The next day, amidst a torrential downpour, Mrs. Weasley summoned her courage and arranged for three taxis, booked through the village post office, to pull up at King's Cross Station. As soon as the peculiar passengers disembarked with their luggage, the taxis sped off into the rain-soaked haze without waiting for Mrs. Weasley's thanks, as if fleeing for their lives.
"It seems Muggles really are quite prone to panic, aren't they?" Mrs. Weasley remarked, gazing in the direction the taxis had vanished.
Harry glanced at Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, bouncing excitedly in its cage. He looked at Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, who was still recovering from the fright caused by Fred and George's Filibuster Fireworks. Then he eyed the twins' trunks, now half-empty after Mrs. Weasley confiscated a heap of their prank props for a careless slip-up before departure. Finally, he noted Hedwig, sleeping peacefully atop his own trunk. Imagining the ordeal the three drivers must have endured while handling their bizarre luggage, Harry suppressed a strong urge to comment, biting his tongue for a good while.
"See you at school!" Charlie called out, waving farewell to Harry and the others from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Bill, hands in his pockets, looked at them with a wistful expression. "You lot are in for an interesting year. I wish I were still at Hogwarts…"
"What's going to happen this year?!" Ron snapped irritably at Bill. "All summer, Dad's been teasing us, Percy's been teasing us, and now you're at it too!"
"You'll find out when you get to school," Mrs. Weasley said, kissing each of her children goodbye—though her expression soured slightly when it came to Fred and George, likely due to the luggage fiasco. "Alright, it's nearly time. Off you go!"
The train whistle blew, and the group hurriedly dragged their trunks aboard. Ron, still determined to pry the secret from his brothers or mother, was met with nothing but smiles and waves from Mrs. Weasley, Charlie, and Bill. Just as the train began to pull away from the platform, they Disapparated with a pop.
"They're just messing with us about something that doesn't even exist!" Ron grumbled. After finding an empty compartment at the back of the train, he shoved Pigwidgeon's cage into Harry's hands, tossed his trunk onto the seat, and sprawled comfortably, half-reclining against it.
"I think something interesting might actually happen this term," Harry said, tapping his and Hermione's trunks with his wand. The trunks hopped up onto the luggage rack with a cheerful bounce. "Haven't you noticed how excited everyone seems in the compartments?"
Harry and Hermione settled across from Ron, and the three began eagerly speculating about what Bill and the others could have meant.
Amid the sound of rain pattering against the carriage windows, time slipped by quickly.
At last, as dusk approached, the train pulled into the familiar small platform at Hogsmeade Station. Unlike previous years, when students had to trek a short distance to reach the carriages, today Harry stepped off the train to find a neat row of them waiting just outside the platform, each pulled by the same gnarly yet endearing Thestrals.
"First-years, over here! First-years, this way!" Hagrid's voice boomed through the heavy rain, a flickering oil lamp swinging in his hand. A gaggle of tiny, curious first-years huddled around the towering figure.
"Hey, Hagrid! Have a good summer?" Harry shouted.
"Not bad!" Hagrid roared back. "What about you lot? I saw that Dark Mark in the papers—everyone alright?"
After a brief exchange, Hagrid led the first-years away from the platform.
Watching the small witches and wizards carefully descend the stone steps in the downpour, Ron snickered mischievously. "In this weather, they're not seriously going to row across the lake, are they? They'll be swimming by the time they reach the dock!"
A few nearby students overheard and joined Ron in stifled laughter.
"Ron, jokes at others' expense aren't funny!" Hermione shot him a disapproving glare.
After casting Impervius to keep themselves dry, the trio followed the crowd. Soon, they ran into Neville, drenched as though he'd been fished out of the lake, clutching his toad, Trevor. The four climbed into a carriage together, where Hermione flicked her wand with a few deft household charms, leaving Neville's clothes crisp and dry once more.
The carriage rattled along the gravel path, passing through the gates flanked by winged boar statues and onto the wide driveway. At last, the convoy halted at the grand entrance of Hogwarts Castle.
Students leapt from the carriages and dashed inside. Soon, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville's carriage pulled up to the castle doors. Ron, already complaining about his hunger, bolted out first, followed by Neville. Just as Harry and Hermione stepped toward the entrance, a red water balloon exploded above Harry's head, dousing them in a cascade of water. Thanks to their earlier Impervius charms, the water slid off them like rain on a lotus leaf.
"No fun, no fun at all! First Weasley and Longbottom, now you two aren't even wet!" Peeves, hovering above the doorway, flung his remaining water balloons to the ground in frustration and floated off, muttering curses.
With Peeves gone, the students settled at their house tables. Harry noticed most were soaked to the bone—either unaware of Hermione's obscure Impervius charm or simply embracing the thrill of running through the storm.
Glancing at the staff table, Harry saw familiar faces: Professor Snape, whose scowl rivaled the stormy weather; Professor Flitwick, barely visible above the table; and Professor Lockhart, chatting animatedly to colleagues who seemed uninterested in responding.
To Harry's left, Ron, Fred, and George were swapping Quidditch World Cup stories with other students. To his right, Hermione was whispering with Ginny and a few other girls, punctuated by bursts of inexplicable giggles.
