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----
Soon, the date arrived: February 24th.
The day of the competition had come.
Lynn got up very late that morning.
When he opened his eyes, the dormitory was already empty.
Edgar's bed was a mess, with the quilt crumpled into a ball at the foot of the bed; William's bed was neatly made, the pillow placed meticulously; Ollie's bed was also empty, without even a wrinkle on the sheets.
Only the sunlight from outside spilled through the gaps in the curtains, casting faint shadows across the floor.
Lynn lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds. Then he yawned and slowly sat up.
Dressing, washing up, tidying his hair—
By the time he left the dormitory, it was already past nine in the morning.
The corridor was empty; not a single person was in sight.
The moment he pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, a wave of clamor instantly hit him.
The long tables were packed with people.
The four house tables, plus the areas for Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Ilvermorny, Uagadou, and Castelobruxo—every seat was occupied.
Students were chattering away, their voices merging into a buzzing din.
Some were arguing over which champion would win, some were analyzing the possibilities of the Second Task, and others were simply betting—a few Gryffindor students were gathered together, tossing Galleons into a jar.
Lynn scanned the room but didn't see Edgar and the others.
He wove through the crowd and found an empty seat at the Hufflepuff table.
Beside him was Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was spreading jam on his bread. Seeing Lynn, his eyes lit up.
"Lynn! You're here!"
Lynn nodded and looked around.
"Where are Edgar and the others?" he asked. "Why don't I see them?"
Justin swallowed the bread in his mouth and wiped his lips.
"I know," he said. "They and Neville from Gryffindor were called away by Professor Sprout this morning."
Lynn narrowed his eyes.
Professor Sprout? The Greenhouses?
"Something went wrong in the Greenhouses," Justin added. "He didn't say exactly what it was."
Lynn fell silent.
If something had gone wrong in the Greenhouses, it made sense to call Neville—his Herbology was indeed quite good. Calling William was also understandable—William was reliable in everything he did. Calling Ollie was barely justifiable—though he was a man of few words, he worked diligently.
But calling Edgar?
It wasn't that Lynn looked down on him.
But Edgar's level in Herbology was barely passing. Asking him to handle a problem in the Greenhouses—how was that any different from asking a Troll to do embroidery?
Unless there was some heavy lifting that needed doing.
Lynn nodded thoughtfully and didn't press further.
Just as he was thinking, a plate was suddenly placed in front of him. On the plate were steaming snacks, all of them things he usually liked to eat.
Lynn paused for a moment and looked up.
Justin was looking at him with a beaming smile.
"Lynn, I went to the kitchen specifically this morning and asked the house-elves to make these," he said. "It's all the stuff you usually like..."
Before he could finish, a few more people crowded around.
One hand rested on his shoulder and began to knead it.
Another hand reached over and began to massage his leg.
Lynn froze completely.
He turned his head; on his left was Hannah Abbott, on his right was Ernie Macmillan, and behind him stood several Hufflepuff girls, looking at him with expressions of devotion.
Even more exaggeratedly, Susan was actually holding a copy of The Daily Prophet, standing nearby and reporting the recent movements of the other champions to him.
"Krum hasn't come down from the Durmstrang ship for the past few days; supposedly, he's in seclusion studying tactics. Fleur goes for a walk by the Black Lake every evening, perhaps to adapt to the environment in advance. Cedric and Cho..."
Lynn's eyes widened.
"What are you guys doing?!"
Hannah put away The Daily Prophet, her face sincere.
"We just want you to relax."
"Right, right," Ernie chimed in from the side. "It's normal to be nervous before a match; we're helping you unwind."
Lynn took a deep breath.
"Don't be like this; this is what's making me nervous. If there's something, just say it. If it's about money, I have plenty."
Everyone looked at each other.
Then Hannah spoke up.
"Well... Lynn," her voice was a bit weak, "I've bet all my pocket money for this semester on you."
Lynn: ⊙△⊙
Hannah's face flushed slightly, but she pushed on.
