Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 501: Three Champions

For the first time, everyone realized how unbearably long a Saturday could feel. Time dragged on relentlessly; even wizard chess and Exploding Snap, usually the highlight of their free hours, lost their appeal. Every now and then, they would glance up at the sky, hoping it had darkened, only to be met with the unchanged light of day.

Morning crawled into noon, then stretched torturously into afternoon. By the time the sky finally dimmed, it felt as though an entire month had passed. When the moon rose, a palpable wave of anticipation rippled through the castle as everyone hurried to the Great Hall.

Despite the lavish feast laid out—undoubtedly due to back-to-back celebrations—the food didn’t receive the attention it usually would. Most students picked at their plates, barely taking a few bites before setting their utensils down. Restlessness filled the air as heads turned repeatedly toward Professor Dumbledore, wondering if he had finished eating yet.

“Sit down,” Hermione finally snapped when Ron stood up for the third time. “The Goblet of Fire needs time to decide. Even Headmaster Dumbledore can’t announce the results before it’s ready.”

“And how exactly do you know that?” Ron challenged. “Did the goblet whisper the timeline to you when you put your name in?”

“Of course not!” Hermione replied with an exasperated sigh. “Have you ever read Hogwarts: A History? It’s all in there.”

Ron muttered under his breath, “I don’t think many people read a book that thick.” Noticing Hermione’s irritated glare, he hastily added, “Okay, fine. Could you kindly tell us what time it’s supposed to decide?”

Their little exchange had drawn the attention of nearby students, all of whom turned to Hermione.

“The book states the Goblet of Fire extinguishes itself after one day,” she explained, her tone clipped. “It was only brought out at the end of last night’s feast. Based on that, the decision should happen around 7:30.”

Ron checked the clock. It was only ten past seven. He groaned inwardly. Another twenty minutes? With a sigh, he grabbed a plate of pudding, prodding at it half-heartedly with his fork. “So, who do you think will be the Hogwarts Champion?” he asked irritably.

Harry scanned the hall and spotted Fred and George sitting at the far end of the table. “I hope it’s Angelina,” he whispered.

“I’d like it to be Fred,” Ron declared. “Then I’d be the brother of a Champion. Maybe Krum would even sign an autograph for me.”

Hermione let out a derisive snort.

“But it might be you, Hermione,” Harry offered suddenly, recalling with a pang that she’d also put her name in. “You scored higher final marks than Angelina.”

Hermione blushed—a rare sight—and attempted to act nonchalant. “That’s just because I took all the subjects last year. It made it look like I did better overall.”

“No, Harry’s right,” Ron said earnestly, surprising both Hermione and himself. “You’re always the first to finish assignments, and even Snape can’t find faults in your work.”

Hermione turned to Ron, her expression one of genuine astonishment. She had expected his discomfort after learning she’d entered her name into the Goblet of Fire—his silence since that morning had made that clear. She certainly hadn’t anticipated a compliment.

Oblivious to her reaction, Ron poked at his pudding again and continued, “If you do get picked, though… do you think you could ask Krum for his autograph?”

Whatever warmth Hermione might have felt vanished instantly. Her face turned frosty as she grabbed the heavy book beside her, Evolution of Runes in the Middle Ages, and hurled it onto the table in front of Ron with a loud thud.

Ron jumped, nearly dropping his fork. “What’s wrong with you? That almost hit me!” he barked, glaring at her.

Hermione didn’t answer. She turned her head away, refusing to look at him again.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last of the desserts vanished from the tables. Dumbledore rose from his seat, and a hush fell over the Great Hall.

“Well,” he began, his voice carrying a note of excitement that mirrored the room’s tension, “the time has come for the Goblet of Fire to make its decision.”

With a wave of his wand, he extinguished half the candles in the hall, leaving only the glow of jack-o’-lanterns to illuminate the room. In the semi-darkness, the Goblet of Fire blazed brighter than ever, its blue-and-white flames shining brilliantly.

At the Hufflepuff table, Cedric Diggory was visibly tense, sucking in deep breaths. “I’ve never been this nervous,” he murmured.

“It’s almost time,” said Mikel, who had been keeping an eye on the clock.

At exactly 7:30, the flames in the goblet turned a vivid red. Sparks erupted violently, crackling like a volcano on the verge of eruption. A tongue of fire shot high into the air, carrying with it a small, charred piece of parchment.

