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Dumbledore sat behind his ornate desk, his fingers steepled as he surveyed the assembled group in his circular office. The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the room where Amelia Bones stood with her team of Aurors. Kingsley Shacklebolt's imposing frame filled one corner, while a younger Auror with nervous energy kept fidgeting with his wand holster. Nymphadora Tonks had positioned herself near the bookshelves, her hair a professional brown today, though Dumbledore noticed it had been cycling through subtle color changes since she'd arrived. Mad-Eye Moody occupied his usual spot by the fireplace, his magical eye spinning lazily while his normal eye fixed on each person in turn with characteristic suspicion.
Two days had passed since Fudge's letter about the "exciting enhancements" to the tournament, and Dumbledore felt the beginning of what promised to be a persistent headache forming behind his temples. As if the Triwizard Tournament wasn't already dangerous enough in its traditional form, the Minister had decided it needed theatrical improvements that would undoubtedly put Harry—and the other champions—in even greater peril.
"Well, Alastor," Amelia said, breaking the contemplative silence as she turned toward Moody with a slight smile, "how are you finding the transition from hunting Dark wizards to teaching children? I imagine it's quite a change of pace."
Moody snorted derisively, his scarred face twisting into what might have been amusement. "Teaching? Ha! More like trying to drill basic survival instincts into a bunch of cowards. Use one slightly dangerous spell in demonstration and most of them cower in fear like rabbits caught in wandlight."
Shacklebolt chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that seemed to resonate from his chest. "Come now, Alastor. You can't expect fourteen-year-olds to react like trained Aurors. They're still children."
"Children?" Moody's magical eye stopped its rotation to focus on Shacklebolt while his normal eye continued scanning the room. "I'm expecting them to act like men and women with spines, Kingsley. Half of them lack even that much backbone. I wonder how they manage to walk around upright without collapsing under their own cowardice."
The younger Auror—Davies, Dumbledore recalled—shifted uncomfortably. "Surely some of them show potential? Auror material, perhaps?"
Moody's laugh was harsh and grating. "Auror material? Most of them aren't fit for cleaning bathroom materials in the Ministry basement." His expression suddenly grew more serious, and he leaned forward slightly. "Though there is one exception. Potter."
The mention of Harry's name immediately captured everyone's attention. Tonks straightened from her casual position against the bookshelf, her hair flickering to a concerned shade of auburn, while Amelia's sharp eyes focused intently on the grizzled ex-Auror.
"The boy's got something the others lack," Moody continued, his voice taking on a note of grudging respect. "Strangely immune to the Imperius Curse, he is. Threw it off like it was nothing more than a mild suggestion."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Even Amelia Bones, renowned for her poker face and unflappable demeanor, couldn't quite hide the flash of shock that crossed her features before she regained her composure.
Tonks, however, was less successful at concealing her reaction. "You used an Unforgivable Curse on students?" she asked, her voice sharp with concern and disbelief. "Moody, that's—"
"The same thing I did to you during your training," Moody interrupted, his magical eye swiveling to fix on her. "Or have you forgotten those delightful sessions already, Nymphadora?"
Tonks flushed slightly, her hair darkening to an embarrassed brown. "That was different. That was Auror training, with proper safeguards and medical staff standing by. These are children in a classroom setting."
Moody shrugged his shoulders with characteristic indifference. "The kids need a little taste of the real world. Better they learn what they're up against now than discover it the hard way when some Death Eater decides to practice on them."
Davies, apparently emboldened by Tonks' challenge, leaned forward. "Why do you think Potter is immune? Did you perhaps... go easy on him? Given his reputation and all?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Moody's normal eye joined his magical one in fixing Davies with a glare that could have melted steel. The young Auror immediately wished he'd kept his mouth shut.
"Go easy?" Moody's voice was a low, dangerous growl. "You think I went easy on the Potter boy? Do you really think that, Davies?"
Davies swallowed hard and shook his head rapidly. "No, sir. Of course not, sir."
"Damn right I didn't," Moody snapped. "I hit him with the full curse, same as I'd use on any Dark wizard stupid enough to cross my path. And the boy threw it off like he was brushing lint off his robes."
He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully with a gnarled finger. "As for why he's immune... I haven't got the faintest idea. Maybe he's just got natural willpower stronger than most adult wizards. Or maybe," his voice took on a sardonic edge, "he spent years in Azkaban in secret and nobody bothered to mention it."
Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. "Azkaban? That's a rather dark theory, Alastor."
"Not as far-fetched as you might think," Moody replied seriously. "Everyone knows that prisoners who survive extended stays in Azkaban develop extraordinary mental resistance. Constant exposure to Dementors forces the mind to build defenses or break entirely. Those who don't go mad often emerge with minds like steel traps—immune to most forms of mental manipulation."
"You're suggesting that Harry Potter has somehow developed Azkaban-level mental fortitude?" Amelia asked, her tone carefully neutral though Dumbledore could see the wheels turning behind her eyes.
"I'm not suggesting anything," Moody said firmly. "I'm stating facts. The boy is immune to the Imperius Curse. Draw your own conclusions."
Dumbledore had remained silent throughout this exchange, but now he leaned forward slightly, his blue eyes twinkling with what might have been concern. "Amelia," he said gently, "what are your thoughts on the Goblet? Have you and your team reached any conclusions about how Harry's name came to emerge from it?"
Amelia straightened, slipping back into her professional demeanor. "My team needs more time to fully analyze something as complex as the Goblet of Fire. Perhaps another week or two before we can provide a complete report." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "However, I can say with confidence that I do not believe Mr. Potter placed his name in the Goblet himself, nor do I believe he convinced someone else to do it for him."
"Unless," she continued, her voice growing more serious, "that someone else was a wizard of the same caliber as yourself, Albus. Or Alastor here. The level of magical skill required to fool the Goblet's age detection and convince it to accept a fourth school... it would take someone with extraordinary ability."
Davies looked confused. "But surely there are other powerful wizards who could—"
"Not many," Shacklebolt interrupted quietly. "And most of them would have no reason to endanger a fourteen-year-old boy."
Tonks, who had been listening intently while her hair slowly shifted to a thoughtful purple, suddenly spoke up. "What about Karkaroff?" she said casually, though Dumbledore noticed the careful way she introduced the topic. "He was a Death Eater before he turned informant. Surely he'd have both the magical skill and the motivation."
Dumbledore saw several of the Aurors exchange meaningful glances. Moody's magical eye focused on Tonks with what might have been approval.
"Igor Karkaroff," Amelia mused, her tone thoughtful. "Yes, his past certainly makes him a person of interest. Though proving anything would be—"
Moody let out a harsh bark of laughter that cut through her words. "Karkaroff? That spineless worm?" His scarred face twisted with contempt. "The man sold his fellow Death Eaters like cattle at market to save his own miserable hide. He's about as useful as a chocolate cauldron and twice as likely to melt under pressure."
He paused, stroking his chin with a gnarled finger. "Besides, what would putting Potter's name in the Goblet gain him? The coward's spent the last thirteen years jumping at shadows, terrified that his former associates might come calling. He wouldn't risk drawing that kind of attention to himself."
Amelia nodded thoughtfully. "You make valid points, Alastor. Still, it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him during his stay here. A man with his history bears watching, regardless of whether he's involved in this particular incident."
"Aye," Moody agreed with a grunt. "Never hurts to watch the rats, even the ones that have already shown their true colors."
A moment of silence settled over the room before Moody's normal eye fixed on Dumbledore. "Though you know who I think put the name there, don't you, Albus?" he said quietly, his voice carrying a subtle challenge.
Dumbledore met his gaze steadily, his blue eyes twinkling with what might have been sadness. "I have complete faith in him, Alastor. Complete faith."
Moody's growl was low and dangerous. "That's your problem, old friend. You're too trusting by half. Always seeing light where there's nothing but darkness lurking in the shadows."
The tension between the two old wizards was palpable, and Davies looked between them with obvious confusion, clearly sensing undercurrents he didn't understand. Tonks' hair had shifted to an uncomfortable shade of gray, while Shacklebolt maintained his professional composure despite the charged atmosphere.
"There's also the question of why someone would want Harry in the tournament at all. What's the endgame?" Shacklebolt suddenly asked, breaking the tension between Moody and Albus.
"Could be any number of reasons," Moody said darkly. "Humiliation, injury, death—take your pick. The tournament's dangerous enough that any of those outcomes could be arranged to look accidental."
"Well," Amelia said finally, "this gives us several new avenues to investigate. I'll want to review all of Mr. Potter's interactions with potential suspects, and we'll need to delve deeper into the Goblet's magical signatures."
