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An excerpt from the Daily Prophet…
A TOURNAMENT FOR ALL… OR JUST ONE?
CONTROVERSY BREWS AT HOGWARTS OVER AGE SHIFT AND SPONSORSHIP POLITICS
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
"The Triwizard Tournament returns to Hogwarts for the first time in over a century — but not everyone is raising their goblets in celebration."
For the first time since the last blood-soaked failure of the Triwizard Tournament in 1792, Hogwarts has been selected to host the legendary magical competition. International cooperation is at an all-time high, thanks in no small part to the daring heroism of young Harry Potter, who reportedly saved French dignitaries from assassination and aided in the aftermath politics of the highly publicized Quidditch World Cup disaster.
For many, Mr. Potter is more than a boy. He is a symbol — of resilience, of unity, of a future Britain that doesn't bow to fear.
But in the aftermath of Harry's many public victories, questions are beginning to bubble beneath the surface of the celebration.
As per the initial Directive submitted to the ICW earlier in December last year, the age requirement for entry into the Triwizard Tournament stood firm at nineteen years, allowing only students that had passed their OWLs successfully the chance to submit their candidature. But after a surprising emergency session held behind closed doors on August 30th between the Heads of State of all three participating schools and other relevant personnel, the age requirement was quietly lowered down to sixteen.
No official statement has explained the shift.
And while it has allowed a significantly larger pool to submit their names for the competition, one name has gained far more attention than others.
Harry Potter.
The coincidence, to some, feels less like a happy accident… and more like preparation.
Insiders from the Department of International Magical Cooperation suggest the rule change was a "collaborative decision," citing pressure from unnamed foreign ministries and "recent demonstrations of magical maturity from younger witches and wizards."
No names were given.
But one cannot help but note that the only young wizard of age sixteen currently hailed in both French and Bulgarian press is… our own.
Let us be clear — Mr. Potter is a hero. His actions have earned him international gratitude. No one forgets the image of him dueling beside the French Minister or offering healing magic far beyond his years. The wizarding world owes him a great deal.
But here at home, questions are quietly gathering around Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.
Was it truly necessary to reduce the age limit for a deadly tournament whose previous attempt led to fatalities?
And more pointedly — Was this done at the urging of Hogwarts' own leadership?
Whispers abound that the Hogwarts Board of Governors received the new age rule as a fait accompli — bypassing the usual vetting protocols. Several have expressed concern that "this Tournament is being shaped around Harry Potter's legacy, rather than skill."
Dumbledore, ever silent on procedural matters, has so far refused to comment. Naturally, the internal tension at Hogwarts is reportedly escalating. Anonymous sources from within the school confirm that certain upper-year students, particularly from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, are growing vocal in their frustration.
"We respect Potter," one sixth-year student said. "But the rest of us aren't training our entire lives to be outshone by a boy who's already been on the front page ten times before his fifth year."
This reporter also notes whispers of unrest between former friends, including one known to be Potter's longtime companion, now said to be preparing his own Tournament entry.
Even more curious: Hogwarts' own Hermione Granger, an academic darling until recently, has reportedly developed a sudden violent streak when it comes to defending Potter — including an incident in the Gryffindor common room that sources described as "embarrassingly public."
Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, when reached for comment, praised Potter's international achievements but clarified:
"This is not about one boy. This is about tradition, about unity, and about the future of magical education. The Ministry supports the Tournament — and Hogwarts — but we will be observing closely to ensure no individual, no matter how famous, is afforded undue advantage."
Sources suggest the Ministry may be assigning an official observer to Hogwarts during the Tournament.
There is no doubt that Mr. Potter is a remarkable young man, and one whose courage has inspired not just Britain, but magical communities across the world.
But when a competition built on danger, legacy, and diplomacy suddenly reshapes itself around a single boy's profile, the question must be asked:
"Is this the resurrection of an age-old tradition? Or the crafting of a coronation?"
Only time — and the Goblet — will tell.
Until then, the world watches.
Office of the Minister of Magic…
The office of the Minister for Magic had never felt so cold.
Not even the enchanted fireplace, crackling with bottled summer heat, could thaw the quiet that had settled after Rita Skeeter's article had made its way to every corner of the country.
Minister Cornelius Fudge sat behind his enormous desk, fingers steepled, eyes narrowed at the front page of the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter's article was spread before him like a dissected animal. The reporter had proven useful in the past, but she remained a dangerous quantity nonetheless.
The smell of over brewed tea lingered in the air, curling through the walnut-paneled room like a nervous thought.
