The fireworks had barely faded when the reality of organizing a tournament set in. Albert quickly realized that being the "visionary" behind the game didn't mean he got to sit back and enjoy the show. If anything, it meant he was the only thing standing between a successful event and a chaotic free-for-all.
Fred, George, and Lee were already sweating over their respective tables, dealing with rules disputes and the general clumsiness of first-time competitors. Albert took his place at the head table, acting as the ultimate authority. It was a role he took seriously, mostly because watching some of these early matches was physically painful.
The first round was, to put it bluntly, a "chickens pecking at each other" situation.
At Table Three, a second-year Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor third-year were locked in a duel that felt like it was moving in slow motion. Neither of them seemed to have read the rulebook Albert had painstakingly distributed weeks ago. They were making basic, face-palm-worthy mistakes—trying to play "Ultimate Charms" without enough mana points, or forgetting that a "Shield" card only lasted one turn.
Albert watched from the sidelines, leaning his chin on his hand, fighting the urge to intervene. The surrounding crowd wasn't as polite.
"Is he really trying to use a 'Stupefy' on a ghost card?" someone whispered loudly. "That's like trying to punch smoke. Did he even read the text?"
"If this is the level of competition," another voice snickered, "I should have put my two Sickles down. I'd be five Galleons richer by lunch."
The Hufflepuff boy, already struggling to keep his hands from shaking, turned a shade of crimson that rivaled the Gryffindor banners. The whispers from the peanut gallery were the final straw. He looked at his hand, looked at the crowd, and then stood up so abruptly his bench screeched against the stone floor.
"I'm done," he muttered, not looking anyone in the eye. He shoved his cards toward the center of the table and practically ran into the crowd, disappearing toward the basement.
Albert sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Well, that's one way to win."
The Gryffindor student blinked, looking up at Albert. "So... do I move on?"
"By forfeit, yes," Albert said, marking the parchment with a sharp flick of his quill. "Next pair. And please, for the love of Merlin, read your cards before you play them."
The elimination round continued at a breakneck pace, mostly because so many players were losing to their own confusion rather than their opponent's strategy. It was a comedy of errors. At one point, a student tried to argue that their card was "extra powerful" because it had a smudge on it that looked like a dragon.
Then there were the "backseat duelists."
"You idiot! Play the 'Expelliarmus' now and his front line is gone!" a senior student shouted over the shoulder of a nervous-looking first-year.
The boy flinched, played the card, and immediately lost his entire hand to a counter-trap he hadn't noticed. The crowd roared with laughter, and the boy looked like he wanted to cry.
Albert stood up, his expression cooling. "Gentlemen, this is a tournament, not a pub brawl. If you aren't at the table, your mouth should be shut. It's a basic courtesy. If I hear another person 'assisting' a player, I'll have you removed from the Hall."
The talkative senior paled, sensing the edge in Albert's voice, and stepped back into the shadows. Albert waved his wand, resetting the last three turns of the affected game. "Continue. Fairly this time."
As the wheat was slowly separated from the chaff, the quality of play began to rise. The "casuals" were being weeded out, leaving behind the enthusiasts who had spent their evenings in the common rooms practicing. The most anticipated match of the morning was the showdown between Sanna and Katrina.
The crowd around their table was five deep. Albert abandoned his post to watch, genuinely curious to see how his "overclocked" friend Katrina would handle Sanna's methodical playstyle.
It was a grueling match. Katrina played aggressively, cycling through her deck with a speed that left most spectators dizzy. But Sanna was a wall. She played a defensive, resource-draining game that forced Katrina to burn through her options.
In the end, Katrina's deck ran dry. She stared at her empty draw pile, her fingers hovering over the table in disbelief.
"Out of cards," Sanna said softly, offering a small, sympathetic smile. "Good game, Katrina."
Albert was the first to start clapping. The rest of the Hall joined in, recognizing the highest level of play they'd seen all day. Katrina, however, looked devastated. She had been so sure that her "enhanced" focus would carry her to the finals. To be knocked out in the first round was a bitter pill to swallow.
"One more turn," Katrina whispered to Albert as he approached. "If I had one more turn, I would have had her."
"That's the beauty of the game," Albert said, patting her shoulder. "It's not just about being the smartest; it's about managing your stamina. You burned too bright, too fast."
"Well, looks like Sanna is our 'Seed Number One' now," George said, popping up beside them with a grin. "I'm looking forward to watching you take Albert down in the exhibition match."
"Don't jinx her, George," Albert warned, though he was already mentally calculating how Sanna's defensive deck would fare against his own.
The atmosphere was electric, a perfect success—until a shadow fell across the doorway.
Argus Filch marched into the Hall, his face twisted into its usual mask of bitter resentment. He didn't look like a man coming to watch a game; he looked like a man coming to a hanging. Behind him, Mrs. Norris let out a low, predatory hiss.
"Disperse! All of you!" Filch bellowed, his voice echoing off the rafters. "Break it up! I've had reports of an illegal gathering! Unauthorized assembly in the Great Hall!"
The students froze. The twins looked at each other, their faces dropping. If Filch shut them down now, the registration fees, the prizes, and the momentum would all vanish. It would be a disaster.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Filch?" Albert stepped forward, his voice calm and level, acting as a buffer between the caretaker and the nervous crowd.
"A problem?" Filch sneered, his eyes darting to the twins. "I've got 'intelligence,' boy. A secret club, meeting without a teacher, probably plotting mischief or trading contraband. I'll have the lot of you in detention until you're twenty!"
"Illegal gathering?" Albert tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. "I'm afraid your 'intelligence' might be a bit out of date. Or perhaps someone is just trying to waste your time."
"Don't you get cheeky with me, Anderson!" Filch barked.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Albert said smoothly. He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a neatly rolled scroll of parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon. He handed it to Filch. "The Wizard Card Club was officially chartered in our first year. It has the full blessing of the Headmaster. That document contains his signature and the specific bylaws allowing for monthly 'competitive events' in the Great Hall."
Filch snatched the parchment, his hands trembling as he unrolled it. He scanned the flowing, emerald-green ink of Albus Dumbledore's signature. His face went from pale to a deep, sickly purple. It was the look of a man who had just found out his favorite torture rack was being decommissioned.
"This... this says..."
"It says our gathering is perfectly legal," Albert finished for him. "In fact, the Headmaster noted that such activities are 'essential for the promotion of inter-house unity.' I'm sure he'd be disappointed to hear that someone misled you into thinking otherwise."
Albert leaned in slightly, his eyes cold. "Whoever told you this was an 'illegal assembly' clearly wanted to see you embarrassed, Mr. Filch. I'd find out who gave you that tip if I were you. They aren't your friend."
Filch shoved the parchment back at Albert and turned on his heel, muttering dark promises about "next time" as he stormed out of the Hall, his cat trailing behind him.
The students erupted in a cheer that was louder than the opening fireworks.
"When did you get that?" Fred hissed, grabbing Albert's arm. "Is that actually real?"
"Of course it's real," Albert said, tucking the scroll back away. "I'm not stupid enough to forge Dumbledore's signature. I got it signed back in November. I figured eventually someone—a student or a particularly grumpy Professor—would try to shut us down. Always pays to have your paperwork in order."
"Who told him?" Lee Jordan asked, his jaw set in a hard line. "Someone in this room is a snitch."
"Don't worry about it now," Albert said, looking out over the sea of players. "We have a tournament to finish. Go back to your tables. We're moving into the Top 16."
As his friends returned to their duties, Albert stayed by the head table for a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd. He wasn't looking at the players. He was looking for the one person who wasn't cheering.