Dumbledore cleared his throat gently, drawing the attention back to himself. "There is one more matter we need to discuss," he said, his tone growing more serious. "Two days ago, I received a letter from Minister Fudge regarding the tournament."
Amelia's eyebrows rose slightly. "What letter? The Ministry hasn't issued any new directives about the tournament that I'm aware of."
Dumbledore reached into his robes and withdrew the official parchment, unfolding it carefully. "Perhaps you'd better read it yourself."
He handed the letter to Amelia, who took it with obvious curiosity. The room fell silent as she read out loud, her expression growing progressively darker with each line. By the time she finished, her jaw was set in a hard line and her eyes flashed with fury.
"What the hell was the Minister thinking?" Tonks burst out, her hair flashing to an indignant red. "Enhancements? Increased spectacle? These are students, not gladiators in some—"
She quickly fell silent when Amelia shot her a sharp look that could have frozen fire.
Amelia turned to face Moody, who had been watching the proceedings with obvious amusement. The grizzled ex-Auror chuckled darkly.
"Ah, our beloved Minister strikes again," Moody said with sardonic glee. "Cornelius Fudge, the man who makes Gilderoy Lockhart look competent by comparison. He's got all the political acumen of a drunken house-elf and the backbone of a soggy biscuit. Give him a simple problem and he'll turn it into a multi-departmental catastrophe faster than you can say 'bureaucratic nightmare.'"
Moody's magical eye spun lazily as he continued. "The man's idea of taking decisive action is forming a committee to discuss the possibility of maybe considering thinking about doing something eventually. I've seen more spine in a bowl of soup and more brain power in a dead flobberworm."
Despite how things were going, Davies had to stifle a snort of laughter at Moody's colorful assessment.
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "Amelia, do you have any idea what these 'enhancements' might entail? Any rumors or whispers within the Ministry?"
Amelia shook her head grimly. "This is completely new to me. He must have made this decision very recently—perhaps within hours of my team and I leaving the Ministry three days ago. The fact that he didn't consult with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is... troubling."
Shacklebolt frowned. "Have you informed Madame Maxime and Karkaroff about this development?"
"Not yet," Dumbledore admitted. "I suspect they won't be particularly pleased with unexpected changes to the tournament format."
Moody's scarred face twisted into what might have been a grin. "True, but this could also be an opportunity. Whatever half-baked scheme Fudge has cooked up might actually work in favor of the foreign schools. Their champions are older, more experienced. Any increase in danger or complexity could give them an even greater advantage."
Tonks' hair had shifted to an anxious purple. "What about Harry?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual but failing to hide her concern entirely.
Dumbledore's eyes met hers for just a moment—a brief exchange. "Harry will need to train even harder," he said simply. "Whatever Mr. Fudge has planned, our young champion must be as prepared as possible."
Only Tonks fully understood the weight behind those words.
"The timing is particularly unfortunate," Amelia said, folding the letter. "We're still investigating how Mister Potter's name entered the Goblet in the first place, and now we have to contend with unknown variables being introduced to the competition itself."
"Unknown variables," Davies repeated slowly. "That's one way to put it. Sounds more like we're flying blind into a storm."
"Welcome to dealing with politicians, lad," Moody growled. "They specialize in creating problems that other people have to solve."
Shacklebolt crossed his arms thoughtfully. "The question is whether these changes will affect our investigation. If Fudge is modifying the tournament structure, it might provide additional cover for whoever orchestrated Harry's entry."
"Or it might force their hand earlier than planned," Tonks suggested, her Auror training evident in her tactical thinking. "If they were counting on the traditional tournament format for their scheme, sudden changes could disrupt their timeline."
"An interesting point," Dumbledore mused. "Though it does raise the question of whether we're dealing with one conspiracy or two entirely separate agendas."
Amelia stood up from her chair. "I think we've covered the main points for now. The investigation will continue, and we'll monitor the situation with the Minister's... enhancements... as more information becomes available."
She turned to face Dumbledore directly. "Albus, might I have a word with you privately? There's a small administrative matter I'd like to discuss."
Dumbledore nodded graciously. "Of course, Amelia. Gentlemen, Nymphadora, thank you for your time and insights today."
Moody hauled himself to his feet with a grunt, his peg leg thumping against the floor. "Right then. Back to trying to teach children how not to get themselves killed. Though at this rate, I'm not sure which is more dangerous—the Dark Arts or Fudge's political ambitions."