The Great Hall fell utterly silent. No one so much as breathed as the piece of parchment fluttered downward. A large hand reached up to catch it.

“The Champion of Durmstrang…” Dumbledore announced in a resounding voice, “is Viktor Krum!”

“Yes!”

“Krum!”

“No surprise there!”

The Great Hall erupted into applause and cheers, sweeping across the room like a wave. Viktor Krum rose from his seat at the Slytherin table, his expression calm yet confident. Ludo Bagman promptly stepped forward, beaming as he guided Krum toward the side room designated for the champions.

“Brilliant, Viktor!” boomed Karkaroff’s proud voice, his hands clapping enthusiastically.

The applause eventually quieted down, leaving the hall in a hushed anticipation as the Goblet of Fire’s flames turned red once more. A second parchment shot out, gracefully landing in Dumbledore’s hand.

“The Champion of Beauxbatons…” he declared, “is Fleur Delacour!”

A delicate yet undeniable presence, Fleur rose from her seat next to Kanna. She walked with effortless grace, her light footsteps taking her between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. The applause this time was more subdued, as many students stared at her in quiet awe. Ron, for one, sat slack-jawed, utterly entranced.

By the time most had recovered their composure, Fleur had already disappeared into the next room.

Now, the Great Hall was silent once more, but this time the air was alive with barely contained excitement. All eyes were fixed on the Goblet of Fire, waiting for its decision on Hogwarts’ champion.

When the third piece of parchment emerged, the tension was nearly unbearable. It floated gently into Dumbledore’s hand. Many students had already risen to their feet, eager to hear the result.

“The Champion of Hogwarts…” Dumbledore’s voice carried through the hall, his eyes scanning the name on the parchment. A smile spread across his face. “It’s Kyle Chopper!”

For a moment, Kyle felt as though a swarm of Billywigs had taken up residence in his head. A loud buzzing filled his ears, drowning out all other sounds. Not that it mattered—no one could hear anything in the hall, as the cheers erupted like an overwhelming tidal wave, shaking the very walls.

“I knew it!”

Before Kyle could process what was happening, he found himself engulfed in a tight embrace. It was Kanna, practically bouncing with excitement, her ears flushed a deep red.

“Don’t you care about my feelings when you say that?” Cedric said with a mock pout, though his grin betrayed his true emotions. He quickly pulled Kyle into a hug as well. “That’s brilliant! I knew you could do it!”

Cho, Fred, and George joined the celebration, crowding around Kyle in a flurry of congratulations. Their enthusiasm surrounded him, leaving him both exhilarated and overwhelmed.

“I hate to interrupt,” Dumbledore’s voice interjected politely, though it carried a firm undertone, “but the other champions are still waiting. You’d best let him through.”

The group quickly parted, clearing a path for Kyle. From the VIP box, Chris smiled warmly and gestured for Kyle to head toward the side door. Karkaroff, standing nearby, let out a low chuckle upon hearing Kyle’s name.

After the rules for the Triwizard Tournament had been finalized, Karkaroff had made it a point to investigate the Hogwarts students. Kyle had naturally been at the top of the list, especially as the youngest recipient of the Second Class Medal of the Order of Merlin. But to Karkaroff, the achievement was hardly impressive.

A hulking three-meter-tall figure working alongside Silvanus Kettleburn, a renowned expert in Magical Creatures? With those two, even a Muggle could have survived a Werewolf encounter. To him, Kyle’s medal seemed less an extraordinary feat and more a product of good fortune, generous allies, and Dumbledore’s influence.

What intrigued Karkaroff more was Kyle’s age. Barely fifteen, he had just managed to scrape past the Age Line. By contrast, Krum was eighteen—practically an adult. In Karkaroff’s eyes, the three-year difference was insurmountable. It was as if Hogwarts had handed the championship to Durmstrang on a silver platter.

Durmstrang is going to win, he thought smugly.

As Karkaroff reveled in his confidence, Dumbledore turned toward him, catching his gaze.

“Albus,” Karkaroff said with a sly smile, “he’s the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin, isn’t he? Hogwarts certainly has a way of producing talent.”

“Igor, if we’re speaking of talent,” Dumbledore replied smoothly, “Durmstrang boasts the most celebrated Seeker in the wizarding world.”

The two wizards locked eyes, then, almost simultaneously, they broke into genuine smiles.