Harry Potter with Technology System

The rest of the meal passed with curiosity and banter. Students tested the new dishes, some with more enthusiasm than others. Ron was loudly complaining to Neville about “foreign muck” while attempting to dissect a piece of sushi with a fork. Meanwhile, Luna was happily explaining the supposed magical properties of seaweed to anyone who would listen, her voice floating above the hum of conversation.

When the feast ended, Dumbledore stood once again, tapping his goblet lightly to regain the students’ attention. The conversations faded as hundreds of heads turned toward the staff table.

“As many of you are aware, this year Hogwarts has the honor of hosting the Triwizard Tournament,” he began, his tone soft, though there was an undercurrent of excitement. “A tradition that has not been held in over a century, this tournament is an opportunity to foster magical cooperation between schools, as well as celebrate the skill, bravery, and ingenuity of young witches and wizards.”

A ripple of anticipation run through the Hall—Beauxbatons students sat up straighter, while the Durmstrang delegation exchanged subtle nods. Even among the Hogwarts students, the murmurs from earlier had turned into barely concealed whispers.

Dumbledore continued, “For those who are unfamiliar, the Triwizard Tournament is a competition between three schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and Durmstrang Institute. One champion will be chosen from each school to represent their peers in a series of magical tasks, each more challenging than the last.”

Draco Malfoy leaned toward Blaise Zabini, muttering just loud enough for Harry to catch. “Challenging? They mean outright dangerous. Bet they’re hoping for a few casualties to make it exciting.”

“Now,” Dumbledore continued, his tone growing firmer, “I must stress that the tournament is not to be taken lightly. Due to the nature of the tasks, an age restriction has been put in place this year. Only those who are of age—seventeen years or older—will be allowed to enter their names for consideration.”

A collective groan swept through the younger students. At the Gryffindor table, Fred and George Weasley loudly voiced their disapproval. “That’s ridiculous!” Fred declared, slamming his fork onto the table. “We’re old enough to handle whatever this tournament throws at us!”

Harry smirked at their indignation, shaking his head. Across the room, the Beauxbatons students looked smug—many of them clearly older than the Hogwarts crowd. Meanwhile, the Durmstrang delegation remained impassive.

“The champions will be chosen by the Goblet of Fire,” Dumbledore announced, gesturing toward a large wooden casket that had just been brought in by Filch. The caretaker set it down at the front of the staff table with a grunt, and Dumbledore flicked his wand, opening the lid. From within, a burst of blue flames shot upward, illuminating the Hall with an ethereal glow.

The Goblet was revealed—a rough-hewn cup carved from ancient wood, its surface worn with age. The blue flames inside flickered and danced as though alive, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

“This,” Dumbledore said, stepping aside slightly to allow everyone a clearer view, “is the Goblet of Fire. It is an impartial judge, tasked with selecting the most worthy champion from each school. Starting now, the Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall, where those eligible may submit their names. You will have twenty-four hours to do so.”

Harry noticed the subtle shifts in the Hall—students from all three schools leaned forward slightly, their expressions ranging from eager to contemplative. A few Gryffindors, notably Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell, were already whispering among themselves, clearly strategizing.

“But be warned,” Dumbledore said, his tone growing grave. The playful twinkle in his eye was gone, replaced by a sharp seriousness that commanded attention. “Once your name is placed into the Goblet, there is no turning back. If you are chosen, you are magically bound to compete. Consider this decision carefully.”

The weight of his words seemed to settle over the Hall like a blanket. Even the most enthusiastic students sobered slightly, their excitement tempered by the reminder of the risks involved. Harry glanced at Daphne, who raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, See? Told you this wasn’t going to be a picnic.

“Finally,” Dumbledore said, his usual warmth returning, “I encourage you all to make our guests feel welcome during their stay. This is a rare opportunity for all of us to learn from one another and to forge friendships that may last a lifetime.”

“Friendships,” Tracey whispered under her breath, smirking. “That’s the second time someone’s brought that up. Think they’re trying to convince us or themselves?”