Shacklebolt chuckled as he headed toward the door. "I'll take Dark wizards over politicians any day. At least with Dark wizards, you know they're trying to kill you."
"Too true, Kingsley," Moody agreed. "Too bloody true."
Davies and the other Aurors filed out behind them, leaving Tonks to bring up the rear. She paused at the doorway, glancing back at Dumbledore with concern before following her colleagues out of the office.
Once the door had closed behind them, Amelia settled back into her chair and fixed Dumbledore with a penetrating stare. The pleasant administrative facade she'd worn during the group meeting evaporated, replaced by the sharp, calculating expression of one of the Ministry's most effective department heads.
"Now then, Albus," she said, her voice taking on a deceptively casual tone. "Would you care to explain why my Auror, Nymphadora Tonks, has been spending so much time with Harry Potter?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with what might have been innocent confusion. "Ah, well, young people do tend to find each other's company agreeable, don't they? Though I suppose a five-year age gap might raise a few eyebrows among the more traditional members of our community."
Amelia's expression didn't change, but one eyebrow rose fractionally. "Albus, please. We both know this has nothing to do with teenage romance. Nymphadora is a professional Auror, not a schoolgirl with a crush."
"Indeed she is," Dumbledore agreed pleasantly. "A very capable young woman with excellent instincts and a strong moral compass. Exactly the sort of person one might hope would take an interest in the welfare of a student facing extraordinary circumstances."
"Extraordinary circumstances," Amelia repeated slowly. "Such as being mysteriously entered into a deadly tournament against his will?"
"Among other things, yes," Dumbledore said with a slight nod. "One might argue that any adult with a sense of responsibility would feel compelled to offer guidance to such a young person."
Amelia leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled in a mirror of Dumbledore's earlier posture. "And this guidance would naturally take the form of... what, exactly? Long private conversations? Extended periods away from his studies?"
"Oh, I'm sure it varies," Dumbledore said airily. "Perhaps discussions about career prospects in law enforcement. The challenges of transitioning from academic learning to practical application. The importance of developing one's natural talents through focused practice."
"Focused practice," Amelia said, her tone growing drier by the moment. "How wonderfully vague."
"I've always found that young people benefit most from personalized attention," Dumbledore replied with unwavering serenity. "One size fits all approaches rarely address individual needs effectively."
Amelia studied his face for a long moment, clearly weighing her options. "You know, Albus, in my experience, when someone goes to great lengths to avoid directly answering a question, it's usually because the direct answer would be... problematic."
"I prefer to think of it as diplomatically complex," Dumbledore countered smoothly. "After all, we live in an age where good intentions can be misconstrued and helpful actions might be viewed through unnecessarily suspicious lenses."
"Suspicious lenses," Amelia mused. "Like the kind that might wonder whether Hogwarts' headmaster has arranged for one of my Aurors to provide unofficial training to a tournament champion, in direct violation of the competition's rules?"
Dumbledore's expression remained perfectly calm. "What an interesting theory. Though I'm sure you'd agree that proving such a thing would require rather more evidence than mere speculation about time spent and conversations observed."
"Indeed it would," Amelia agreed. "It would require, for instance, detailed surveillance, witness testimony, or perhaps catching the parties involved in the act of said rule-breaking."
"All of which would be rather resource-intensive for the Ministry," Dumbledore pointed out gently. "Particularly when those resources might be better allocated to investigating more pressing matters. Such as how a fourteen-year-old boy's name came to emerge from an ancient magical artifact that should have been impossible to fool."
Amelia's smile was sharp as a blade. "You make an excellent point about resource allocation, Albus. Though I do find myself wondering about the safety implications of having only a limited Auror presence at Hogwarts during such... turbulent times."
"Safety is certainly a paramount concern," Dumbledore agreed readily. "Particularly given the unknown variables that Mr. Fudge seems intent on introducing to an already volatile situation."
"Exactly my thinking," Amelia said with satisfaction. "Which is why I've decided that Nymphadora Tonks will be remaining at Hogwarts to ensure student safety, even after we complete our analysis of the Goblet of Fire. A indefinite assignment, you might say."
"How wonderfully proactive of you," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with genuine appreciation. "I'm sure the students will benefit greatly from her continued presence."