Cornelius slowly stirred his cup. No sugar. He'd lost the taste for it recently.
The door creaked open.
"Minister, you wanted to see me?"
Dolores Umbridge's voice was all butter and arsenic. She glided in wearing a pale pink robe and a matching bow perched in her curls like a rosette on a toad.
Fudge gestured without looking up. "Close the door, Dolores."
She obeyed.
He didn't speak right away. Just tapped one plump finger on Harry Potter's face — right there, top left corner, looking noble and irritating.
Dolores took the seat across from him without being invited. She folded her hands neatly over her clipboard.
"You've read it?"
"Three times," she trilled, as though admitting to a guilty pleasure. "Miss Skeeter does have such… bite. Quite improper, of course, but most entertaining."
He placed the spoon down with a little more force than needed.
"Did the article displease you, Minister?"
"I feel like I'm stranded, Dolores. None of this… none of it makes sense. I always knew Lucius was slippery, yes, but this? Stirring up half of Europe, then vanishing — ruining his own name, his own reputation. And for what? To leave me standing here with the mess? With a— a blasted hero-shaped hole in public trust?"
"Hem! One that was very quite nicely by a Potter."
"Yes, that's the bit that doesn't make sense. I've met the boy — polite enough, quiet, doesn't care for the spotlight. Not what you want in politics, no, but harmless enough. Of course, he's been famous since he could toddle, so maybe he never needed to chase it. Then there was that whole Black business last year — dreadful — but the dementors sorted that neatly. Only now… this summer… it's as though the whole world's gone mad and he's at the centre of it."
Dolores said nothing.
"Taking over his family fortune. The entire thing with letting Lucius's brat off the hook despite the unforgivable, his dealings with Narcissa Ma… Black… All of this… unexplained mess that Lucius caused and vanished, leaving Potter in charge of House Black's assets… None of it adds up."
"You think there's a conspiracy?" She asked slowly.
"I think… I think somebody's been playing a clever game from the shadows," Cornelius muttered, then quickly added, "Yes. Clever. Though I can't— I won't say who. Not yet."
"Potter?"
Cornelius shook his head, or at least, tried to, before freezing midway. "I am… I can't be sure. Had this been last year, I'd have said no. But I've met him at the World Cup, Dolores, hobnobbing with me and the others like a seasoned politician. But… no, maybe a tool at best. Not this… malicious."
"If I may, Minister," she cooed, "doesn't it sound ever so like Albus Dumbledore? He does love his secrets. Perhaps a few… gentle reminders in the Prophet might help. Nothing cruel, of course — just a little polishing of the Headmaster's halo until it shows the cracks. Keeping the Golden Boy golden of course!"
Fudge sighed. "That's the problem, Dolores. He is golden. Gilded in every paper from here to Paris. France adores him. Bulgaria's singing his praises. And now this Tournament — this bloody Tournament — is shaping up to be a pottery wheel spinning around one boy's legacy."
A dark scowl formed on his face. "And then there is Bones. She's no longer the neutral DMLE head. I remember the Bones and the Potter families go way back. Taking up the Potter Regency… She's taken the boy under her wing. Publicly. Legally. She might be up to something."
He exhaled, slow and bitter. "With Lucius gone, I don't have a pureblood purse to lean on. The Montroses are too cautious. The Notts and Selwyns? Too bloodthirsty. The Gamps are cowards. And Potter's faction — Potter, Black, Bones — is clean. Too clean."
"Dangerous," Dolores corrected.
"Worse," Fudge said. "They don't need me."
He stood and crossed the office, facing the enchanted window where artificial daylight streamed over an illusion of Diagon Alley. A family of magical mannequins shopped cheerfully in the frostless spring, unaware that their Minister was watching them crumble from within.
"They've taken the press. They've taken the narrative. I can't even call the boy reckless anymore — he's the reason the French and Bulgarians signed on to this bloody Tournament in the first place."
He turned.
"And now Amelia Bloody Bones is the one overseeing his vaults, his political protection, his public face."
Dolores smiled a little. "Which means you can't touch him. Not directly."
Fudge tapped a finger to his temple. "Exactly. If I push too hard, I'm the Minister who bullies orphans and war heroes. I'd look monstrous, Dolores, monstrous. But if I do nothing… Well, then he grows. And grows. And suddenly I'm the Minister who let it all happen."
Umbridge's eyes glittered. "Then perhaps it's time to prune the garden," she purred, adjusting her bow. "You know how dangerous it is when weeds are allowed to spread."
