Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

Chapter 320 A prize of 10,000 Galleons!

The news of the three-way battle for supremacy came out.

The long tables of the four colleges immediately elicited completely different reactions.

Some of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw students cheered, clearly having heard about the event before.

But many more students looked bewildered, including Harry, who was sitting at the Gryffindor table.

As a wizard of Muggle origin, he knew nothing about this traditional magical event.

In fact, most of the young wizards like Harry who are unaware of the situation are either Muggle-born or whose families do not often have contact with the core circle of the wizarding world.

This is understandable.

They have only been exposed to the magical world for a few years at most.

In terms of common knowledge about magical culture, they naturally cannot compare to those children who grew up in wizarding families and listened to stories of magical events.

This is like an invisible cultural barrier, separating wizards from two different backgrounds.

Dumbledore clearly noticed the students' differences. He smiled gently and explained, "I imagine many of you haven't heard of the Triwizard Tournament, so I'll give you a brief introduction. Please allow those of you who already know about it to clear your minds for a moment."

He paused, his voice becoming distant: "The Triwizard Tournament was founded more than seven hundred years ago, initially as a friendly competition between the three largest magic schools in Europe."

"These three schools are our Hogwarts, Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in France, and Durmstrang School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Bulgaria."

"The rules of the competition are simple: each school selects its best student as a warrior, and the three warriors need to complete three extremely difficult magical tasks."

"The competition is held every five years and is hosted by the three schools in rotation."

"Initially, everyone thought this was a great opportunity for young wizards from different countries to build friendships and exchange magic, but later, due to the large number of injuries and deaths in the competition, the Triwizard Tournament was forced to be interrupted."

When the word "interruption" is mentioned.

Dumbledore pursed his lips, a hint of regret flashing in his eyes.

He was clearly very disappointed by the discontinuation of this ancient event.

"The death toll?" Hermione exclaimed in a low voice, her eyes widening as she instinctively looked around to see how others were reacting.

But most of the students in the Great Hall weren't as nervous as she was; many were even more excited, whispering among themselves about the thrill behind the "death count," with even Harry and Ron's eyes shining.

Hermione couldn't help but ask Dylan, "Dylan, will you participate in this competition?"

Dylan's expression was not as excited as those around him; he remained calm and composed.

He smiled and said, "Let's hear what Professor Dumbledore has to say first, and then we'll see the specific arrangements for the competition."

Dumbledore's voice continued: "For centuries, there have been attempts to revive the Triwizard Tournament, but each time they have failed due to security concerns."

"However, this time, the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Sports of the Ministry of Magic have assessed the situation and believe that the time is ripe to hold the event again."

"All summer long, we have been preparing for the safety of the event to ensure that no warrior is in danger of losing their life."

Upon hearing this, only Dylan and a few professors in the auditorium showed expressions of understanding.

They all knew that Dumbledore's words were somewhat "nonsense".

The entire summer vacation.

Dumbledore devoted almost all his energy to finding Voldemort's Horcruxes.

There was simply not much time to manage event preparations.

As for the security work at Hogwarts, it was probably handled entirely by Professor McGonagall, just like the annual Sorting Ceremony.

"In October, the headmasters of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will personally lead their school's prospective students to Hogwarts."

"The official selection ceremony for warriors will be held on Halloween, when a fair referee will select the students most qualified to represent each school in the competition."

"The victorious warrior will not only bring honor to their school, but will also receive a prize of 10,000 Galleons!"

"Ten thousand Galleons?"

The moment those words were spoken, the auditorium fell silent, and almost everyone paused in their breathing.

Even students from pure-blood noble families like Slytherin knew the significance of this money!
Keep in mind that 10,000 Galleons is equivalent to the total income of ten middle-class families in the wizarding world for several years!
For students who are still in school, it is an absolutely irresistible temptation!
After everyone had digested the news of the prize money, Dumbledore continued with a smile, "I know that many of you want to win a trophy for Hogwarts and earn honor and prize money for yourselves."

"However, after discussions between 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 of age or older, that is, adults, are allowed to register for the competition."

"We believe this will ensure the safety of the participants to the greatest extent possible."

