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After a brief rest, Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour once again stepped into the dueling platform, this time to fight for the honor of second place.
The two of them traded spell for spell, weaving and clashing in a contest of dazzling precision and fierce determination. Sparks flashed, robes whipped in the air, and the crowd held its breath as neither showed any sign of yielding. At last, almost as though moved by the same thought, both raised their wands in unison. Twin streaks of crimson light burst forth, the Disarming Charm leaping from their wands with perfect simultaneity.
The spells struck true. Two radiant bolts met flesh at the same instant, and in a heartbeat both Cedric and Fleur found their wands flung high from their grasp, spinning in the air before clattering onto the floor.
The hall erupted. Such a dramatic conclusion could not have been scripted.
Professor McGonagall, who had been presiding with her usual strict poise, raised her voice at once. She declared the result a draw, and so Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour were to share the title of runner-up in the Triwizrad Dueling Tournament.
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The Great Hall, which only hours before had been filled with the tension of competition, now brimmed with warmth and cheer.
The long house tables had been cleared away, replaced with round tables better suited for easy conversation, and groaning buffets lined with platters of food that gleamed in the candlelight. The air was thick with the mingling scents of roast meats, buttery pies, and sweet pumpkin juice, while the voices of hundreds of students rose and overlapped in a lively chorus of excitement, laughter, and the faint undercurrent of farewell.
Fleur Delacour sat at the heart of one such circle, surrounded by an eager cluster of girls from both Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. Her silvery laughter chimed like music above the general clamor, carrying easily through the hall.
With her usual effortless grace, she lifted her wand and demonstrated a bit of charmcraft. At its tip, delicate frost gathered and took shape, blossoming into the form of a rose. Petals of translucent ice unfurled one by one, shimmering faintly as though lit from within by pale starlight.
"It's so beautiful!"
The words slipped out in an awed sigh from Astoria, the young Hogwarts student. Fleur smiled and, with a light motion, placed the icy rose into the girl's waiting hands.
"Oh, mademoiselle, we can do that too!" George Weasley, who had been watching with mischievous delight, immediately bounded into the circle. A broad grin split his face as he raised his wand with a flourish.
With a casual flick, a sunflower burst into existence. Its petals were golden and bright, swaying as though caught in a summer breeze. Only, this flower was no ordinary conjuration. Its great head began to loll from side to side, and in the next moment it lifted its voice in an absurd, off-key tune, belting out a song in a comically exaggerated tone.
"Oi, George! Why are you hogging all the spotlight?" came a familiar voice right behind him. Fred strode over, slinging an arm around his twin's shoulder with an expression that was equal parts mischief and challenge. His trademark grin widened as he added, "A flower that only sings? That's far too dull. Watch how it's really done."
He tapped the sunflower smartly with the tip of his wand.
At once, the sunflower seemed to spring to life. Its stalk bent and twisted like a spine suddenly gifted with joints, and its bright petals began flapping wildly in every direction. Still shrieking its ridiculous song, it now lurched into a clumsy, manic dance, jerking about so ridiculously that the surrounding girls doubled over in laughter, clutching their sides.
"By the way," George said suddenly, as though struck by inspiration. He turned toward one of the senior Beauxbatons girls nearby and asked, "Where did Professor Nixia from your school go? We were hoping to give her this fiery little performer as a farewell gift."
Fred nodded along vigorously, his face the very picture of 'sincerity.'
The Beauxbatons girl glanced around with a teasing smile. "I'm not sure. She was here a moment ago. I saw her at the start of the banquet… perhaps she went off to speak with the headmasters?"
"Ah, what a shame!" the twins chorused in perfect unison. With mock disappointment, they stuffed the still-wriggling, still-singing sunflower into George's pocket, where it continued to thrash and croon muffled nonsense.
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Not far away, at another round table, Hermione Granger leaned in close, lowering her voice as she spoke to Harry and Ron. "Did you hear? The tournament has been officially renamed. From now on it's the 'Inter-School Dueling Championship,' and they're making it a regular event to be held every year."
"Really? Who told you that?" Ron asked through a mouthful of roast chicken, his cheeks bulging as his wide eyes fixed on her with barely contained excitement.
"Just a whisper, but a reliable one," Hermione replied, lifting a glass of pumpkin juice with calm assurance. "They say it's the result of a meeting between the three headmasters earlier this evening."
"Is that so?" Harry frowned slightly, his gaze wandering across the crowded hall. "Strange. Ever since the final duel this afternoon, I haven't seen Professor Dumbledore. And… come to think of it, Professor Greengrass seems to have disappeared as well. You don't suppose something's happened to him, do you?"
"Why would you say that?" Ron asked, swallowing down the last of his food. His tone was confused, though his curiosity had clearly been piqued.