Fudge looked at her for the first time. "Prune? Are you barking mad, Dolores? We can't touch the boy! At all!"
"Of course, Cornelius," she backstepped sweetly. "I only meant… making certain he didn't get an overinflated sense of ego from all this. Children often become arrogant, forgetting who their betters are. Harry Potter should understand who's at the helm."
Cornelius nodded like a weary elephant.
"Perhaps, Cornelius, if you allow me, might I make a suggestion?"
"If offered in good faith, I suppose."
"Perhaps it might be possible to send me to Hogwarts? The British Ministry has yet to approve of an official liaison for the Tournament. I can ensure that the tournament follows all the approved compliances and nobody is… rigging it for their own purposes. And unofficially…."
"You can keep an eye on Dumbledore!"
"And Potter," she added softly, before bowing her head. "With your permission, of course."
Fudge frowned. On the one hand, the idea had merit. On the other hand, he knew the woman was as caustic as they came. He really hoped this wouldn't come back to bite his arse.
"Fine. But whatever you find out, bring it to me first. And we'll decide together what's in the best interest of magical Britain."
Umbridge's fingers twitched. "Minister, if I might suggest, a little diplomatic power would be good. No doubt you know that Albus Dumbledore will offer his own resistance."
"True. True."
"And then there is Potter, and the other students," she said sweetly, almost relishing it. "Children can be so tiresome when they think they know better than their elders. Staff too. But rules are rules, Minister, and I do so love enforcing them."
"If you — if I make you the liaison, you cannot continue holding your post as Senior Undersecretary, Dolores."
"Perhaps you could just keep the position suspended for my time there?"
"Alas," said Cornelius. "These are strenuous times. With the Triwizard happening at the door, having my Undersecretary suspended would look ill on me. I was thinking of the Weasley boy — Perky, I think his name is. Headboy from this year's exams, but Barty has him working for him."
Something dark flickered in the woman's features. "No, no, I refuse to have someone with little experience muddle things up. I take my job responsibilities very seriously, Minister. Perhaps, I might offer a name?"
"By all means."
"How about… Priscilla Edgecombe? She works in the Archives Department."
"I hardly think —"
"It's like you said, Minister," said Umbridge. "These are strenuous times, and you need someone competent at your side. Plus, her daughter Marietta is at Hogwarts — in Harry Potter's year too, I believe. I'm certain she could come in… useful."
Cornelius considered that. He knew a losing battle when he saw one. "I suppose I can rely on you to arrange the paperwork."
"Of course, Minister," said Dolores sweetly. "Anything for you."
Inside Amelia's temporary quarters at Hogwarts…
The room was silent except for the slow crackle of wood in the hearth and the soft scratch of a quill against parchment.
Amelia Bones didn't look up from the Prophet she was annotating. It was already marked up in red ink, neat slashes of cursive spilling across Rita Skeeter's article. She knew the piece by heart — had before the eggs had even gone cold at breakfast.
Hestia Jones sat cross-legged with her wand and a cloth, oiling the wood in slow, almost prayerful strokes. Emmeline Vance had claimed the windowsill, sleeves shoved to her elbows, legs tucked up, riffling through a thick blue dossier.
None of them had spoken much since morning.
It was better this way.
"I didn't think Skeeter could do subtle," she said at last. "She accused everyone — Dumbledore, the Goblet, the Ministry, judges, everyone but Harry."
"Sometimes you can just leave the target blank and paint everything else too," said Emmeline.
"Crafty cow," muttered Hestia. "This isn't a hit piece. It's an invitation. She's telling Fudge — if you want to move against them, now's your moment."
"And Skeeter never works for free," said Emmeline.
"Someone's paying her," said Amelia. "Someone's playing a nice little game and trying to distract us by talking about all of these people."
Her fingers traced the corner of the article, now folded to show only the headline.
"... resurrection of an age-old tradition? Or the crafting of a coronation?"
The implication was clear. Harry wasn't just participating — he was being anointed. And Dumbledore was once again cast as the aged puppet master pulling his strings.
But no one would dare to question Harry directly. Not with the blood of werewolves still drying on his wand, nor with the French Ministry singing his praises, or with Bulgarian editorials calling him "the Iron Youth of Britain."
Instead this was an attempt to undermine the structures around him. Sow doubts in the roots — not the fruit.
"Fudge will obviously react to this," said Emmeline.
"Cornelius Fudge is a simple man," said Amelia. "So long as he thinks he's stable, he'll turn a blind eye to things. But conversely, make him think there's a risk to his stability, and he can be very quick to decide. Even rash."
