Chapter 319: The Triwizard Tournament
That gaze was too terrifying, like being locked onto by a soaring eagle, as if it would swoop down and tear at him in the next second.
The arrogant air the pretty boy had earlier instantly dissipated by more than half.
"Hmph, don't think you're so great just because you're some kind of Youth Wizard representative!" Draco swallowed, his voice trembling slightly, his face pale, but it was clearly a facade of bravery, "A Mudblood like you will be dealt with one day!"
He spoke harsh words, but after saying them, he unconsciously took half a step back.
"Expelliarmus!"
As soon as Dylan's voice fell, a dazzling holy light quickly flew towards Draco.
His magic strength was very high, even compared to Dumbledore, it might not be much weaker.
So even if he deliberately held back and controlled the force, the spell's speed was still incredibly fast, carrying a powerful impact.
Draco didn't even have time to raise his wand to defend before the holy light hit his chest.
He only felt a huge force strike him, and his body instantly lost balance.
It was clearly an Expelliarmus.
Yet, he flew backward like a kite with a broken string.
With a "thud"!
He crashed into the corridor wall outside the compartment door and slid to the ground.
Crabbe and Goyle behind him were half a beat slow in reacting, but they were also affected by the aftershock of the spell, stumbling and falling, landing on top of Draco.
"Get up! Get up now!" Draco struggled to his feet, licking his somewhat pale lips with his tongue, his face extremely grim.
Crabbe and Goyle quickly got up, then stepped forward, supporting him one on each side.
He glared viciously at Dylan, Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the compartment.
"You all just wait! My father won't let you off!"
Draco left a threatening remark, his voice trembling slightly from anger and pain.
After speaking, he dared not linger any longer, stumbling away down the corridor with Crabbe and Goyle, even his retreating figure looking disheveled.
Ron watched them disappear, couldn't help but shiver, and reached out to touch his arm: "What's wrong with him today? He actually dared to come and provoke us."
Harry also nodded, his tone full of confusion: "Yeah, for the past three years, even if he wanted to cause trouble, as long as Dylan was around, he never dared to be presumptuous."
"But today, not only did he come, he went straight for Dylan? Is he crazy?"
Both felt that Draco's behavior today was unusually abnormal, completely inconsistent with his usual bullying of the weak and fearing the strong.
Dylan, however, didn't pay much attention to Draco's insults, merely sitting in his seat, deep in thought.
He was trying to find a reason for Draco's abnormal behavior just now.
In fact, Draco grew up in the Slytherin environment from a young age.
And was indoctrinated with the House of Malfoy's "pure-blood supremacy" ideology.
He inherently harbored prejudice against Wizards of Muggle origin.
But in the past, no matter how arrogant he was, he understood how to weigh strength and would not actively provoke someone clearly stronger than himself.
Could it be that the riots after the Quidditch World Cup affected him?
Or… has Lucius already met Lord Voldemort?
Dylan gradually formed a guess in his mind.
If Lucius had truly rejoined Lord Voldemort, he would certainly reveal something to Draco, making him feel that the House of Malfoy had a backer again, which would give him the audacity to provoke him so recklessly.
After all, in Draco's eyes, his father's support was his greatest confidence, enough to give him the illusion that "he's back in business."
Thinking of this, a hint of a smile appeared in Dylan's eyes.
It seems that Lord Voldemort's forces will indeed resurface in the dark, and even the House of Malfoy has started to make moves. The coming days, for others, might not be peaceful.
However, for him, this meant a lot of resources and test subjects!
The Hogwarts Express gradually slowed down, the sound of wheels rubbing against the tracks becoming lighter and lighter.
Finally, accompanied by a long and deep whistle, it steadily stopped at the platform of Hogsmeade Station.
Outside the train window, large raindrops were falling densely, the sky was covered by heavy dark clouds, and from time to time, a silver-white lightning bolt tore across the sky, briefly illuminating the dim platform.
