Chapter 320: A Ten Thousand Galleon Prize!
As soon as the news of the Triwizard Tournament broke, the long tables of the four Houses immediately showed vastly different reactions.
Some students from Slytherin and Ravenclaw cheered, having clearly heard of the event before.
But many more students looked bewildered, and Harry, sitting at the Gryffindor table, was one of them.
As a Wizard from a Muggle background, he knew nothing about this traditional Wizarding World event.
In fact, most of those unaware, like Harry, were Muggle-born or little wizards whose families didn't often interact with the core circles of the Wizarding World.
This was understandable.
They had only been exposed to the magic world for a few years at most.
In terms of magical cultural common sense, they naturally couldn't compare to children who had grown up in Wizarding families, listening to stories of the event since childhood.
This was like an invisible cultural barrier, separating Wizards of two different upbringings.
Professor Dumbledore clearly noticed the differences among the students. He smiled gently and began to explain, "I imagine many of you haven't heard of the Triwizard Tournament, so I will give a brief introduction. I also ask those who are already familiar with the situation to bear with us and allow your minds to wander for a moment."
He paused, his voice becoming distant: "The Triwizard Tournament was founded over seven hundred years ago, originally as a friendly competition between the three largest magic schools in Europe."
"These three schools are our Hogwarts, Beauxbatons Academy of magic in France, and Durmstrang Institute in Bulgaria."
"The rules of the competition are simple: each school selects its most outstanding student as a Champion, and the three Champions must complete three extremely difficult magic tasks."
"The event is held every five years, hosted in rotation by the three schools."
"Initially, everyone thought this was a good opportunity for young Wizards from different countries to forge friendships and exchange magic, but later, due to the excessively high number of casualties in the competition, the Triwizard Tournament was reluctantly suspended."
When he said "suspended," Professor Dumbledore's lips tightened, and a trace of regret flashed in his eyes.
Clearly, he deeply regretted the discontinuation of this ancient event.
"Deaths?" Hermione immediately gasped in a low voice, her eyes wide as she instinctively looked around to see others' reactions.
But most of the students in the Great Hall weren't as nervous as she was; many were even more excited, whispering to each other about the thrill behind "deaths." Even Harry and Ron's eyes were shining.
Hermione couldn't help but ask Dylan, "Dylan, will you participate in this competition?"
Dylan's expression was not as agitated as those around him; he remained as calm as usual.
He smiled, "Let's hear Professor Dumbledore finish first, and then we'll see the specific arrangements for the competition."
Professor Dumbledore's voice continued, "For centuries, people have tried to revive the Triwizard Tournament, but each time it failed due to safety concerns."
"However, this time, the Ministry of Magic's Department of International Magical Cooperation and Department of Magical Games and Sports have assessed that the time is ripe for its re-establishment."
"Throughout the summer, we have been preparing for the safety of the event, precisely to ensure that no Champion will face life-threatening danger."
Upon hearing this, only Dylan and a few Professors in the Great Hall showed knowing expressions.
They all knew that Professor Dumbledore's words were somewhat "nonsense."
Throughout the summer, Professor Dumbledore had focused almost all his energy on searching for Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes.
He had little time to manage the event's preparations.
As for Hogwarts' security, it was probably, like the annual Sorting Ceremony, entirely entrusted to Professor McGonagall.
"In October, the Principals of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will personally lead their schools' candidate students to Hogwarts."
"The official ceremony for selecting the Champions will be held on Halloween, where an impartial judge will select the students most qualified to represent their respective schools."
"The ultimate winning Champion will not only bring honor to their school but also receive a prize of ten thousand Galleons!"
"Ten thousand Galleons?"
As these words fell, the Great Hall instantly fell silent, and almost everyone's breath hitched.
Even the students from pure-blood noble families in Slytherin knew the weight of this sum!
One must know that ten thousand Galleons was equivalent to several years' total income for ten middle-class families in the Wizarding World!
For students still in school, it was an absolutely irresistible and immense temptation!
Professor Dumbledore waited for everyone to digest the news of the prize money before continuing with a smile, "I know many of you want to win the trophy for Hogwarts and earn honor and prize money for yourselves."