"I don't think losing his cash cow Malfoy made him stable, Director," said Emmeline. "Malfoy's death sent him running for the hills buck naked. I don't think he'll do anything but react."
"And that's an image I really didn't need," Hestia quipped.
"I fear that's right," exhaled Amelia. "Fudge is probably scared of Harry, but I'm guessing he's far more terrified of me."
"You?" Emmeline smirked.
"I'm the one who knows where the bones are buried," Amelia said simply, smirking at Emmeline at her clever use of the pun. "And now I'm sleeping in the same tower as his biggest liability. I'm the Potter Regent, and the DMLE Head. And, he knows this, I can't be bought. Lucius Malfoy might have been a thorn on the DMLE's back all this time, but with House Black and Potter's aid, Cornelius knows that the DMLE will spring back to form soon. If I know him right, he thinks I am the puppeteer making Harry jump."
"Too bad it's the other way around," said Emmeline. "And it's Harry's cock that's making you jump."
Amelia glared at her. "I remember telling you —"
"No private discussions," said Emmeline, raising both hands in surrender. "But don't worry. I warded the place."
"Wards can fail."
"Oh I know," said Emmeline. "Which is why I left trackers to help us identify if there's anybody attempting to bypass the wards."
Amelia scowled but didn't comment.
Emmeline strode across the floor and began reordering the parchments. Student rosters. Incident logs. Daily psychological profiles. The tension at Hogwarts wasn't abstract anymore — it had names, voices, and fault lines.
"Seventeen student incidents this week," she read out softly. "Ten arguments turned verbal. Four physical. Three magical."
Albus Dumbledore had gotten old. In his haste to get all his opponents in one basket, he had ignored what he was giving them. The poor fool had never really thought about the implications of letting a seasoned Legilimens a free reign on the student body under the guise of checking for 'residual effects of the imperius curse'.
And, while it was illegal to cast Legilimency upon a student without prior permission, the same couldn't be said about using eavesdropping charms or enchanted little familiars to spy on them.
"I heard Susan was quite vocal about her support for Harry," voiced Emmeline, and Amelia smirked. She was rather proud of how far her little Susie had grown this summer. Not only was she resisting Diggory, she was attacking anyone who questioned Harry's integrity. Hannah Abbott was with her — no surprises there, while Macmillan was cracking under group pressure, but hadn't quite broken yet. The Patil twins were surprisingly on Harry's side, though whether that was because of loyalty or private agendas remained to be seen.
"I don't understand," said Hestia. "From what Harry told us, the Triwizard Champions were originally selected from sixth and seventh years. What changed?"
"Harry did," said Amelia. "As much as we hate to admit it, the Triwizard isn't just a scholastic competition, it is a show. A commercial enterprise upon which a lot is staked. Harry saved Sebastian Delacour and the Bulgarian Minister of Magic is already in Harry's pocket. Between all that, and saving Britain's arse from the Quidditch World Cup massacre, lowering the age was a political thank you, wrapped in a favor."
"Even if that favor gets him discredited?"
"Not their problem," said Amelia with a scowl. "The Department of International Magical Cooperation claimed that recent events showed that magical maturity is not solely defined by age. They have heard the tales, read about the exploits, and the basilisk sales deal is the icing on the cake. Diggory and Davies can yell and protest all they want, but the truth is that the international audience wants to see Harry Potter performing on the international stage. Lowering the age limit is merely an excuse to legitimize his participation."
"So… if Diggory and the others want to become the Hogwarts Champion…" Hestia began.
"Then they'll have to prove that they are better than Harry Potter," said Emmeline. "Though it's more interesting to see Albus's reaction over it. Not that I'm surprised, after everything."
Amelia pursed her lips. The Headmaster didn't seem even the slightest discomfited. If anything, he looked satisfied. Like a gardener watching kindling catch on damp wood and knowing it would eventually light.
She exhaled.
To the casual observer, Albus Dumbledore appeared every inch the genial sage — eccentric robes, twinkling gaze, maddening riddles laced with syrup and shadow. But Amelia had served through two wars and across four Ministers. She knew predators when she saw them.
And Dumbledore — for all his sweetness — was a strategist.
No. He wouldn't intervene in the unrest bubbling up across Hogwarts. Not until he was certain he knew how far it would go.
That was the part that twisted inside her — a slow, iron-cold clarity. Dumbledore saw this growing student rebellion as a diagnostic tool. A pressure gauge. A barometer for the ideological fault lines running through a new generation of witches and wizards. Amelia wanted to pretend she was wrong, but this was the same man who had hidden the bloody Philosopher's stone in the third floor of Hogwarts and then told the students about it.
