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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄

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The Return of the Triwizard Tournament: A New Chapter for Hogwarts

By Zelda Burbage, Editor-in-Chief

For the first time in centuries, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be hosting the return of the Triwizard Tournament. Originally canceled in 1792 due to a significant increase in fatalities, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has officially announced its reinstatement.

This year, stricter safety protocols are being implemented, including an age restriction barring anyone under the age of 17 from submitting their name. While this measure aims to protect younger students, it has stirred frustration among those who feel ready to prove themselves despite their age.

Who will step forward as Hogwarts' champion? What challenges lie ahead? One thing is certain: the Triwizard Tournament is not for the faint of heart. 

Another major change this year will affect the school's beloved pastime: there will be no Quidditch matches during the school year. This decision was made to accommodate the tournament's demanding schedule and ensure that all students and staff can fully participate in the events and festivities. While some students welcome the change as an exciting opportunity to witness history, others lament the loss of the sport that unites the houses.

The students of The Owl Post are working diligently to provide exclusive coverage, offering a platform for all perspectives on the competition. Our passionate and dedicated team—including Luna Lovegood's enchanting magical creature features, Colin Creevey's behind-the-scenes photographs, and Sapphire Lain's no-nonsense editorials—will deliver thorough, unbiased, and insightful reporting every step of the way.

Stay tuned for updates, interviews with participants, and an in-depth look at the magical history behind this legendary competition as it unfolds.

"I hate it," I muttered, letting out a frustrated sigh as I tossed the crumpled newspaper onto the table. The edges curled slightly, evidence of my irritation. The bold headline about the Triwizard Tournament glared back at me, mocking my inability to change anything.

"The whole point of the Owl Post is to be unbiased," Sapphire said matter-of-factly as she leaned back in her chair. Her feet were propped casually on the edge of the table in Ma's classroom, a space we'd commandeered for the paper after lessons.

"It is quite dangerous," Luna chimed in, her dreamy voice pulling my attention. She sat cross-legged on a stool near the window, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the rain-speckled glass. 

"I think it's wicked," Colin said enthusiastically, his face lighting up with an almost childlike excitement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he grinned at us. "Three schools, one champion, dangerous tasks—it's brilliant!"

I shot him a withering look, my frustration bubbling to the surface again. "Brilliant? People could die, Colin. Does that sound brilliant to you?"

He hesitated, his grin faltering as he leaned back in his chair. "Well... not when you put it like that," he mumbled, clearly taken aback by my sharp tone.

Sapphire raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking between the two of us. "Zelda does have a point. This tournament isn't exactly known for being a picnic. The history speaks for itself."

"Exactly," I said, gesturing toward her with a wave of my hand. "It's reckless. They're parading danger around like it's some grand spectacle."

Luna's soft voice cut through the tension. "Maybe it's more than that," she said thoughtfully, her gaze finally shifting from the window to meet mine. "Sometimes people take risks because they believe the reward is worth it."

"Or because they're too thick to realize how dangerous it really is," I countered, earning a chuckle from Sapphire.

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the rain pattering against the windows. Sapphire leaned forward, picking up the discarded newspaper and smoothing it out on the table. "Well," she said, her tone carrying a note of finality, "if we're going to write about this, we'd better do it properly. No bias. Just the facts. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Luna said, her serene smile softening the tension.

Colin nodded reluctantly, though his expression still carried a trace of his earlier enthusiasm.

I sighed, slumping into the chair beside Sapphire. "Fine," I muttered. "But if anyone ends up in the hospital wing because of this tournament, I'm saying 'I told you so.'"

Sapphire smirked, tapping her quill against the edge of the table. "Noted. Now, let's get to work."

✦

"He used the Unforgivable Curses, Ma," I said, my voice trembling slightly as I leaned against her desk, the events of Moody's lesson replaying in my mind. My hands gripped the edge of the wood so tightly that my knuckles turned white. "I mean, he really used them."

My mother glanced up from the stack of parchment she was grading, her quill pausing mid-scratch. Concern flickered across her face as she set the quill down carefully, folding her hands in front of her. "What happened?"