"But after unanimous discussion among the participating schools and the Ministry of Magic, we have decided to set an age limit for this year's participants. Only students who are seventeen years old, meaning they are already adults, will be allowed to register."
"We believe this will ensure the safety of the participants to the greatest extent."
"That's not fair!" No sooner had Professor Dumbledore finished speaking than the Weasley twins abruptly stood up, their voices filled with excitement.
They were still a few months shy of seventeen, and if this rule was strictly enforced, they would completely lose the chance to compete for ten thousand Galleons.
That was ten thousand Galleons!
This money was crucial for their Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!
Even though Dylan had previously expressed his support for them and had indeed provided it, who wouldn't want to have more Galleons?
George quietly leaned towards Dylan, lowering his voice, his tone full of anticipation: "Dylan, just imagine, if we could become Hogwarts Champions and get ten thousand Galleons, Fred and I would never have to worry about funding for our joke shop again! You wouldn't have to always support us. Of course, the share we promised you before will definitely not be less."
"Then, we'll be able to get the best magical materials, develop more new tricks, and we'll definitely become famous throughout the Wizarding World!"
He gestured with his hands as he spoke, his eyes shining.
Professor Dumbledore then slightly raised his voice, his steady tone overriding the whispers and protests in the Great Hall.
"Setting an age limit is very necessary. Even with all our safety preparations, the Triwizard Tournament tasks are still arduous and dangerous, and students below sixth year simply don't have the ability to cope."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. When it landed on Fred and George, they were frowning, clearly looking unconvinced.
A meaningful glint, however, flashed in Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes, as if he had already seen through their thoughts.
"I can guarantee that no student who is underage will be able to fool the impartial judge and become a Hogwarts Champion."
Professor Dumbledore's tone was firm, carrying an unquestionable authority.
At this point, he deliberately paused, his gaze slowly shifting to Dylan, who remained calm in the crowd, before continuing, "Of course, if you truly have the ability to trick that judge..."
"Then I believe the judges will also approve, because you would have already attained a sufficient level of magic and would be fully qualified to be a Champion."
These words were like a stone dropped into water; the students, who had been agitated by the age restriction, instantly quieted down, and the light in many eyes rekindled.
They began to ponder in their hearts whether their magic level was strong enough, and if they could find a way to circumvent the age limit.
Because of those ten thousand Galleons, a strange confidence swelled in many hearts.
Some even began to fantasize about the scene after becoming a Champion.
Standing on the podium, holding up the Triwizard Cup, clutching ten thousand Galleons in prize money, and receiving cheers from all the teachers and students!
Perhaps they could even win the favor of their beloved, and from then on, reach the pinnacle of life!
Professor Dumbledore looked at the varied expressions of the students below, knowing they were once again "daydreaming." He cleared his throat, interrupting their thoughts.
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive at Hogwarts in October and will spend most of this school year with us."
His tone softened slightly: "I trust that during the stay of our foreign guests, you will all behave warmly and courteously, and moreover, once the Hogwarts Champion is determined, everyone will wholeheartedly support him or her."
"Alright, it's getting late now."
Professor Dumbledore glanced at the magical clock at the top of the Great Hall, "It's more important than anything else that you all come to class tomorrow morning feeling refreshed and clear-headed. Everyone, go to bed! And quickly!"
In these last few sentences, Professor Dumbledore clearly used magic; his voice carried a peculiar penetrating quality that made the students who heard it instinctively obey his command.
Those who had been lingering finally stood up, gathered their belongings, and headed towards their dormitories. Even the Weasley twins, who had been complaining moments before, could only grudgingly follow the crowd out.
But once the students returned to their respective common rooms or lay down on the soft beds in their dormitories, the thoughts that had been influenced by magic slowly returned.
Someone scratched their head and mumbled, "What exactly did Professor Dumbledore say just now?"
The person next to them frowned in recollection: "He seemed to mention an age limit? And foreign schools?"
Many more couldn't even recall the details clearly, only vaguely remembering keywords like "Triwizard Tournament," "Champion," and "ten thousand Galleons."
But these vague memories did not diminish their enthusiasm in the slightest.
Almost every student silently repeated in their hearts:
"No matter what, I'm going to participate in the Triwizard Tournament! I must become a champion and make a name for myself!"
Some people even started to devise ways to sign up in their minds, and even those lying in bed tossed and turned, too excited to sleep.