"That's not right!" The Weasley twins jumped up as soon as Dumbledore finished speaking, their voices filled with excitement.

The two brothers were still a few months shy of seventeen, and if this rule were strictly followed, they would completely lose their chance to compete for ten thousand Galleons.

That's ten thousand Galleons!
This money is crucial for Weasley's Magic Tricks!
Even if Dylan had previously expressed his support for them, and actually did provide it, who wouldn't want more Galleons?

George quietly approached Dylan, lowered his voice, and said with anticipation, "Dylan, just think about it. If we can become Hogwarts champions, we'll get 10,000 Galleons. Then Fred and I will never have to worry about funding for our joke shop again! You won't have to keep supporting us. Of course, you'll still get your share as promised."

"Then we'll be able to get the best magical materials, develop more new tricks, and definitely become a sensation throughout the entire wizarding world!"

He spoke while gesturing with his hands, his eyes shining.

Dumbledore then raised his voice slightly, his steady voice drowning out the whispers and objections in the Great Hall.

“Setting an age limit is essential. Even with all the safety precautions we have taken, the Triwizard Tournament is still challenging and dangerous, and students below the sixth grade simply cannot handle it.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. When it landed on Fred and George, the two men were frowning, their faces showing obvious resentment.

A meaningful glint flashed in Dumbledore's blue eyes, as if he had already seen through their thoughts.

"I can guarantee that no student under the age can deceive the fair referees and become a Hogwarts champion."

Dumbledore's tone was firm, carrying an unquestionable authority.

He paused deliberately, his gaze slowly shifting to Dylan, who remained calm throughout the crowd, before continuing, "Of course, if you really have the ability to fool that referee."

"Then I think the judges will agree, because you already have enough magical skill to be fully qualified to be a warrior."

These words were like a pebble thrown into water, instantly silencing the students who had been restless due to age restrictions, and a renewed light shone in the eyes of many.

They began to make plans in their minds.

Am I skilled enough in magic? Is there a way to bypass the age limit?

Because of that 10,000 Galleons, many people felt a strange sense of confidence welling up inside them.

Some people have even started fantasizing about what it would be like to become a warrior.

Standing on the podium, holding the Triple Crown Cup and clutching a prize of 10,000 Galleons, he received cheers from the entire school!
You might even win the favor of your dream person and reach the pinnacle of your life!
Dumbledore, seeing the various expressions on the students' faces, knew they were daydreaming again, so he cleared his throat, interrupting their thoughts.

"The delegation from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive at Hogwarts in October and will spend most of the school year with us."

His tone softened: "I believe that you will all be warm and friendly during the stay of the foreign dignitaries, and that once the Hogwarts champion is chosen, everyone will wholeheartedly support him or her."

"Alright, it's getting late."

Dumbledore glanced at the magical clock at the top of the Great Hall. "It's more important than anything else for you to walk into class tomorrow morning refreshed and clear-headed. Go to bed now! And hurry up!"

In those last few words, Dumbledore clearly used magic; his voice carried a peculiar penetrating power that made the students who heard it instinctively obey his commands.

Those who were dawdling earlier stood up, packed their things, and headed towards the dormitory. Even the Weasley twins, who had been complaining, could only reluctantly follow the crowd.

But once the students returned to their respective college's common room or lay down on their soft beds in their dormitories, their thoughts, which had been affected by the magic, slowly returned to normal.

Someone scratched their head and muttered, "What exactly did Professor Dumbledore say just now?"

The person next to him frowned and recalled, "I think they mentioned age restrictions? And foreign schools?"

Many people don't even remember the details clearly, only vaguely recalling keywords such as "Triple Crown Tournament," "Warriors," and "10,000 Galleons."

But these vague memories do not diminish their enthusiasm in the slightest.

Almost every student was silently reciting it in their hearts.

"No matter what, I'm going to participate in the Triwizard Tournament! I must become a warrior and make a name for myself!"

Some people even started brainstorming ways to register, and even those lying in bed tossed and turned, too excited to sleep.

Meanwhile, Dylan had already lain down on his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory.