"He showed us how they work," I said, my voice quieter now. "The Cruciatus Curse... the Imperius... and then the Killing Curse. He didn't just tell us about them; he demonstrated them. The way he handled it, like it was nothing—like it was normal."

I shook my head, trying to push away the image of the spider twitching under his wand. "Something's off with him, Ma. It's not just his... teaching. It's like there's this darkness in him, and he doesn't even try to hide it."

My mother sighed, her expression shifting to a mix of weariness and understanding. She got up from her chair and moved to stand beside me, resting a hand gently on my shoulder. "He's always been like that, love," 

"Always?" I asked, my brow furrowing.

"Alastor has seen more horrors in his time than most wizards could stomach. It's changed him, made him harsh, unyielding. He's... blunt in his methods, but he believes they're necessary. You can't always trust his way of doing things, but his heart's usually in the right place. Usually."

Her words didn't entirely ease the knot in my chest. "But showing those curses to students... doesn't that cross a line?"

"It does," she admitted, her lips pressing into a thin line. "But he's the sort to teach you how the fire burns by sticking your hand in it."

I looked down, my fingers absently tracing the grooves in her desk. "Feels more like he wants to remind us the fire can consume us entirely."

✦

The rain poured relentlessly, drumming against the stone courtyard as I stood under an overhang. My friends were darting across the grounds, their footsteps splashing through puddles as they hurried after Cedric. He was flanked by Bones and Reynolds, the trio moving with determined urgency.

"What's going on?" I called out, stepping into the downpour and grabbing Lottie by the arm as she passed. Her clothes were soaked and her usually neat curls were plastered to her face. She turned to me, breathless.

"Cedric's putting his name in the Goblet," she panted, her voice barely audible over the roar of the rain.

"What?" My jaw fell open as I straightened my back, the weight of her words sinking in. "Why would he—"

"It's his decision, Zell," Lottie cut me off, though her tone was anything but firm. There was hesitation there, a flicker of doubt that mirrored my own.

An angry, shaky breath escaped my lips, fogging in the cold air. I shoved my hood over my head, water dripping from the edges as I stepped fully into the storm. "This is madness," I muttered under my breath, my feet already carrying me forward.

Lottie followed close behind as we trailed the others into the Great Hall. The space had transformed, the long house tables vanished, replaced by wooden bleachers that lined the walls.

The magical blue flames danced hypnotically, casting a glow that illuminated the room in flickering light. Cedric stood before the Goblet, his usually calm demeanor replaced by a tense determination. Bones and Reynolds flanked him like loyal sentinels, urging him forward.

"Come on, Cedric, put it in!"

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I watched Cedric pull out a piece of parchment, his name scrawled across it. He hesitated for only a moment before tossing it into the flames.

The Goblet flared, the flames consuming his name with a burst of light.

"Why did no one stop him?" I whispered harshly to Lottie.

She didn't answer, just looked at me with that same helpless expression, water dripping from the tips of her hair. I shook my head, stepping closer as Cedric turned back to his friends, their faces alight with pride.

But all I felt was dread.

"Are you mad?" I demanded as Cedric and his ever-present goons approached us. My voice cut through the low hum of whispers in the Great Hall, sharp enough to make Bones raise an eyebrow in irritation.

"This is a good thing, Burbage," Bones said in his thick Mancunian accent, puffing out his chest like he was the one throwing his name into the Goblet.

I didn't bother sparing him a glance. "I'm not talking to you," I snapped as I turned my full attention to Cedric. The intensity of my gaze must have caught him off guard because his easy smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of unease.

"Zell—"

"No," I interrupted, folding my arms tightly across my chest as the sound of the crackling Goblet filled the space between us. "What are you thinking? Do you have any idea what this could mean?"

Cedric held my gaze for a moment, his usual calm composure slipping under the weight of my words. His lips pressed into a thin line before he finally sighed. "It'll be okay, Zelda," he said, his voice soft, meant to reassure.

But it didn't work. 

"Will it?" I shot back, my voice dropping to a low, trembling tone. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you just volunteered to risk your life for... for what? Bragging rights?"

Reynolds rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but Cedric shot him a look that silenced him. "It's not like that," Cedric said, his tone firm now, though not unkind. "I've thought this through."