On the other side, Dylan was already lying in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory.
He pulled back a corner of the curtain; the heavy rain outside the window had stopped at some point, and a bright yellow moon hung in the sky, its soft light spilling onto the windowsill.
The evening breeze, carrying the fresh scent of grass and trees, blew in through the gap in the curtains, brushing his cheek and dispelling the lingering summer heat, making him feel exceptionally refreshed.
From the curtains next to him, a strange "giegie" laugh occasionally sounded, and he knew without thinking that it was Harry.
Dylan guessed he was probably still pondering about the Triwizard Tournament, perhaps fantasizing about becoming a champion, which would explain such a laugh.
Dylan stared at the moon outside the window, repeatedly mulling over something in his mind.
What exactly did Professor Dumbledore's gaze at him during the feast mean?
Did he hope Dylan would participate in the Triwizard Tournament?
However, he didn't really want to compete directly; instead, he preferred to be an invisible man, operating behind the scenes.
As for the prize money of ten thousand Galleons, Dylan didn't even pay it any mind.
With the profits from the XY Potion Workshop, he already possessed wealth far exceeding that amount.
For him, the prize money was far less important than the Dementors, Death Eaters, and Lord Voldemort.
His current suitcase space world had also become increasingly vast due to the torrent of Galleons.
The bright moon in the sky slowly moved, gradually moving out of Dylan's window, and the light in the room dimmed.
Without the moon's disturbance, sleepiness slowly crept in.
Dylan closed his eyes and soon fell into a peaceful slumber.
Whenever it was time to sleep, no one and nothing would weigh on his mind.
The next day was Monday; just as dawn broke, HogwartsCastle was enveloped in a faint mist.
This was the first morning of fourth year.
Dylan had already appeared on the path outside the Castle.
Last night's heavy rain left the path still a bit muddy; stepping on it, he could feel wet earth clinging to the soles of his shoes, yet the air was filled with the unique freshness after rain, mixed with the scent of grass and leaves, which was particularly invigorating.
He first went to feed his and Luna's owls, then left, finally stopping at the Great Hall's main entrance.
Just then, a silver cat-shaped Patronus leaped from the highest tower of the Castle, its movements as light as a breeze, landing on Dylan's shoulder in a few bounds.
The Patronus's mouth slightly opened, and Professor McGonagall's gentle but slightly stern voice came through: "Dylan, if you have time, please come to my office; I have something to discuss with you."
As her voice faded, the Patronus dissolved into specks of silver light.
Dylan tilted his head.
Upon arriving at Professor McGonagall's office, a fire was already lit in the fireplace, making the room warm and cozy.
"Professor, is there something you need?"
"Ah, nothing much, I just haven't had the chance to congratulate you on becoming the youth Wizard representative for the Wizengamot. That's quite an accomplishment."
Dylan was stunned.
So, she called him up just to congratulate him?
"Thank you."
At this moment, Professor McGonagall began to talk about the recently announced Triwizard Tournament.
Her tone carried a hint of anticipation: "To be honest, I wish you would be the Hogwarts champion. With your abilities, the Triwizard Cup would practically be a certainty, and it would ease our worries."
Dylan blinked, and just as he was about to mention Professor Dumbledore's previous attitude, Professor McGonagall interrupted him.
She frowned, her voice a bit angry: "Don't even mention Albus to me! All summer, he dumped all of Hogwarts's affairs, big and small, on me and ran off to busy himself with those nonsensical things!"
She paused, as if remembering something even more infuriating: "The most infuriating thing is Sybill Trelawney! She got drunk a while ago and started talking nonsense, actually claiming that Albus would become very weak, and Albus actually believed her! Can you believe it? He would actually believe the gibberish of a Divination Professor who's always spouting nonsense!"
"—Of course, I'm not saying all Divination Professors are fake, um, anyway, you understand."
Dylan smiled but didn't say much more.
He knew Professor McGonagall was just venting her emotions.
His schedule for today wasn't too packed, but it wasn't light either.
The first class in the morning was Herbology Class, followed by Care of Magical Creatures.
After a brief chat with Professor McGonagall, he bid her farewell.
Dylan walked towards the Herbology Class greenhouses.