He pulled back a corner of the curtain. The heavy rain outside had stopped sometime earlier, and a bright yellow moon hung in the sky, its soft light spilling onto the windowsill.

A gentle evening breeze, carrying the fresh scent of grass and trees, blew in through the gaps in the curtains, brushed against my cheeks, and dispelled the lingering summer heat, making me feel exceptionally refreshed.

Strange "giegie" laughter occasionally drifted from behind the curtains beside him; it was obvious it was Harry.

Dylan guessed he was probably still thinking about the Triwizard Tournament, and maybe even fantasizing about being the Warrior, which was why he laughed like that.

Dylan stared at the moon outside the window, pondering deeply. What exactly did Dumbledore mean by the look he'd received at the dinner party?
Does he hope to participate in the top three competition?
However, he doesn't really want to participate directly; he'd rather remain invisible and operate from behind the scenes.

As for the 10,000 Galleons prize, Dylan didn't care about it at all.

Now, thanks to the profits from the XY Potions Factory, he already possesses wealth far exceeding that amount.

For him, the prize money was far less important than the Dementors, Death Eaters, and Voldemort.

His suitcase space has become increasingly vast thanks to the clattering Galleons.

The bright moon in the sky moved slowly, gradually moving out of Dylan's window, and the light in the room dimmed.

Without the moonlight to disturb me, drowsiness slowly crept into my heart.

Dylan closed his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.

Once it's time to sleep, nothing and no one will hold his mind.

The next day was Monday, and just as dawn was breaking, Hogwarts Castle was shrouded in a thin mist.

This is the first morning of fourth grade.

Dylan had already appeared on the path outside the castle.

Last night's heavy rain left some mud on the road, and you could feel the damp soil clinging to the soles of your shoes when you stepped on it. However, the air was filled with the unique freshness of the rain, mixed with the scent of grass and leaves, which was particularly refreshing.

He first fed the owls he and Luna kept, then left, finally stopping in front of the auditorium doors.

Just then, a silver cat-shaped guardian leaped down from the highest tower of the castle, moving as lightly as a gust of wind, and landed on Dylan's shoulder in a few leaps.

The Guardian's mouth opened slightly, and Professor McGonagall's gentle yet slightly serious voice rang out: "Dylan, if you have time, please come to my office. I need to speak with you."

As soon as he finished speaking, the guardian deity turned into specks of silver light and vanished.

Dylan tilted his head.

Upon arriving at Professor McGonagall's office, one finds a fireplace already lit, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.

"Professor, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I just haven't had a chance to congratulate you on becoming the young wizard representative of Wizengamo. That's a remarkable thing."

Dylan was stunned.

So, the reason for calling him up was...
Congratulate him?
"Thanks."

At this point, Professor McGonagall brought up the Triwizard Tournament that had just been announced.

Her tone held a hint of anticipation: "Honestly, it would be great if you were the champion of Hogwarts. With your abilities, the Triwizard Tournament would be practically guaranteed, and it would reduce our worries."

Dylan blinked, about to bring up Dumbledore's previous attitude, when Professor McGonagall interrupted him.

She frowned, her tone somewhat indignant: "Don't mention Albus to me! All summer, he dumped all the Hogwarts affairs on me while he went off to do those pointless things!"

She paused, as if recalling something even more infuriating: "What's most infuriating is Sybil Trelawney! She got drunk the other day and started talking nonsense, claiming that Albus would become very weak, and Albus actually believed it! Can you believe it? He actually believed the ramblings of a fortune teller who's always spouting nonsense!"

"—Of course, I'm not saying all fortune tellers are fake, well, you know what I mean."

Dylan smiled but didn't say anything more.

He knew that Professor McGonagall was just venting her emotions.

My schedule for today wasn't too packed, but it wasn't too short either.

The first period in the morning is herbal medicine class, followed by a class on protecting magical creatures.

I chatted briefly with Professor McGonagall before saying goodbye.

Dylan headed toward the herb gardening greenhouse.

Professor Sprout had already arrived. Upon seeing him, he smiled warmly, waved his hand, and gestured for him to find a seat: "Come in quickly, you've just arrived to see the new plants."

As soon as Dylan sat down, he looked in the direction Professor Sprout pointed.

