the truth behind his dark eyes.
The banquet continued. Aurelian smiled as he cut a piece of meat and added it to his mashed potatoes, thoroughly enjoying the festive atmosphere of the Great Hall. Hestia and Flora offered him grapes and whispered jokes in his ear. It was a perfect evening.
But amid the laughter and clinking glasses, Aurelian felt a tingling sensation at the back of his neck. It wasn't the usual admiring glances from the students or the scrutiny Snape normally gave him. It was something heavier. It was the gaze of a predator assessing its prey.
Slowly, Aurelian looked up at the teachers' table.
His eyes met directly with an uneven and terrifying gaze.
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was there, sitting at the end of the table. In this reality, Aurelian knew that Barty was safe at Gaunt Manor, which meant that the man in front of him was the real deal: the most paranoid, lethal, and decorated Auror in modern history.
Moody's electric blue magical eye was not spinning; it was watching Aurelian intently, drilling through the distance as if trying to read his soul. Moody took a long swig of his Firewhisky without breaking eye contact.
Aurelian sharpened his magical senses, extending a small thread of his own magic that he hoped would go unnoticed to "taste" the professor's aura. What he felt made him stop with his fork halfway to his mouth.
Moody's aura was not only aggressive, it was dense, structured, and brimming with power. With the capacity to go even further in terms of magical power.
"A Invoker" Aurelian realized, hiding his surprise in a long sip from his glass of juice.
He was no ordinary combat wizard. Like Barty, and like himself at that moment, the real Moody was an expert in who knows what branches of magic. That explained his fearsome reputation and why people treated him with such respect.
"Dangerous, very dangerous," thought Aurelian, looking down at his plate casually. "A Invoker can recognize another by the 'footprint' we leave when interacting with the environment. If Moody perceives me or sees me as a threat... it was better not to think about it, but now my plans to go unnoticed will be complicated."
Aurelian instantly decided to reinforce his Occlumency shields and suppress his magical aura to an absolute minimum. He would have to tread very carefully around the old Auror this year. He raised his glass subtly in Moody's direction, a gesture of respect in recognition of his new professor's strength, before turning his attention back to the twins.
At the center of the High Table, Albus Dumbledore watched his students with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Dumbledore looked vigorous. He appeared to be a man in his forties, with reddish-brown hair (though graying at the temples) and a straight, strong posture. Being an Archmage had its advantages over the passage of time.
But that physical appearance could not hide the weariness of his spirit.
As he politely applauded the end of the banquet, Albus's mind was thousands of miles away, crossing the sea toward the European continent. The reports coming in from his contacts in the International Confederation were growing increasingly grim. The rumors were no longer rumors, the whispers turning into shouts. He was regaining his strength.
"There, Gellert," thought Dumbledore, the name bringing with it a painful mixture of nostalgia and fear.
Grindelwald was not as still in Nurmengard as the world believed. His acolytes were moving again, stirring the shadows in Eastern Europe, taking advantage of the chaos and uncertainty to regain control of the weaker ministries. Dumbledore feared that the peace he had worked so hard to build was about to be shattered.
"I can't do it alone," Albus admitted to himself, feeling the weight of his responsibility crushing his shoulders. "Even as Archmage, I cannot fight a war on two fronts. Voldemort here, Gellert there... The world is too big and the darkness too vast for one man, and I still can't agree with Marianne."
His blue eyes scanned the Great Hall, searching for a sign of hope, instinctively stopping at the Slytherin table.
There was Aurelian Gaunt.
The young man shone with his own light. Dumbledore watched as the students around him gravitated toward him, how he radiated charisma, power, and an intelligence that far surpassed that of his peers. Aurelian had saved the Longbottoms, unified his house, and displayed a magical talent that eclipsed his own at that age.
"He could be the pillar," Dumbledore thought with desperate hope. "If Aurelian follows the right path... if his strength is used for good, he could be the protector Britain needs when I am gone. He has the strength to unite the factions that I cannot touch."
Albus did not know the terrible irony of his thoughts, nor the new relationship the boy had with his father. He only saw the potential of a successor capable of sustaining the wizarding world.
Dumbledore sighed, interlacing his fingers on the table.
"But until that day comes, this is my burden," he promised himself, hardening his heart. "As long as I have the strength, I will stop Gellert's advance in Europe and make sure that Voldemort does not rise again here or lead Aurelian into darkness. I will protect these students, even if it costs me my life."
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