The Ministry, Amelia thought, would have moved quickly — with decrees, with discipline, with punitive restructuring and restricted speech. That was how Cornelius operated. How Bagnold had before him. Control through policy. Stability through force.
But Dumbledore?
Dumbledore wanted them to reveal themselves.
Amelia leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on the crackling fire. She replayed the expressions of the students during the forum — Cedric's controlled outrage, Davies' accusatory logic, even Zacharias Smith's cautious insinuations. All of them had been navigating a system they didn't trust anymore.
And Dumbledore had let them voice it all.
He hadn't defended Harry. He hadn't defended the school. He'd let the tension fester, let the Ministry fumble its defense, and waited, as if he wanted to see what Harry would do.
Because what would interference do?
If Dumbledore silenced the unrest, the anger would turn to Harry with renewed vigor. If he punished the students, they'd unify against him. Either way, he would polarize the school.
Instead, he was doing nothing.
Not out of neglect. Not out of hesitation. But because he understood the oldest rule in warfare and politics alike.
Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.
"Director, in all his tales, Harry never mentioned a student uprising. Nothing like this."
"In his tales, he was little more than a puppy that had been kicked too many times, as a fourth year. Not the… Harry, we know." She exhaled sharply. "Like it or not, the future is changing, for better or worse. We have to be ready for whatever curve balls it throws our way. Speaking of," she turned to Hestia. "Have you gotten the data I asked for?"
"About the Goblet?" asked Hestia. "Still in the cogs. The Department of Mysteries is being quite cagey about it."
Amelia frowned.
"Did you say who asked for it?"
Hestia bobbed her head. "They claimed that the Goblet is the presiding judge for the Triwizard Tournament. They claim that leaking the history of the goblet might allow a third party to enchant it. And as the Regent of House Potter, you are officially in 'conflict of interest'."
She arched an eyebrow. "I am also the DMLE Director."
"They are advising to select someone from the Auror squad to act as the DMLE representative in this case. They even suggested you consider Auror Gawain Robards for this."
Robards? Amelia mused. Robards in many ways, was much like her. Focussed, rule-abiding, often to a fault and nut stubborn. His track record was practically unbeatable, and the only reason he was still not Chief Auror was because he lacked any and all sense of tact that was often necessary in dealing with the bureaucracy.
Still, it was mightily odd for the Department of Mysteries to stick their nose into Ministry bureaucracy.
"If I might ask," said Hestia. "Why are you interested in the Goblet's history?"
At her raised eyebrow, Hestia clarified. "I mean, you already knew that the tournament was in the works for quite some time. And you said it yourself, given Harry's performance during the World Cup, the lowered age requirement is a thank-you wrapped in a favour."
"That was before I knew about the committee's decision to let the Goblet be the judge," said Amelia. "If Voldemort put Harry into the Triwizard and had him survive the tasks, there has to be a reason for that, right?"
"He was portkeyed —"
"If all that sick bastard wanted was to portkey Harry to a foreign site, use his blood and kill him, then there were endless ways to do so. There was absolutely no need to twist the entire tournament to select a fourth Champion, and make him survive dragons, mermen and all sorts of dangers just for that. Make no mistake, Harry might be a survivor, but back then, he was just a fourth year. We cannot expect him to know exactly what Voldemort had in mind."
"But Voldemort is —"
"What? Sealed away? Didn't stop him from trying to possess me, did it?"
That shut her up.
"Send a letter to the ICW Archives. See if it is possible to get a courtesy copy of the Goblet's history. After what happened at the World Cup, I don't want to find myself dealing with the repercussions of dealing with a magical relic that nobody truly understands."
"What if we just cut short this red tape and get the details directly from one of the organisers?"
"Miss Jones," said Amelia curtly, turning over the pages of her file. "You are the assistant to the Director of the DMLE. Surely you do not expect me to allow you, much less join you in anything illegal?"
She grabbed a quill and underlined a name.
"Absolutely not," said Hestia with a straight face.
"Good," she said, and held the file up. "I have marked some names in there. Some of them have unflattering histories, which might cause issues in the tournament proceedings. We don't want anything to ruin our image."
"Absolutely," Hestia repeated, and grabbed the file.
"Good, so long as we are in agreement."
And then she turned and left.
Hestia watched her go, and then opened the file. Inside it was a list of people that were involved in the Triwizard. And among them, was underlined a single name.
Ludo Bagman.