"Thought this through?" I echoed, incredulous. "Did you think about the people who'll worry about you? About how dangerous this actually is?"

"I can handle it," he insisted, his jaw tightening as though he was trying to convince himself as much as me.

I shook my head, anger and worry swirling together in my chest, coiling tightly until it felt like I might explode. "Whatever," I muttered, my voice quieter this time, on the verge of breaking. Without waiting for Cedric's reply, I spun on my heel and stormed off, my footsteps echoing through the hall.

I dropped heavily onto the bleachers next to Hermione, who was immersed in a thick, leather-bound book. 

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, her eyes flicking to me as she closed her book and set it aside.

"Yeah, yeah," I sighed, though the weight of my frustration was palpable. I glanced in her direction, feeling my face flush with residual anger. "I hate everything about this."

"It's barbaric," she agreed, her tone clipped with disapproval.

Before we could say another word, the Great Hall was disrupted by a commotion. The unmistakable whoops of Fred and George broke through the tension as they bounded into the room, their faces alight with triumph.

"Yes!" Fred crowed, his fist punching the air as George grinned beside him. They must have figured out their so-called "brilliant" plan.

I sighed deeply.

"Thank you, thank you!" George said as they high-fived a row of students perched on the bleachers nearby.

"Well, lads, we've done it," Fred declared proudly, holding up a small glass vial.

"Cooked it up this morning," he added with a flourish.

"Idiots," I muttered, shaking my head as they sauntered closer.

"It's not going to work," Hermione said, her tone lilting and taunting, though there was an edge of exasperation in her voice.

Finally, someone with a brain.

Fred stopped beside me, crouching so close I could smell him—a warm, earthy scent, like the crispness of all four seasons rolled into one. His proximity made my heart thud unevenly, though I tried to ignore it. Tried to.

"Oh yeah?" Fred challenged, his gaze flicking to Hermione, though his presence was magnetic. "And why's that, Granger?"

Fred and I locked eyes for a split second, and it felt like the air between us thinned. I quickly looked away, pretending to focus on Hermione as she gestured toward the faint, glowing line circling the Goblet of Fire.

"You see this?" Hermione began, leaning forward slightly. "This is an age line. Dumbledore drew it himself."

"So?" Fred prompted, leaning in closer, his confidence unwavering.

"So," Hermione said, her tone sharpening, "a genius like Dumbledore couldn't possibly be fooled by something as pathetically dimwitted as an age potion."

Fred straightened slightly, his grin unfaltering. "That's why it's so brilliant."

"'Cause it's so pathetically dimwitted," George finished with an identical smirk.

"You two are impossible," I muttered, glancing between them. My exasperation was laced with reluctant amusement. "Go on, boys, I can't wait to see what happens."

Fred winked at me. "Wish us luck," he said, his tone playful as he straightened to stand beside George on the bleacher seats behind us.

"Ready, Fred?"

"Ready, George?"

"Bottoms up!" they declared in unison.

I rolled my eyes, but despite myself, I couldn't look away. Something told me this was about to get interesting.

They jumped into the age line with exaggerated flair, and for a moment, nothing happened. The crowd around the Goblet held its breath, waiting. Then, suddenly, a ripple passed through the air and—nothing. Fred and George let out whoops of joy, slapping each other on the back and high-fiving with triumphant grins.

"Yes!" they yelled in unison, their voices full of uncontained excitement as they strutted toward the Goblet, both of them looking far too pleased with themselves. With exaggerated pomp, they tossed their names into the fiery blaze of the Goblet, each one of them taking a moment to bask in their perceived victory.

For a moment, everything was silent—like the calm before the storm. I couldn't help but glance sideways at Hermione, whose expression was a mix of disbelief and quiet disappointment.

And then—boom! The Goblet's flames surged high, flaring up like a wild fire. The surge of heat flung Fred and George backwards, their joyous shouts turning into surprised yelps as they collided with the floor, rolling and scrambling to stand up.

A hand flew to my mouth, stifling my laughter as I watched them, looking utterly disoriented, their faces turning wrinkled, gray, and sagging. The effects of the potion they'd hoped would work so flawlessly had backfired—terribly. They looked like a pair of doddering old men, hunched and slow-moving, their hair thinning and graying in an instant.