At last, the Great Hall doors swung open, and Professor McGonagall led in a line of first-years. Aside from one small boy bundled in Hagrid's moleskin coat, the new students looked as though they'd been dredged from the lake, shivering and dripping.
"Bloody hell, they didn't actually swim across, did they?" Ron gaped, staring at the trembling first-years.
"I wouldn't be surprised," Harry said with mock seriousness. "In this rain, those boats probably sank halfway. Hagrid likely carried them to shore one by one."
"Oh, come off it, Harry. If Hagrid heard you say that, you'd be in for it!" Hermione swatted him playfully.
Professor McGonagall placed a three-legged stool before the first-years and set the tattered, patched Sorting Hat atop it. The first-years stared, bewildered, as did the rest of the hall. Silence fell, and then the hat burst into song.
Unlike the songs Harry had heard in previous years, the Sorting Hat clearly composed a new one annually. Harry wondered idly if, in its thousand years, it had ever accidentally repeated itself.
"Oh, hurry up," Ron groaned, rubbing his stomach.
"I say, Ron, the Sorting Ceremony is far more important than food," Nearly Headless Nick piped up from the table. "I hope Gryffindor's new students are exceptional this year. It's been ages since we won the House Cup."
"No matter how exceptional they are, they can't withstand Snape's point deductions," Ron muttered, resting his head on the table. "I'd bet anything—as long as Snape's teaching here, Gryffindor hasn't a chance at the House Cup."
The Sorting concluded with Kevin Whitby being placed in Hufflepuff amid cheers. Professor McGonagall gathered the hat and stool and exited the hall.
"Finally," Ron said, lifting his head and seizing his knife and fork, eyeing his empty golden plate eagerly.
At the staff table, Professor Dumbledore rose, beaming at the sea of young faces. Spreading his arms in welcome, he said, "I have only two words for you." His rich voice echoed through the hall. "Tuck in!"
Instantly, the plates filled with a feast of delectable dishes. The hall fell silent, save for the clatter of cutlery as everyone dove into the meal, too engrossed to speak.
Minutes later, with stomachs less empty, chatter gradually resumed. Across from Harry, Nearly Headless Nick regaled students with tales of Peeves' earlier kitchen antics. Seamus and Dean roared with laughter over something, Ginny practiced the Impervius charm with Hermione, and Ron—well, Ron was still demolishing two roast chicken legs with gusto.
As the last students set down their cutlery, the food and plates vanished. Dumbledore stood again, smiling warmly. "I trust we're all well-fed. Before sleep claims your minds, I have a few announcements…"
He cleared his throat. "First, Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to inform you that several items have been added to the list of banned objects in the castle. These include Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list, comprising some four hundred thirty-seven items, is available in Mr. Filch's office for those curious enough to check."
"As always, I remind you that the Forbidden Forest is off-limits," Dumbledore said, his gaze lingering on Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George. "Additionally, Hogsmeade is restricted to students in third year and above."
"Finally, I regret to inform you that there will be no inter-house Quidditch Cup this year."
The four house tables erupted in protests, which lasted until Dumbledore's firm "Quiet!" restored order. Still, many students—especially Quidditch enthusiasts—glared at him, fuming.
"This is due to a major event beginning in October and continuing throughout the year, which will demand much of the staff's time and energy," Dumbledore explained. "But I'm confident you'll find it immensely enjoyable. I'm delighted to announce that this year, Hogwarts will have the honor of hosting a spectacular event, one not held for over a century…"
He paused, his voice ringing through the hall. "The Triwizard Tournament will take place at Hogwarts this year!"
"You're joking!" Fred Weasley blurted out.
"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore replied, looking at Fred. "Though, since you mention jokes, I recently heard a rather amusing one about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun walking into a pub—"
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.
"Ahem… perhaps not the time," Dumbledore coughed lightly. He then began explaining the Triwizard Tournament to the students, particularly those from Muggle backgrounds.
"I'm definitely entering!" Harry overheard Fred and George whispering excitedly. "The winner gets a thousand Galleons! With that money, our joke shop…"
They weren't the only ones with such ambitions. But then Dumbledore dropped a bombshell that most students deemed utterly unfair.
"I know you're all eager to win the Triwizard Cup for Hogwarts," he said. "However, the participating schools and the Ministry of Magic have agreed to impose an age restriction. Only students aged seventeen or older may enter—" His voice rose slightly to counter the outraged protests, particularly from a certain pair of suddenly furious twins.
"That's not fair! It's absolutely not fair!" Ron ranted as they made their way to the eighth floor after the feast, weaving through the crowd. "Forget Harry—even me, Hermione, Neville, Seamus, and Dean aren't any less capable than those sixth- and seventh-years!"
"Ron, Professor Dumbledore must have his reasons," Hermione said soothingly. "Besides, as long as a Hogwarts champion wins, isn't that just as good as one of us winning?"
"How is that the same?!" Ron's voice grew louder, his emotions flaring. "Don't you want your name etched on the trophy for everyone to admire? Don't you want to test yourself against the best students from the other schools? Don't you want to hold a thousand Galleons in your hands?!"
Even as they headed to bed, Ron was still muttering about those thousand Galleons.
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