Professor Sprout was already there; seeing him, she smiled gently and waved him to find a seat: "Come on in, you're just in time to see the new plants."
As soon as Dylan sat down, he looked in the direction Professor Sprout pointed.
On the planting shelves in the center of the greenhouse, there were several pots of strange "plants."
They didn't resemble common flowers or grasses at all; instead, they looked more like clusters of dark, slimy giant slugs, emerging straight from the damp soil, about as long as an adult's forearm.
Even stranger, these "plants" were slightly wriggling, their surfaces covered with shiny, large bulges, which seemed to contain transparent liquid that gently swayed with the wriggling, looking somewhat eerie.
"These are Bubotuber plants."
Professor Sprout held a small silver knife, lightly tapped the strange plants on the planting shelf, and her tone was as cheerful as if she were introducing a treasure.
"Our task today is very simple: use your hands to squeeze the bulges on its surface and collect the pus inside."
"What did you say?" Seamus Finnigan immediately frowned, his voice full of disgust.
He instinctively stepped back half a pace, staring at the wriggling Bubotuber plants, "Squeeze… squeeze pus?"
In his opinion, no one would like such a black, slimy, moving plant unless they had a special preference, let alone touch its "pus" with their own hands.
"Yes, pus, Finnigan."
Professor Sprout patiently repeated, holding up an empty glass bottle and shaking it, "This stuff is extremely valuable; not a single drop can be wasted."
"Everyone listen carefully: first, put on the dragon-hide gloves on the table. Undiluted Bubotuber pus is highly corrosive and will cause severe injury if it gets on your skin, ranging from redness and blistering to permanent scars."
The students quickly picked up the dragon-hide gloves from the table and clumsily put them on.
The gloves were thick and somewhat stiff, making them difficult to put on.
Once ready, everyone gathered around the planting shelf and began to try squeezing the Bubotubers.
This process was far more disgusting than imagined.
When fingers pressed on the bulges, a slimy sensation could be felt.
With a little force, the bulge popped with a "plop," and a thick, yellowish-green liquid sprayed out, accompanied by a pungent gasoline-like smell that made many people cover their noses.
But strangely, after squeezing for a while, many people developed a strange sense of satisfaction.
Watching the bulges flatten one by one and the pus flow smoothly into the bottles felt like accomplishing something very fulfilling.
Following Professor Sprout's instructions, everyone carefully collected the pus into glass bottles.
By the time class was almost over, everyone had filled three or four bottles, with un-drained yellowish-green liquid still clinging to the bottle walls.
"Alright, today's task was completed very well!"
As class neared its end, Professor Sprout looked at the bottles in everyone's hands, her face full of relief.
"Madam Pomfrey will be pleased now. After dilution, Bubotuber pus is the best medicine for stubborn acne, more effective than any Potion sold in the pharmacy."
After Herbology Class.
Dylan and Harry walked along the moss-covered path towards Hagrid's Hut.
The path was still damp from last night's rain, making it a bit slippery.
The calls of small birds occasionally came from the bushes on both sides, and the air was mixed with the fresh scent of earth and plants.
Every time they had Care of Magical Creatures class, they would gather by Hagrid's Hut.
There was an open grassy area there, large enough to accommodate all students and magical creatures.
Dylan remembered what Hermione had mentioned to him earlier about her discussing suggestions for this class with Hagrid.
Hermione hoped the class would avoid overly dangerous magical creatures while remaining interesting, preferably introducing some rare and docile species.
To this, Dylan could only shrug.
After all, Hagrid's aesthetics were completely different from ordinary people's; he always liked to bring big creatures like spiders and giant pythons before, so how could he prepare the class according to Hermione's suggestions?
Just as they approached the Hut, they saw Hagrid standing on the steps in front of the door, holding Fang's leash.
Fang was a large, light-yellow hound, wagging his tail, his nose sniffing the ground.
Seeing him, Fang seemed quite happy.
On the open ground at Hagrid's feet, there were three cages welded together with thick iron bars, holding several strange-looking chickens.
Their feathers were dark purple, their claws sharp and long, and instead of combs on their heads, they had a pair of small fleshy growths. They were clucking, occasionally pecking at the iron bars of the cage with their sharp beaks.
"Everyone, come here quickly!"
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