In the center of the greenhouse, on a planting rack, were several strange "plants".

They don't resemble common flowers and plants at all; instead, they look more like clumps of dark, sticky slugs, emerging straight out of the moist soil, about the length of an adult's forearm.

What's even stranger is that these "plants" are still wriggling slightly, and their surfaces are covered with shiny bulges. Inside the bulges, there seems to be a transparent liquid that sways gently with the wriggling, making them look rather eerie.

"This is a Babo tuber."

Professor Sprout held a small silver knife in his hand and gently tapped the strange plant on the planter, his tone cheerful as if he were introducing a treasure.

"Our task today is simple: to use our hands to pop the bulges on its surface and collect the pus inside."

"What did you say?" Simofenegan frowned immediately, his tone full of disgust.

He instinctively took a half step back, staring at the wriggling tubers, "Squeeze...squeeze out the pus?"

In his view, this kind of black, sticky, and moving plant would be disliked by anyone unless they had a particular preference, let alone want to touch its "pus".

"Yes, pus, Finigan."

Professor Sprout patiently repeated himself, holding up the empty glass bottle and shaking it. "This stuff is extremely valuable; not a single drop should be wasted."

"Listen up, everyone. First, put on the dragon skin gloves on the table. Undiluted sap from the tuber of Babo is highly corrosive. If it gets on your skin, it will cause serious damage, ranging from redness and blistering to scarring."

The students hurriedly picked up the dragon-skin gloves from the table and awkwardly put them on.

The gloves were thick and somewhat stiff, making them difficult to put on.

Once everything was ready, everyone gathered around the planting rack and began trying to squeeze out the tubers.

This process was far more disgusting than I had imagined.

When you press your finger on the bump, you can feel a sticky texture.

With a little force, the bulge burst with a "pop," spraying out a thick, yellowish-green liquid with a pungent gasoline smell, causing many people to cover their noses.

Strangely, after squeezing in for a while, many people felt a strange sense of satisfaction.

Watching the bulges being flattened one by one, and the pus flowing smoothly into the bottle, felt like accomplishing something very rewarding.

Following Professor Sprout's instructions, everyone carefully collected the pus into glass bottles.

By the time get out of class was almost over, everyone had filled three or four bottles, with yellowish-green liquid still clinging to the sides.

"Alright, you've done an excellent job on today's task!"

As get out of class was about to end, Professor Sprout looked at the bottles in everyone's hands, his face full of satisfaction.

"Mrs. Pomfrey will be pleased now. The diluted pus from the Babo tuber is the best medicine for treating stubborn acne, more effective than any medicine sold in pharmacies."

After the herbalism class.

Dylan and Harry walked along the moss-covered path toward Hagrid's hut.

The road surface was still damp from last night's rain, making it a bit slippery to walk on.

Birds chirped from time to time from the bushes on both sides, and the air was filled with the fresh scent of soil and grass.

Every time they have a class on protecting magical creatures, they gather near Hagrid's cabin.

There was a wide-open meadow there, big enough to accommodate all the students and magical creatures.

Dylan remembered Hermione mentioning to him before that she had discussed the course with Hagrid.

Hermione wanted the lessons to avoid overly dangerous magical creatures while remaining fun, ideally introducing some rare and docile species.

Dylan could only shrug at this.

After all, Hagrid's aesthetic sense is completely different from that of ordinary people. He used to like bringing along big creatures like spiders and pythons, so how could he possibly prepare lessons according to Hermione's advice?

As soon as they approached the cabin, they saw Hagrid standing on the steps in front of the door, holding Tooth's rope in his hand.

Tooth is a large, light yellow hunting dog, wagging its tail and sniffing around on the ground.

Ya Ya seemed quite happy to see him.

On the open ground at Hagrid's feet were three cages welded together from thick iron rods, and inside the cages were several strange-looking chickens.

Their feathers are dark purple, their claws are sharp and long, and instead of a comb on their heads, they have a pair of small fleshy bumps on their heads. They are clucking and occasionally pecking at the iron bars of the cage with their sharp beaks.

"Everyone, come here quickly!"

(End of this chapter)