"It's... well... the betting pool Fred and George opened. I bet on you to win."
Lynn's gaze swept across the surroundings.
The Hufflepuff students were all nodding frantically.
"Me too!"
"Me too, me too!"
"I bet all the Galleons I've saved up for a year!"
Lynn fell silent. Looking at this group of expectant classmates, he didn't know what to say for a moment.
After several seconds, he finally spoke.
"So you guys were bringing food and giving me massages just because you're afraid I'll lose?"
Hannah nodded vigorously.
Lynn sighed.
"Alright, I'll take the food, but the massages aren't necessary. Don't worry, I'll do my best not to lose."
Everyone finally breathed a sigh of relief.
Lynn picked up a steamed bun in front of him and took a bite.
The house-elves' skill was undeniable; in short, it was delicious.
...
Of course, Hufflepuff wasn't the only house looking to make money.
Over at Gryffindor, Ron was giving Harry a frantic pep talk.
"Harry, you absolutely have to win!"
He pressed his hands onto Harry's shoulders, his eyes wide and his expression serious, as if they were discussing a matter of life and death.
Harry was a bit dazed by the pressure.
Ron leaned in closer and lowered his voice.
"Your odds are quite high! Do you know what it means when the odds are high? It means no one thinks you'll win!"
Harry: "...Thanks."
"You're welcome!" Ron completely missed the helplessness in his tone. "If you win, it'll be a massive upset! When the time comes, I'll give you half the money I make!"
Harry frowned deeply.
He looked at Ron's face, which was practically screaming, "I'm going to get rich," and fell silent for two seconds.
Then he spoke, his tone as sincere as it could possibly be.
"Ron, take my advice."
"What?"
"Go bet on Lynn to win."
Ron froze for a moment.
"Why?"
Harry thought for a moment and decided to tell the truth.
"Because I think his chances of winning are higher."
Ron looked at Harry, then at Lynn in the distance, then back at Harry.
Then he shook his head.
"No," he said firmly. "I'm betting on you. You're my friend; who else would I bet on?"
Harry opened his mouth to say something but didn't know what to say.
Ron had already started rummaging through his pockets.
After a while, he pulled out a few coins—one Sickle and seven Knuts.
He stuffed the coins into Ginny's hand.
Ginny looked bewildered.
"What are you doing?"
"Help me place the bet," Ron said.
Ginny looked down at the coins in her hand, then up at Ron.
"Why don't you go to Fred and George directly?"
Ron shook his head, wearing an expression that said, You wouldn't understand.
"You go," he said. "If I bet wrong, would they really have the heart to swallow my money?"
Ginny fell silent.
She looked at the few coins in her hand, which didn't even add up to a single Sickle, and then at Ron's serious face.
"With this little money... what difference does it make if they swallow it or not?"
Ron glared at her.
"Even one Knut is money!"
Ginny sighed and put the coins in her pocket.
"Fine, fine, I'll go place the bet."
...
Just then, the doors to the Great Hall were pushed open.
Professor McGonagall walked in. Following behind her were Neville, Edgar, William, and Ollie.
Professor McGonagall stood at the door, her gaze sweeping across the Great Hall.
"Champions, follow me. The rest of you, gather by the Black Lake."
Lynn stood up and walked toward Professor McGonagall.
As he passed by Edgar, his footsteps faltered for a moment.
Edgar stood there with a complicated expression on his face—a mix of guilt and excitement that was hard to describe.
William and Ollie stood nearby, looking normal. William pushed up his glasses and nodded to Lynn. Ollie was silent as ever, his face devoid of any expression.
But Edgar was different.
Lynn had been roommates with these guys for so many years that, to put it bluntly—whenever Edgar stuck his butt out, he knew whether he was going to fart or take a crap.
That expression looked like he had done something he felt guilty about.
Lynn narrowed his eyes and was about to speak—
"Let's go," Professor McGonagall's voice came from ahead. "Ludo must be getting impatient."