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The next morning, the outline of Hogwarts Castle was still half veiled in the drifting morning mist when the sharp-nosed reporters from several quick-footed newspapers were already knocking at the school gates.
The news of the Triwizard Dueling Tournament had spread as if it had sprouted wings. Overnight it had flown beyond the high walls of the castle, sweeping through the wizarding world and setting alight a frenzy of excitement. Countless eyes now turned to this ancient fortress, waiting to witness what was to come.
It had been more than two centuries since the last time the three great schools had gathered for the Triwizard Tournament.
Now, with these three most prestigious schools of magic in Europe coming together again, this time not for a tournament of trials but for a duel, it was only natural that such a spectacle would capture so many eager gazes.
Even the Ministry of Magic had no choice but to treat the matter with gravity. Yet it was not Minister Fudge himself who attended, but his trusted deputy, Dolores Umbridge.
This squat, toad-faced witch, fond of dressing in her fluffy pink cardigans, had in just a few short years clawed her way up from an obscure desk in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to the lofty position of Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. She owed her rapid rise not to brilliance or courage but everything to oily diplomacy, shameless flattery, and an unfailing instinct for pleasing those above her.
She arrived this time under the title of Safety Supervisor, carrying on her shoulders the important burden of showing the international wizarding community the polished face of the British Ministry of Magic.
Of course, beyond all that pomp, her task was also to prevent any uncontrolled accidents or dangerous mishaps during the duels.
But in truth, this so-called supervisory role seemed somewhat unnecessary, for the dueling platform itself was enchanted with wards and charms designed precisely to protect the fighters from serious harm.
After breakfast, everyone, under the guidance of their professors, made their way to the magnificent dueling stage.
Crossing the drawbridge felt like walking on air, as though the entire crowd were treading among clouds.
The students of Hogwarts, though they had seen this magical venue before, still could not help but hold their breath in wonder. Each time they stood here, the vastness and majesty of the place struck them anew, as if it never lost its power to astonish.
For the students and teachers of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, the effect was even greater. They had never laid eyes on such a stage, and their awe was plain to see. Wide-eyed and silent, they advanced as if afraid that any sound might disturb the magic woven into the very air around them.
They walked along the suspension bridge of intertwined ivy, the vines thick and strong beneath their feet, while mist curled and drifted all around them like pale clouds. Through the haze glimmered tiny points of light, buds of every color glowing faintly as if lanterns were hidden in their petals. The whole bridge seemed to hover in a dream, poised between earth and sky.
Then the morning sun broke through, its golden rays piercing the thin veil of fog. Slowly, as though revealing a long-kept secret, the dueling arena suspended in the air shed its misty covering and unveiled itself in full.
The audience took their seats according to the carefully arranged plan. Each chair was woven naturally from green vines, firm yet supple, the sort of seat that seemed to mold to the body, offering comfort despite its rustic appearance.
And through the gaps in the woven greenery, one could glance down at the sweeping panorama of Hogwarts Castle itself. Beyond the towers and courtyards lay the vast, shadowy edges of the Forbidden Forest, stretching out toward the horizon in a dark and endless sea of trees.
The main spectacle of the day was to be an exhibition match performed by the professors. Its purpose was not only to ignite the students' passion for dueling but also to give Hogwarts time to complete its internal selection of the eight students who would represent the school in the coming contests.
The three headmasters had settled on the rules only the night before. Each school was to send eight of their best students. The contest would begin with elimination rounds, and when only three champions remained, the format would shift to a round-robin point system to decide the final standings.
The rules were simple, almost hastily set, but that in itself carried a kind of excitement. The whole event bore the energy of something born from sudden inspiration, carried forward by enthusiasm and the desire for spectacle rather than cautious planning.
Yet when it came to arranging the professors' exhibition match, the three headmasters found themselves at odds.
Dumbledore maintained firmly that Hogwarts' own staff were more than capable of providing a worthy display.
But the other two had not traveled lightly. They had deliberately chosen to bring along their finest duelists, men and women of formidable reputation, and they wished to use this occasion to prove to the wider wizarding world that the professors of their schools were no less accomplished than any at Hogwarts.
The difference in opinion quickly flared into a lively quarrel.
"This time, Professor Veiliss Nixia has accompanied us," said Madame Maxime, her voice ringing with calm authority. She raised her chin with quiet elegance, her silk-gloved fingers tapping lightly against the parchment list before her. "She is a dueling master, recognized and admired by the entire faculty and student body of Beauxbatons. If she is not allowed to take the stage, then it will be a loss for every student present here today."
Dumbledore's reply was gentle, yet firm, his voice carrying both warmth and unshakable resolve. "But we must remember, the purpose of this gathering is to kindle in our students a love and passion for magic, not to…"
"Not to flaunt strength?" Karkaroff cut across his words, a cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Albus, you and I both know that in times such as these, showing power is the best form of advertisement a school can offer."