"I'm quite certain they will," Amelia replied, standing and smoothing down her robes. "Particularly those students who might be facing... extraordinary circumstances in the near future."
As she headed toward the door, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder. "Oh, and Albus? Do give my regards to young Harry. I do hope his training—excuse me, his studies—continue to progress satisfactorily."
"I shall be sure to pass along your kind regards," Dumbledore replied with a slight bow. "And Amelia? Thank you. For everything."
The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Dumbledore alone with his thoughts and the growing certainty that Harry Potter had just gained a very powerful ally, even if she would never admit it officially.
Harry Potter - Tomorrow
Harry was making his way down the familiar stone corridor toward the library, his mind half-focused on the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay he needed to finish and half-wandering to thoughts of silver light and mysterious magic he couldn't reproduce. The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows that danced across the ancient stones as students hurried past in small groups, their voices echoing off the walls.
"Harry!" Hermione's voice called from behind him, and he turned to see her jogging to catch up, her arms full of books as usual. Her bushy hair was slightly disheveled from hurrying, and she had that determined expression that meant she had something important to discuss.
"How are things going with Auror Tonks?" she asked breathlessly as she fell into step beside him. Two days ago, Harry had finally told her about the pink-haired Auror who had offered to help with his tournament preparation.
"She's... she's training me well," Harry replied distractedly, his thoughts momentarily drifting to the strange silver phenomenon that had appeared when he'd practiced his wand movements alone. He still hadn't mentioned it to anyone, not even Hermione, though he wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to keep it secret.
As they walked, Harry began to notice something odd about the atmosphere in the castle. Students around his age and older seemed unusually animated, chattering excitedly in groups with bright smiles and an energy that spoke of anticipated plans. Third, Fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh years were huddled together, their conversations punctuated by laughter and gesturing that suggested they were discussing something particularly exciting.
"Am I missing something?" Harry asked, frowning as he watched a group of fifth-year Ravenclaw girls practically bouncing on their feet as they talked. "Everyone seems... happier than usual."
Hermione's face lit up with understanding. "Oh! I forgot you wouldn't know—next weekend is another Hogsmeade visit. The first one since term started. Everyone's making plans."
Harry felt his stomach drop as if he'd just stepped off a particularly tall cliff. "Hogsmeade," he repeated flatly.
"Yes," Hermione continued, seemingly oblivious to his darkening mood. "Lavender and Parvati have been planning their shopping route for days. Ginny's excited about going to Zonko's with the twins, and quite a few girls from other houses are organizing group trips too. Susan Bones was talking about trying some new sweet shop that opened over the summer."
Harry clenched his teeth, feeling a familiar surge of frustration and bitter disappointment wash over him. He wanted to go to Hogsmeade desperately—wanted to experience the normalcy of wandering through the magical village with his friends, visiting shops, perhaps even working up the courage to talk to Cho Chang outside the pressured environment of school. The longing was so sharp it almost took his breath away.
This felt exactly like last year all over again, when Professor McGonagall had refused his plea to visit the village because of the supposed threat from Sirius Black—who had turned out to be his innocent godfather rather than a dangerous escaped prisoner. The irony still stung. Except this time it wasn't because he didn't have permission, but because of the blasted Triwizard Tournament and him being very underprepared for this.
"What about you?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice casual despite the churning in his stomach. "Who are you going with?"
Hermione's expression shifted slightly, becoming more subdued. "Oh, I'm not going actually. I thought I'd stay here and help you with your tournament research. We still haven't covered nearly enough ground on historical challenges, and there are several books in the Restricted Section that—"
"No," Harry said firmly, stopping dead in the middle of the corridor, turning to face her. "Absolutely not."
Hermione turned to face him, blinking in surprise. "What do you mean, no?"
"I mean you're going to Hogsmeade with your friends, and you're not staying here because of me," Harry said, his voice growing more determined with each word.
"Harry, don't be ridiculous," Hermione protested, shifting her books to one arm so she could gesture emphatically. "The tournament is far more important than a shopping trip. We need to use every available moment to prepare you for whatever they're going to throw at you."
"And we will," Harry said. "But not at the expense of you having a normal social life. You've already sacrificed enough of your free time helping me with this mess."
"It's not a sacrifice," Hermione argued, her voice rising slightly. "You're my...best friend, Harry. Of course I want to help you survive this tournament. A few hours browsing shops in Hogsmeade hardly compares to your life being in danger."
