CHAPTER 370: THE ARGUMENTS (II)

Cedric stood awkwardly near the wall, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his brow furrowed. The weight of so many furious voices left him silent, though his jaw tightened as though he, too, resented Harry’s sudden addition.

Fleur’s gaze darted between Harry and the assembled judges, her delicate brows drawn tightly in confusion.

"Zis... zis makes no sense," she murmured, shaking her head. "’Ow can ’e compete? ’E is too young—too unprepared." Her eyes flicked once toward Eira, as if seeking an answer, before returning sharply to Dumbledore.

The din of voices swelled again, accusations and protests clashing in the chamber, until Eira finally spoke, her voice cutting clear and steady through the din. "If the concern is fairness, there is a solution."

The chamber stilled slightly, heads turning toward her. She stood with her hands lightly clasped, her voice calm, but her green eyes burned with certainty. "Hogwarts has two champions now. If this imbalance troubles the other schools, then the scoring can be adjusted. Points awarded to Hogwarts can be halved between their two champions. That way, the balance of power remains equal. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would not be disadvantaged."

For a moment, silence. Then murmurs broke out.

"That is reasonable," Madame Maxime admitted reluctantly, folding her arms.

Karkaroff shook his head violently. "No! Unacceptable! The rules were clear from the start. Three schools, three champions. Now there are four. Splitting points is still giving Hogwarts two chances!"

Before Eira could respond, Barty Crouch spoke sharply. "Absolutely not. The marks will be awarded as they always have been, to each champion individually. The Goblet has spoken. It is not our place to alter its will. The integrity of the Tournament requires consistency."

Karkaroff sneered. "Convenient, isn’t it? Britain gains not one, but two champions, and Four judges as well—two Ministry officials with Dumbledore, the other a pure-blood snotty child of Britain’s family. You might as well engrave Hogwarts’ name on the trophy already!"

Fleur bristled, rising sharply from her chair, her silver hair catching the firelight like a blade unsheathed. Her eyes blazed as she fixed them on Karakoff.

"Do not dare insult ’er," she snapped, her French accent sharpened by fury. "You are a ’eadmaster of a school, not a spoiled child pointing fingers. Show some dignity and act like one."

The room went tense. Eira’s lips curved into a faint, proud smile as she turned her gaze toward Fleur, warmth in her expression. She reached across, taking Fleur’s hand in hers, steady and unashamed.

Karakoff shifted in his arms, scowling, opening his mouth as if to retort. But when Eira turned her head toward him, her eyes icy and unyielding, his voice faltered. His jaw tightened, yet he looked away, unable to withstand the coldness of her stare.

The accusations began again, sharper now. Professors argued about who might have placed Harry’s name into the Goblet—Snape muttered about Gryffindor arrogance, McGonagall about dark plots, Moody about enemies stalking Harry. Bagman clapped Harry on the shoulder, insisting cheerfully that it would "make the Tournament more exciting, eh?" while Crouch’s face grew paler and sterner by the moment.

Finally, Dumbledore lifted his hands. The voices dwindled into tense silence.

"The Goblet has chosen," he said firmly. "We must accept it. Harry Potter is bound to compete."

Eira’s voice rose again, calm but insistent. "Then let me propose one more adjustment. If there are now four champions, why not add another task? The Tournament was set at three trials, but an additional one could better measure the worth of all competitors. More trials mean more chances for balance."

Bagman’s face lit up. "Yes! Splendid idea! Four champions, four tasks—it fits, doesn’t it? Wonderful symmetry, excellent for the crowds!"

Crouch’s mouth tightened. "No. The structure of the Tournament has already been fixed by the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The tasks are set, the arrangements made. There will be no additional task."

"It could be done," Bagman urged. "Think of the excitement—"

"It is not a carnival," Crouch snapped.

Dumbledore raised a hand again, his calm presence steadying the room. "The tasks are three. That will not change." His gaze slid briefly to Eira, and for a moment his eyes twinkled. "Though your suggestion, Lady White, has merit. Perhaps another competition might be arranged, outside the official Tournament, in the spring. We will speak of this later, when the champions are not present."

Eira inclined her head. "Very well. If funding is a concern, House White will sponsor it."

Bagman beamed. "Excellent! Excellent! We shall discuss it further, yes—after the Tournament begins."

Dumbledore nodded. "For now, let us proceed. The champions must prepare. Ludo, Barty—if you would."

Bagman stepped forward, smiling broadly. "Yes, yes, of course. Champions, listen closely. The first task is designed to test your daring, your courage in the face of the unknown. You will receive no outside help, no advance warning. Only your skill and your nerve will serve you." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "And don’t worry—it will be spectacular."

Crouch cleared his throat. "The first task will take place on the twenty-fourth of November. You will not know the nature of it until you face it. Until then, you may not seek aid from your teachers or others. The purpose is to measure what you can do on your own."

The champions nodded, each with their own expression—Cedric solemn, Krum unreadable, Fleur proud, and Harry pale and bewildered.

Dumbledore looked at them all, his expression kind but firm. "Prepare yourselves well. The Tournament has begun."

"It grows late," he said, his blue eyes sweeping across the chamber. "I suggest we all retire for the night. Tomorrow will bring enough challenges of its own."

Madame Maxime reacted at once, with a graceful nod she walked out. Karakoff muttered something under his breath, but quickly followed, striding stiffly toward the doors with Kurm followed behind him. Fleur remained close to Eira, their hands still linked as they walked away too, while Cedric walked alongside a visibly nervous Harry, the two exchanging awkward glances as they made their way out toward the Great Hall.

When the chamber had emptied of students and foreign heads, Dumbledore turned to the last remaining officials. "Would you care to join me in my office for a cup of tea?" he asked lightly, a twinkle in his eye. "I have a fresh stock of lemon drops that are quite irresistible."

Barty Crouch shook his head at once, his face set and weary. "No, Albus. I must return at once. There is... too much to be done."

Bagman gave a broad, boyish smile, already tugging at his robes as if eager to be elsewhere. "Much as I’d love to, I’m afraid I have to decline too. The Cannons and the Wasps are finalizing their rosters tomorrow—big changes ahead!" He laughed cheerfully and made his way out, leaving only the professors behind.

Dumbledore’s expression sobered the moment the door closed behind them. The twinkle in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a grave focus. "Escort your students back to their houses," he instructed quietly, his tone leaving no room for delay. "Then come to my office. There are matters we must discuss."