His gaze darkened, like a shadow stretching across the parchment in his hands. His thin, bony finger came down hard upon the name of the Durmstrang professor written there. "Professor Baffelus represents the dueling tradition our school has upheld for generations. If he is not allowed to step onto the stage…" His voice trailed off, heavy with implication, leaving the rest unsaid but clear enough to all.
After a heated exchange, the three headmasters at last reached an agreement. It was decided that the professors of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would take the stage, delivering the final exhibition duel of the event, a performance meant to leave a lasting impression.
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When all the teachers and students had finally taken their seats, Dumbledore rose slowly from his chair. With calm steps he made his way to the platform woven entirely from living ivy, which seemed almost to breathe beneath the sunlight.
"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice rang out clear and steady, carrying effortlessly across the vast arena, "the dueling competition is about to begin. Today, six distinguished professors will present to us a performance duel of extraordinary brilliance. They are: from Hogwarts, Professor Severus Snape, Professor Filius Flitwick, Professor Minerva McGonagall, and Professor Sargeras Greengrass. From Beauxbatons, Professor Veiliss Nixia. And from Durmstrang, Professor Kurde Baffelus…"
With each name Dumbledore spoke, a fresh wave of cheers rolled through the stands, building higher and louder. By the time the final name was announced, the entire arena had transformed into a roaring sea of magic and voices, the air thrumming with heat and anticipation.
Just as Dumbledore was about to declare the arrangement of the exhibition, the sharp clatter of high heels striking stone broke into the moment. The rhythm was deliberate, every step meant to draw attention, and it was accompanied by a prim, affected little cough.
From the left side of the seating area, Dolores Umbridge appeared. She was wrapped in that unbearable pink cardigan of hers, waddling forward like a poisonous mushroom that had sprouted in the wrong soil.
Her face wore the same syrupy, cloying smile she always carried, and in her hand she held a long scroll of parchment, stamped from top to bottom with the seals of the Ministry of Magic.
"Good morning, most esteemed headmasters, professors, and students!"
Her greeting came in that high, girlishly sharp voice of hers, a voice that pierced the vast dueling arena like a squeaky hinge and set teeth on edge. "What a thrilling, invigorating morning this is! And of course, in order to ensure that this extraordinary occasion, this international exchange representing the very highest standards of the British wizarding world, is carried out in a manner both 'safe,' 'regulated,' and 'in full compliance' with proper procedures, the Ministry of Magic, under the profound care and guidance of Minister Fudge himself, has appointed me, Senior Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge, your Safety Supervisor, to deliver the latest and most authoritative directives."
Without sparing Dumbledore so much as a glance, she minced her way onto the platform and unrolled the parchment with a dramatic flourish. She cleared her throat with exaggerated primness and began to read aloud in that dreadful, affected voice that somehow managed to lull and irritate at the same time.
"Article One: All All participants, including the professors who are about to perform in the exhibition duel, are required to sign both the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement approved 'Safety Responsibility Pledge' and the 'Dueling Conduct Compliance Form' before the duel. Three copies of each must be made, one for the Ministry's archives, one for the school's records, and one to be retained by the individual. Failure to sign will result in immediate disqualification from appearing on stage."
Madame Maxime's brows drew together in a sharp frown. Rising from her seat, she fixed Umbridge with a grave, unyielding look. "Madame Umbridge, our Professor Nixia of Beauxbatons is not under the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic. In fact, none of our students, nor I myself, are British citizens. And I would add that Professor Nixia's experience and honors are in themselves the greatest guarantee of safety one could ask for. To force her to sign this mountain of redundant paperwork is nothing less than an insult to her professional competence."
"Oh, my dear Madame Maxime," Umbridge's smile did not falter in the slightest, but her eyes were devoid of warmth, "trust is a charming virtue, but regulations are essential. The Ministry must, after all, prepare for any and all possible… hmm… accidents. This is standard procedure, and it is, of course, for everyone's safety."
She drew out the word "safety," savoring it, pressing it like a blade against the air.
Karkaroff's face had already darkened, as though a storm cloud had settled over him. His voice was sharp and dripping with scorn. "Professor Baffelus' time is valuable. He did not come here to waste it scratching his name across piles of useless paper! No one upholds the tradition of dueling more faithfully than Durmstrang!"
"Tradition is indeed a priceless legacy, Headmaster Karkaroff," Umbridge replied sweetly, her voice sticky with sugar, "but times change. The Ministry has a duty to bring those traditions into a more modern and properly managed framework. Surely you must understand, this is about order, and order is necessary."
With a flick of her wand, a thick stack of documents appeared before the three headmasters, the ink still gleaming wet and pungent with the smell of fresh print.
Behind his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore's blue eyes regarded her quietly. His voice was calm, steady, without any trace of anger or impatience, only a quiet resignation. "Dolores, while this may be somewhat unnecessary… if it allows us to begin without further delay, I believe we can oblige and complete the paperwork."
He was the first to pick up a quill and, with practiced ease, sign his name at the bottom of the parchment.
Madame Maxime and Karkaroff exchanged a look full of distaste, heavy with shared annoyance, but in the end, with visible reluctance, they too bent forward and signed.
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[Chapter End's]
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