"Hermione—"
"Besides," she continued, warming to her argument, "someone needs to keep you company. Ron's still being an absolute prat about the whole thing, and I won't have you sitting alone in the castle while everyone else is having fun."
Harry felt a surge of affection for her, mixed with equal parts gratitude and exasperation. "I won't be alone," he pointed out. "I have Tonks here. I can train with her, practice the spells she's been teaching me. It'll actually be good to have some uninterrupted time to work on my technique."
"That's not the same as having proper company," Hermione said stubbornly.
Harry could see that rational argument wasn't going to work, so he decided to resort to more drastic measures. "Fine," he said, crossing his arms and giving her his most serious expression. "If you don't go to Hogsmeade with the girls, I swear I won't touch a single book for three whole days. No studying, no research, no tournament preparation whatsoever."
Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "Harry James Potter, you wouldn't dare!"
"Try me," Harry said with grim determination. "I'll spend the entire time playing Wizard's Chess with myself or staring at the ceiling. Complete academic strike until you agree to have some fun for once."
"That's emotional blackmail!" Hermione protested.
"That's caring about my friend's happiness," Harry countered. "The same way you care about keeping me alive."
They stared at each other for a long moment, engaged in a battle of wills that could have powered half the castle's magical lighting. Harry could practically see the wheels turning in Hermione's head as she weighed her options and realized that he was, in fact, stubborn enough to follow through on his threat.
"This is completely unfair," she said finally, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Life's unfair," Harry replied with a slight grin. "But that doesn't mean we can't try to grab whatever happiness we can find."
Hermione groaned dramatically, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling as if appealing to higher powers for patience. "Fine. FINE. I'll go with the girls to Hogsmeade."
"Good," Harry said, feeling genuinely pleased for the first time since the conversation had started.
"But," Hermione continued, pointing a stern finger at him, "I'm bringing you back sweets from Honeydukes. And a new quill from Scrivenshaft's. And probably something completely unnecessary from Zonko's because Ginny will insist."
Harry nodded, feeling suddenly numb as the reality of the situation hit him. She would be there—in the village he'd dreamed of visiting properly, among the shops and pubs and magical atmosphere he'd only glimpsed briefly during his third year. She'd be wandering through Honeydukes, perhaps sampling chocolate from the same display cases he'd pressed his face against as a child. She'd be laughing with friends in the Three Broomsticks while he remained trapped in the castle like some sort of magical prisoner.
His mind involuntarily wandered to the girls Hermione would be spending time with. Lavender Brown with her easy laugh and golden brown hair, Parvati Patil with her elegant features and infectious enthusiasm, Ginny Weasley with her fierce spirit and growing confidence. They were all beautiful in their own ways, but if Harry was being honest with himself, his thoughts kept drifting to one person in particular.
Cho Chang. The Ravenclaw Seeker with her glossy black hair and graceful movements, her quick wit and genuine kindness. Harry had admired her from afar for months now, stealing glances during Quidditch matches and feeling his heart skip whenever she smiled in his direction. The thought of her wandering through Hogsmeade, perhaps stopping at the bookshop she'd mentioned, made his chest tight with longing and frustration.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice cut through his reverie, and he realized she was studying his face with concern. "Are you all right? You look a bit... distant."
Before Harry could respond, rapid footsteps echoed down the corridor behind them. They turned to see Ginny Weasley hurrying toward them, her red hair flying behind her and her face flushed with what looked like excitement mixed with urgency.
"What are you two doing standing around here?" she asked breathlessly as she reached them. "Didn't you hear? Professor McGonagall's been looking for students to pass along the message."
Harry felt a familiar prickle of apprehension. In his experience, urgent messages at Hogwarts rarely brought good news. "What message?"
Ginny's eyes were bright with curiosity and a hint of worry. "Dumbledore's calling an emergency assembly in the Great Hall. Everyone's supposed to report there immediately—students and staff. Something about an important announcement regarding the tournament."
"Did McGonagall say what kind of announcement?" Hermione asked, her academic mind immediately seeking more information.
"No details," Ginny replied, shaking her head. "Just that it was urgent and everyone needed to be there. The whole castle's buzzing about it—nobody knows what's going on, but the professors all look either worried or annoyed. Some combination of both, really."
Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione, seeing his own apprehension reflected in her brown eyes. Whatever was coming, he had the sinking feeling that his life was about to become significantly more complicated.
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