"I tried to tell them," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms, but I could see the glint of reluctant amusement in her eyes.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. The whole scene was too much, and I burst into uncontrollable laughter. It echoed through the Great Hall, mixing with the increasingly loud cheers and chants of students circling the two now-aged twins. They had begun to argue—no, bicker—with each other, waving their hands around in the air as if they hadn't noticed their transformation.

"You said!"

"You said!"

The students surrounding them started chanting, egging them on in the most ridiculous way.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" came the chorus, and the twins—now grumpy, confused versions of their former selves—squared off, bumping into each other in a slow-motion wrestling match.

I stayed where I was, doubled over in laughter. Hermione, beside me, merely shook her head and sighed again, though I caught her fighting a smile as she tried to ignore the growing chaos.

"You two really never learn, do you?" I managed to gasp between laughs, wiping away a tear from my eye.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight, and even though it was mostly a disaster, I couldn't deny—it was the best entertainment of the day.

The room fell suddenly silent, like the very air itself had paused in anticipation. Viktor Krum strode into the Great Hall with Igor Karkaroff trailing behind him. The crowd parted as they made their way toward the Goblet.

Krum walked with a quiet confidence, his gaze steady as he approached the fire. Without hesitation, he threw his name into the swirling flames of the Goblet. But as he did, his eyes flicked toward Hermione, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to slow. His gaze softened, and I couldn't help but notice the way her face brightened. It wasn't just admiration—it was something more, something unspoken that made the atmosphere feel charged, almost electric.

I put on an amused smile, crossing my arms as I watched Hermione's reaction. She smiled shyly at Viktor as he walked out, still glancing back at her, I couldn't resist.

I wiggled my eyebrows at her teasingly, unable to suppress my grin. Hermione's cheeks flushed, and she reached for the nearest weapon—a heavy book. She playfully swatted me on the arm, her laughter light and a bit flustered.

✦

The Hufflepuff common room was quiet, the low hum of chatter and crackling fireplace filling the space. I sat on the overstuffed sofa near the window, staring out at the rain streaking down the glass. The sound of the raindrops hitting the panes was soothing, but it did little to stop the chaotic mess of thoughts in my head.

"Still mad at me?"

I turned my head at the voice. Cedric stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hair was damp from the rain, and his tie was slightly loosened, giving him an uncharacteristically disheveled look. It softened my resolve more than I wanted to admit.

I sighed, leaning back into the cushions. "I don't know," I admitted honestly, my voice quieter than I intended. "I was furious, Ced. Still kind of am. But... maybe not as much."

He took that as permission and walked over, sitting down on the armchair across from me. For a moment, he didn't say anything. He just looked at me, his expression thoughtful and maybe a little guilty.

"I get why you're upset," he finally said, his voice steady but tinged with something that felt like regret. "I know this tournament is dangerous—probably more than we even realize. But it's not just about the danger for me."

I frowned, tilting my head. "Then what's it about? Is it glory? Proving yourself? Because you don't have to, Ced. You're already—"

"—it's not about proving anything," he interrupted gently. "It's about... being a part of something bigger. About testing myself, seeing what I'm capable of. Not for anyone else—just for me."

I blinked, his words catching me off guard. There was a vulnerability in his voice that I hadn't expected. He wasn't just the Cedric everyone else saw—the golden boy of Hufflepuff, the poster child for everything good and noble. He was a person with doubts, fears, and desires of his own.

"I know it's risky," he continued, his gaze steady on mine. "But I'd rather take the risk than always wonder what could have been. I don't want to live with that kind of regret."

I looked down at my hands, picking at the edge of my sleeve. His words struck a chord with me in a way I wasn't ready to admit. "I guess I just... I don't want to lose you," I whispered.

His eyes softened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Zell, you're not going to lose me," he said, his voice so earnest it made my chest ache. "I promise, I'll be careful. I'll do everything I can to stay safe."

I nodded slowly, my anger dissolving into something else entirely—worry, yes, but also understanding. I wasn't happy about his decision, but I could see now why it meant so much to him. And maybe that was enough.