Students who had gotten off earlier mostly didn't have umbrellas and were drenched, their school uniforms clinging to their bodies, hair dripping water, only able to run frantically under the station eaves, clutching their book bags.
Dylan stood up, walked to the carriage door, raised his wand towards his head and the heads of Harry, Ron, and Hermione beside him, and softly chanted: "Obstacles!"
A transparent, invisible barrier instantly formed, moving synchronously with the four as they moved. Rainwater falling on the barrier immediately diverted to both sides, not even a speck of moisture touching their clothes.
Then, he pointed his wand at the ground.
The muddy and footprint-filled path, which had become impassable due to the rain, quickly solidified and hardened under the spell, transforming into a flat, bluish-grey flagstone path in the blink of an eye.
Although the surface of the flagstones still had a damp sheen, it would no longer get people's feet muddy. Students who got off the train later walked on the flagstone path, unable to help but show surprised expressions.
Outside the station, several Thestral carriages were already waiting there.
Dylan looked at the group of gaunt Thestrals.
Their bodies were covered with sparse black feathers, their wings dry, their eyes hollow, yet they exuded a mysterious power.
He couldn't help but recall how he had previously extracted dozens of tubes of blood from Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest.
The blood was a peculiar silver-grey, much thicker than ordinary animal blood.
At the time, he detected that the vitality contained within it was not much weaker than the blood of long-lived Vampires.
It was a good raw material for Potions.
Dylan looked at the Thestrals, heads down, munching on hay, faithfully pulling the carriages, and smiled slightly.
Those dozens of tubes of blood wouldn't last long, and they were just about used up recently.
It seems he could visit the Forbidden Forest a few more times to borrow some more blood from these little fellows.
The carriage moved forward through the rain.
Soon, the huge silhouette of Hogwarts Castle appeared before them.
Black towers pierced through the clouds, and warm yellow lights shone from the windows.
Dylan got off the carriage and, along with a group of drenched students looking like drowned rats, quickly walked through the Castle gates.
As soon as he stepped into the entrance hall, he saw Old Deng's standing not far away.
He raised his wand and waved it lightly, and a blurry, pale blue light door immediately appeared at the entrance to the Great Hall.
Students passed through the light door one by one, and the rainwater on their bodies instantly disappeared, their soaked school uniforms becoming dry and soft, and even their hair regained its fluffiness.
It felt as if even if they had ten kilograms of rainwater on them, it would all be thoroughly dried by this magic.
Inside the Great Hall, the teachers were already seated behind the long tables.
Snape, wearing his signature black robes, still had a face so gloomy it looked like it was about to drip water, his brow tightly furrowed, clearly in an extremely bad mood.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts Class Professor position he had coveted for years had been snatched by someone else again this year, and he still hadn't gotten his wish.
"That damned old busybody!"
Snape cursed silently in his heart, his eyes filled with resentment, "He'd rather give the position to an outsider than grant it to me!"
He clenched his hands under the table, his knuckles white.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore, whom he called "the old busybody," was sitting smilingly at the center of the teachers' table, his white beard slightly upturned, his gaze gently sweeping over the bustling students in the Great Hall, completely unaware of Snape's complaints beside him.
In fact, even if he had noticed, he would probably just pretend not to see it.
He had long grown accustomed to Snape's obsession with teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts Class.
The real Alastor Moody was not sitting in the usual teacher's seat, but rather directly perched on a high wooden table at the front of the classroom.
His face was covered with crisscrossing scars, one of which extended from his forehead to his chin, looking particularly hideous.
His iconic magical eye rotated constantly in its socket, its silver iris reflecting the candlelight of the Great Hall, sweeping over every corner below the stage, scrutinizing the students of Hogwarts, not even the little wizard hiding in the back rows escaping its gaze.
Seeing him in this state, many students below showed expressions of fear.
A few timid first-years even secretly shrank behind their companions, and others exchanged glances, vying to move to seats further away from the podium.
After all, no one wanted to be stared at by that eerie magical eye for a long time.