Harry didn’t answer, but he couldn’t help agreeing with her. He watched as the Goblet’s flames continued to dance, casting long, flickering shadows across the faces of the gathered students. There was an air of anticipation now, a tension that hadn’t been there before.

Dumbledore clapped his hands lightly, signaling the end of the feast. “You are all dismissed. Sleep well—tomorrow marks the beginning of a most extraordinary year.”

As the students began to rise and make their way out of the Hall, the buzz of conversation resumed, louder and more energetic than before. Everywhere Harry turned, someone was talking about the tournament—the possible tasks, the champions, the Goblet of Fire.

“I bet they’re going to make Champions wrestle trolls or something,” Blaise said as they walked toward the dungeons. “Typical wizarding solution—throw something dangerous at teenagers and call it a learning experience.”

“Please,” Daphne said, rolling her eyes. “If it’s trolls, half the school will be out before the first round. You’ve seen the Hufflepuffs try to duel.”

“Careful, Daphne,” Harry said, smirking. “Hufflepuffs might surprise you. Cedric can take on a troll or two.”

Tracey snorted. “Diggory? Maybe if the troll stood still and let him pose for a bit. He’s all looks, no brains.”

“You’re just jealous,” Daphne shot back. “He’s probably going to be the Hogwarts champion.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, his tone casual. 

Blaise glanced at Harry, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s not even allowed to compete.”

Harry shrugged. “Just stating facts. There’s a difference between looking the part and actually surviving.”

As they entered the Slytherin common room, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—homework, cancellation of Quidditch, and the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. Harry, meanwhile, focused on the more interesting news—the two new dormitories that had suddenly appeared near the Great Hall, one for the Beauxbatons students and another for Durmstrang. At first, he had thought the visiting students would share accommodations with the Hogwarts houses, especially since the Durmstrang group seemed to favor the Slytherin table. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. He didn't want to share his space with strangers.

They all stayed in the common room until late, joking and tossing around ideas for the upcoming Hogsmeade trip. Harry barely noticed when the crowd began to thin out, students retreating to their dorms one by one. Eventually, even Tracey gave up her spot on the sofa, yawning as she stretched and declared she was off to bed.

“Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone,” she warned Harry as she headed toward the girls’ dormitory.

“No promises,” he replied, earning a half-hearted glare before she disappeared up the staircase.

Once the common room was empty, Harry retrieved his Invisibility Cloak and slipped it over his shoulders, moving silently through the corridors. The castle was quiet, the only sounds coming from the faint whispers of the enchanted portraits and the occasional creak of the ancient stone walls.

When he reached the Great Hall, he paused at the entrance, scanning the vast, empty space. The Goblet of Fire stood at the far end of the hall, its blue flames casting flickering shadows on the high walls.

Harry approached the circle, his gaze sweeping over the runes etched into the stone floor. They glowed faintly, their magic humming with restrained power. He crouched to get a closer look, his wand slipping easily into his hand as he traced the lines in the air, inspecting their intricacies. They weren’t overly complicated, but they were careful—layered protections designed to ensure only those in age could cross the barrier into the Goblet.

“Hmm, not bad,” a voice muttered in his mind. Nigel’s tone was low, almost like a whistle. “Old Dumbledore still has a few tricks up his sleeve, I see. That circle’s tight enough to keep out a dragon.”

Harry didn’t respond. He wasn’t in the mood to chat, especially with Nigel. Instead, he ran his wand over one of the runes, watching as the light shimmered faintly before settling back into its steady glow.

"Silence treatment, eh?" Nigel remarked dryly. "Noted. Still, if you’re planning anything clever, I would suggest a backup plan. Dumbledore doesn’t mess around with this sort of thing."

Harry shook his head as he examined the faintly glowing rune circle around the Goblet. "Full of loopholes," he muttered under his breath. "As if he wants Death Eaters to put my name in the Goblet. Nothing stops an older student, a teacher, or even Filch from doing it. Hell, a Muggle over seventeen could probably do it. I could toss the paper in from ten feet away, and it would still work." His fingers traced the air above the runes. "But then there are these three separate identification runes. Clearly, the old man knows what’s going on. He just wants to stay in the loop."