"Okay," I said finally, meeting his gaze. "I'm not mad anymore. But if you do something stupid and reckless out there, I reserve the right to yell at you."

Cedric's smile returned, warmer this time. "Fair enough."

✦

I sat across from Cedric in the dim light of the Divination classroom, the air heavy with the scent of burning incense and the faint, sweet tang of candle wax. My wand twirled idly between my fingers, the motion more a nervous habit than anything else. Around us, students whispered in hushed tones, the occasional giggle breaking the quiet as Professor Trelawney drifted between tables, her layered shawls and bangles rustling faintly. She paused every so often to peer dramatically into someone's palm, her breathy voice weaving tales of "long journeys" or "looming tragedy."

I squinted at the parchment before me, straining to decipher the lines and symbols scrawled in an untidy hand. Palmistry. Reading palms. A way to "divine the future through the map of one's hand," Trelawney had said.

With a frustrated sigh, I placed my wand on the table. I leaned forward, reaching for Cedric's outstretched hand. His skin was warm, his palm slightly rough—calloused from years of Quidditch. He sat patiently, his gaze flicking from his own parchment to me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched me wrestle with my concentration.

"Alright," I muttered under my breath, brushing a stray curl from my face as I focused on his hand. The lines crisscrossed in intricate patterns, and I squinted, trying to remember the lesson. "Heart line, life line... what's this one again?"

Cedric chuckled softly. "You're the one doing the reading. Shouldn't you know?"

"Don't start with me," I shot back, though the corner of my lips twitched. "I'm trying to channel my inner Seer here. It's very delicate work."

"Very delicate," he repeated with mock seriousness, though his grin betrayed him.

I pressed my finger lightly against his palm, tracing one of the deeper lines. "Hmm. This line's supposed to represent... I think it's your life line. Or maybe your career line? No—wait, definitely your heart line."

"Good to know my heart is in the right place," he teased.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the smile that broke through as I leaned closer. 

I frowned as my finger traced the short curve of Cedric's life line. It didn't reach as far as I expected—stopping abruptly, as though someone had cut it short. My heart skipped a beat, a small wave of unease washing over me, but I quickly pushed it aside. This was palmistry, after all—Trelawney's territory of wild predictions and over-the-top theatrics. It didn't actually mean anything... right?

"Your life line's a bit short,"

Cedric raised a brow, tilting his head to look at his hand. "What does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything," I said quickly, forcing a laugh that felt a little too thin. "It's probably just—well, maybe I'm reading it wrong." I flipped my own hand over, holding it beside his for comparison. My life line stretched further across my palm, long and curved.

"See?" I pointed out. "Mine's different, but I'm probably not doing this right anyway. I'm rubbish at this stuff." I waved it off with a flick of my hand, trying to sound breezy, but I could feel my pulse thudding in my ears. "Don't worry about it. It's all a bit of nonsense, really."

Cedric's eyes searched mine, his usual warmth tinged with curiosity. "You sure?"

"Positive," I said, a little too firmly. I busied myself with straightening the parchment in front of me, avoiding his gaze. 

"Alright," he said, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. "If you say so."

"I do," I replied, glancing up to meet his eyes and managing a small smile. "Now, let's see what mine says," I said, extending my hand toward him, palm up, trying to shift the focus. Maybe if I made a joke of my own lines, the nagging feeling in my chest would settle.

Cedric leaned forward, his brows furrowing as he studied my palm. His fingers brushed against mine lightly as he traced the lines. His thumb paused at my life line, and the crease in his brow deepened.

"What?" I asked, the faintest hint of nervousness creeping into my voice.

"There's... a gap," he said, tilting my hand slightly to catch the light. "Look. Right here."

I followed his gaze and saw it—a small break in the life line before it picked up again, almost like a chunk had been carved out and forgotten. My heart gave a faint flutter.

"Huh," I said, feigning indifference as I pulled my hand back. 

"A gap like that—it's unusual, isn't it? What do you think it means?"

I gave him a shrug, forcing a casual laugh. "Probably that I should stay away from sharp objects. Or maybe it means I'll take a long nap at some point in life. Really, Cedric, we shouldn't be taking this stuff seriously."

✦