Moody saw these small movements clearly but paid no mind to them at all.
He simply rested one hand on the table, while the other toyed with his wand, his eyes containing the sharp intensity characteristic of an Auror.
Soon, Professor McGonagall stepped forward and placed a three-legged stool on the clear space in front of the first-year students.
The stool looked a bit old, with some wood grain stains still clinging to its legs.
She then took out a Wizard's hat from her cloth bag.
The hat was tattered, its brim heavily worn, its surface covered in a lot of dust, and patched with several different colored pieces of fabric, making it look as if it had been discarded for a long time, completely out of place in the magnificent Great Hall.
The first-year students stared blankly at the hat, their eyes full of confusion.
Earlier, on the Hogwarts Express, Fred and George, the Weasley twins, had spread their impromptu "Sorting Conspiracy Theory" everywhere.
They claimed that the Sorting ceremony at Hogwarts held a secret, possibly even related to Dark Wizards.
These words had left the already nervous new students in a state of panic, and they had spent the entire journey worrying about what strange methods the Sorting would use, with some even fearing they would be asked to perform dangerous magic tests.
Now, seeing only an ordinary old hat, the new students all breathed a long sigh of relief, and their eyes were full of resentment when they looked in the direction of Fred and George.
These two red-haired upperclassmen actually tricked them with such a thing, making them worry for nothing the whole way; it was simply too much!
Just then, the Great Hall suddenly fell silent.
Following that, a crack near the brim of the old hat slowly opened, like a small mouth, and then a melodious song emerged.
It was over a thousand years ago, when I was first woven into being,
By four renowned Wizards, whose stories are still remembered today.
Brave and fearless Gryffindor, from that barren marshland,
Intelligent and beautiful Ravenclaw, from that tranquil riverbank,
Kind and benevolent Hufflepuff, from that open valley floor,
Shrewd and decisive Slytherin, from that dark and muddy fen.
They shared a common dream, and held the same wish,
To devise a bold plan, to nurture young Wizards to grow and transform,
Hogwarts School of magic, thus established in the valley.
These four great Wizards, each founded their own House,
They held different emphases and insights regarding students' talents.
Gryffindor always believed that the bravest souls should receive the highest praise,
Ravenclaw firmly believed that the most intelligent minds always find the longest path,
Hufflepuff sincerely felt that the most diligent figures were worthy of entering the House's door,
Slytherin, however, favored young people with great ambition, willing to go all out for their goals.
During the years the four great Wizards were alive, they personally selected their favored disciples,
But when they lay in eternal sleep, how would excellent successors be chosen?
It was Gryffindor who first came up with a method, taking me from his head,
All four founders imbued me with their thoughts, and from then on, I would judge and select!
Alright, now place me firmly on your head,
I have never been wrong about anyone,
Let me carefully look into your mind,
And decide which House you belong to!
As the song ended, after a brief silence in the Great Hall, warm applause erupted, and even Moody uncharacteristically clapped his hands softly.
In truth, the Sorting Hat's song was not particularly melodious; its tune was sometimes off-key, sometimes drawn out, but no one cared about these things.
Everyone respected it from the bottom of their hearts.
One must know that, in a magical world generally lacking musical talent,
This old hat could manage to compose a new song almost every year, and accurately align it with the history and current situation of Hogwarts; this persistence and creativity were truly rare.
The applause gradually subsided.
Professor McGonagall unfolded a thick roll of parchment from her arm, its edges yellowed, covered with densely written names in ink.
She cleared her throat and said to the first-year students standing in front, "When I call your name, please step forward, pick up the Sorting Hat, put it on your head, and sit on that three-legged stool."
"Once the hat announces your House, you may then go and sit at the corresponding House table."
"Stewart Ackley!" Professor McGonagall called out the first name.
A tall, thin boy immediately stepped out from the line of new students; his legs were visibly trembling slightly, his hands were tightly clenched, and even the tips of his ears were a nervous pink.