"Umbridge," Hermione whispered, lowering her voice so only her friends could hear. There was a thread of worry in her tone. "We all saw what happened. She actually had her finger cut off by Professor Greengrass…"
"She had it coming!" Ron stabbed his fork into a fat sausage, his face full of indignation. "I've never seen such a vile woman in my entire life! From the very beginning she has been trying to sabotage the whole tournament!"
"But still…" Harry's brow furrowed with unease. His voice was quieter now, carrying a weight of concern. "She's with the Ministry, isn't she? And not just some nobody. What was her position again?"
"Senior Undersecretary of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Fudge's favorite lapdog," Hermione answered at once, her words quick and precise. "For Professor Greengrass to do that to her in front of everyone… the Ministry isn't going to let this pass quietly. He could be in real trouble over it."
"They ought to think twice before picking a fight!" Ron retorted, brushing her fears aside with the kind of blind confidence that came easily to him when it concerned people he admired. "Professor Greengrass isn't the kind of professor you can push around. You saw it with your own eyes… he's easily the strongest professor at Hogwarts."
"I'm not denying his strength, Ron," Hermione replied patiently, her tone firm but calm. "But the problem isn't his dueling ability. It's that he's up against the entire Ministry's bureaucracy, and Cornelius Fudge on top of that—"
"Don't worry about it, Hermione," Ron cut across her, speaking with an almost smug certainty. "You're forgetting, this isn't the first time people have complained about Professor Greengrass. They said his teaching methods were too extreme, that he made students practice spells that were too advanced. And yet nothing ever came of it. He knows how to handle these things! Besides…"
He lowered his voice conspiratorially, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of gossip. "Isn't he friends with Professor Nixia? And I don't just mean her. He must have other connections… people with real influence."
Harry nodded, quick to side with him. "Exactly. For all we know, that's what they are working on right now, sorting this whole mess out. Just look around. None of the professors are even in the hall tonight."
He gestured toward the high table, where every seat sat completely empty.
"Oh-ho-ho! What's this I hear? Professors nowhere in sight?"
A shrill, singsong voice suddenly cut across their hushed conversation. From beneath the table, a strange head suddenly popped up through the wooden surface, as though phasing straight out of thin air. The jester's hat it wore jingled with tiny bells, and beneath it Peeves' grinning face gleamed with malicious delight.
The three young wizards froze at once, caught completely off guard.
"You… what do you want?" Ron was the first to recover. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and his voice came out shaky despite his attempt at bravado. "I'm warning you, Peeves — you… you shouldn't be here! This is a farewell feast!"
"You don't get to tell Lord Peeves where he can or cannot be!"
With a sharp swoop, Peeves shot forward until his nose was almost pressed against Ron's. His wild eyes glittered, and every syllable he spat out was full of manic delight. "Lord Peeves goes where he pleases! Lord Peeves does whatever he wants! Especially when—" his grin split wider, "all the professors have vanished! Wahahahaha!"
Before the echo of his mad laughter had even died away, and while all three of them stared in horrified disbelief, Peeves plunged both hands deep into the impossibly swollen pockets of his baggy trousers. What he pulled out was not just a handful of trinkets. It came spilling forth as an avalanche, an entire mountain of pranking contraptions.
Tickling powder spilled in clouds of glittery dust. Filthy dung bombs clattered out, sparking and popping with menace. Quills dribbled ink in thin black rivulets even without parchment to write on. Sticky bubblegum bombs, fat and pulsing like toads, rolled free. Plastic cockroaches with snapping jaws clattered across the table in twitching swarms. And in between them, a kaleidoscope of firecrackers and colored fireworks hissed and sizzled, looking far too unstable to be handled safely.
The heap crashed onto the table in a noisy cascade, like a miniature rockslide, burying Hermione's pumpkin juice and toppling Ron's half-eaten chicken leg beneath a tide of chaotic junk.
"Tonight," Peeves bellowed, somersaulting gleefully in midair, "is Lord Peeves' night of revelry!"
He snatched up a massive stink bomb, its surface glowing an ominous sickly green while trails of smoke hissed and curled from it. His voice rang high with glee, echoing off the hall's stone walls. "Nobody can stop me! Let's begin with… oh! Look at that! My favorite victims, the nasty little Gryffindor brats! Yes, yes, you three! Try my very own 'Midnight Horror Party Pack'! Catch… if you can!"
He raised the crackling green bomb high over his head, clearly intending to smash it down on their table and their pile of food with all the force he could muster. The air stank already, thick with the acrid, sulfurous reek wafting off the thing.
"NO—!" Hermione screamed, her voice cutting sharp with panic.
"RUN!" Harry shouted, lunging to grab her by the arm.
Ron, meanwhile, could only stare in despair as the last sight of his beloved chicken leg disappeared beneath the sea of cursed trinkets.
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[Chapter End's]
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