He walked to the stool, carefully picked up the Sorting Hat as if afraid of damaging this magical hat, and gently placed it on his head.
Then he slowly sat down, his eyes tightly closed, waiting for the result.
In just a few seconds, the Sorting Hat's voice rang out: "Ravenclaw!"
The Ravenclaw table immediately erupted in cheers.
The boy suddenly opened his eyes, a surprised smile on his face, and quickly ran to his designated seat.
The Sorting ceremony proceeded in an orderly fashion, with new students stepping forward one by one, from Gryffindor to Hufflepuff, from Ravenclaw to Slytherin.
Cheers occasionally erupted from the long tables of each House, until the last little wizard was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall put away the parchment.
Almost at the moment the Sorting ended, flashes of golden light appeared, and the long tables were instantly laden with a sumptuous feast.
Golden-brown, crispy roasted turkeys were still steaming, their skin glistening with oil.
Piles of mashed potatoes were drizzled with thick gravy.
Various vegetable salads were elegantly arranged, with silver pitchers full of pumpkin juice beside them.
The strawberries and blueberries in the fruit bowls were plump and juicy, exuding a sweet aroma.
The students from the four Houses could no longer hold back; the moment they saw the food, they all picked up their knives and forks, eager to feast.
Dumbledore's pre-dinner speech was exceptionally concise; he just smiled and said one word.
"Eat!"
Outside the window, heavy rain continued to beat against the tall black windows.
Raindrops splattered on the glass, making a "pitter-patter" sound.
Suddenly, a loud clap of thunder boomed, and the entire Great Hall seemed to shake.
The glass windows rattled.
A flash of lightning tore through the gloomy sky, instantly illuminating the golden dinner plates inside the Great Hall.
The remaining main courses on the plates instantly vanished.
In the blink of an eye, they were piled high with all sorts of desserts.
A chocolate fountain gurgled with rich chocolate sauce, with fresh fruit skewers arranged beside it.
Cream cakes were layered, adorned with colorful frosting.
There were also crispy biscuits and soft, sticky puddings, an dazzling array.
Under the students' "storm-like" assault, even the desserts were quickly cleared away.
The last bit of biscuit crumbs vanished from the plates, and the plates, which had been covered in food residue, instantly became sparkling clean, gleaming with a silvery sheen.
Just then, Albus Dumbledore slowly stood up.
The buzzing chatter in the Great Hall instantly ceased, leaving only the sound of the howling wind outside the windows and the rain beating against the glass.
"Alright!" Dumbledore smiled as he looked at the students filling the Great Hall, his voice gentle yet clear enough, "Now that everyone has eaten enough, I must once again ask for silence to announce a few important notices."
He first recited a few old, familiar rules.
Students were forbidden from leaving their dormitories without permission after curfew, forbidden from entering the Forbidden Forest, and forbidden from using dangerous magic in the corridors.
Then, he turned and pointed to Moody, who was sitting at the teachers' table, introducing him to everyone: "This is Alastor Moody, an experienced senior Auror, and starting today, he will be our Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts Class Professor."
Moody stood up and nodded slightly to the students, his magical eye beginning to swivel around again, drawing quiet murmurs from many students.
Once everyone's attention was refocused, Dumbledore's tone suddenly became somewhat serious: "I must also regretfully inform you all that the House Quidditch Cup will not be held this year."
These words were like a stone thrown into a calm lake; a ripple of astonished murmurs immediately spread through the Great Hall.
Students whispered to each other, their faces full of disbelief, especially the players who had already been preparing for the Quidditch match, who showed expressions of disappointment.
Dumbledore waited for the murmuring to subside a little before continuing: "The reason the Quidditch match is canceled is because a major event will begin in October and last the entire school year, requiring a great deal of time and energy from the teachers. But I believe the enjoyment this event will bring you will certainly be no less than that of the Quidditch match."
He paused, a look of anticipation on his face, and raised his voice to announce: "I am very pleased to announce that the Triwizard Tournament will be held at Hogwarts this year!"
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