Chapter 282: What? Ethan Is the Final Boss Now?! The First Task Begins!
Dumbledore was, in fact, very calm.
He even felt a faint urge to laugh.
If Ethan had wanted to compete, there was no need for such a roundabout scheme. He could have simply parked himself on the Head of Magical Games and Sports' shoulders and rewritten the rules.
So this slip of parchment clearly came from someone else.
Whoever was trying to set Ethan up had truly stepped in it.
Good deeds bring good rewards; evil deeds bring… Ethan.
Dumbledore thought this to himself, mildly amused.
"It was not me, Headmaster," Ethan said sincerely.
Anyone looking into those clear cobalt eyes would have struggled to doubt him.
And they would have been correct. Barty Jr. had thrown the name in. What did that have to do with Ethan?
"This is against the rules!" Karkaroff shouted on the spot, slamming a palm on the table so hard his beard shook.
He glared between Dumbledore and Ethan, utterly convinced this was a Hogwarts conspiracy.
A fix. A blatant, naked fix.
"If that is how it stands, Durmstrang must be allowed an extra champion as well!" Karkaroff snapped.
Madame Maxime said nothing, but the tight set of her mouth spoke plainly enough.
The atmosphere in the Hall grew heavy.
Ethan glanced around.
He had expected, as in the original story, a chorus of whispers, suspicion, and ostracism.
Instead, he saw faces full of trust.
"Ethan must have been framed."
"Exactly! He has no reason to break the rules."
"It is probably some plot targeting Ethan."
"Who is stupid enough to do that?"
"Looks like everyone is still quite capable of telling right from wrong, do you not think?" Luna's mild voice sounded by his side.
"It is… more than expected," Ethan replied through his nose.
Her bright, untroubled expression took some of the weight from his chest.
After a brief silence, the one man present with the authority to rule – Barty Crouch Sr. – spoke slowly.
"According to the binding magic of the Goblet, all those selected must compete."
"Therefore, Ethan Vincent is required to take part in this Triwizard Tournament."
The words were like a spark in a powder keg.
Madame Maxime sprang to her feet. She and Karkaroff began shouting furiously.
Accusations crashed over Ethan like a flood. His face, however, remained calm.
Michael, on the other hand, stared in horror as a card appeared between Ethan's fingers.
For Merlin's sake, have mercy.
Did they have any idea how many lives they were gambling by talking to Ethan like this?
Magic was beginning to stir and gather when a voice like a great bell rang out, cleaving through the noise like a sword.
"Silence!"
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and the greatest white wizard of the age, stood on the dais like an enraged lion, robes and hair bristling.
The pressure rolling off him snapped both visiting Heads to instant silence.
"In my view," Dumbledore said evenly, "since this has already occurred, the fairest course is to allow Ethan to participate under appropriate conditions."
His gaze slid to Ethan, warm and steady.
The Hall went utterly quiet.
Ethan eyed the two Heads' thunderous faces for a moment, then snorted softly and slipped the card away.
Dumbledore had earned himself a little mercy.
He had been planning to use "Butcher Bird" to forcibly remind them of basic manners.
At that moment, "Professor Moody" spoke up.
"I have an idea," he rasped.
Every eye swung to the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Crouch's brow furrowed. Staring at that twisted, unfamiliar face, he was pricked by a strange sense of familiarity.
Moody's magical eye whirled as he swept his gaze around the Hall. "Why not make Ethan the final obstacle?" he said hoarsely.
"Any champion who clears the tasks earns the right to challenge him. Their performance against him wins them extra points."
Dean Thomas of Gryffindor blurted, "That's just making him the final boss in a game!"
Understanding rippled through the room.
So Ethan really was going to be the Demon King at the end of "Hero vs Demon Lord."
What else for their chosen "player character"?
Ethan's eyes brightened.
He looked at Moody, who had tossed the suggestion out as if it were nothing, and saw the shape of his plan.
If the Tournament itself could not easily kill the event organiser, then set Ethan up as the last hurdle and let the champions do the job.
"Accidentally" take his life.
An interesting idea.
Ethan's lips curved as he listened to his own heartbeat quicken in his chest.
He could, of course, simply steamroll everything with brute force and crush any plot.
But where was the fun in that?
Just as he had chosen to be the Lamp and not the blood-drinking Red Cup, he wanted to dismantle their scheme piece by piece and leave them with nothing to say.
Lose, and still admit it was fair. No complaints, no bad reviews.
"This…" The two visiting Heads looked at each other.
It really was not a bad solution. To topple Ethan himself would only add to their glory.
"Ethan…" Fleur bit her lip, eyes blazing.
Then she realised, in surprise, that it was not just the visiting champions.
Even Hogwarts own champions all looked eager.
For a second, she felt as though she were back in that ancient trial ground years ago, when Ethan had gone one against all.
"Still as outrageous as ever, little brat," she murmured, the corner of her mouth lifting with a hint of nostalgia.
In the end, no one objected.
The proposal passed smoothly.
"Incidentally," Ethan added, dropping his own little bomb, "the first task is dragons."
By the time the end of November arrived, the day of the first task, the news had swept the school.
Because Ethan had dropped that particular truth like a thunderbolt, every champion was frantically studying ways to get out of dragonfire alive.
Dragons? We're fighting actual dragons?
The most confident, naturally, were Durmstrang.
"We do not shun the Dark Arts," Karkaroff said smugly, stroking his goatee. "Our offensive repertoire is the strongest there is."
"The organisers will not use anything too wild. Probably only a few scary-looking Common Welsh Greens, or maybe Hebridean Blacks."
"Dragons' weak points are the eyes. Aim there, and they are far less frightening."
Krum nodded and headed for the champions' tent with his two teammates.
Outside, the stands roared.
The huge circular arena was a bare bowl of jagged rock. Tiered stands and towers ringed it, a forest of flags snapping in the wind.
It was like standing in the middle of an ocean made of noise and colour.
In the champions' tent, Krum found a blonde reporter still pestering Harry and the others with questions.
He scowled. "How did you get in? Reporters are not allowed in the arena."
"Oh, do not be such a stick-in-the-mud," Rita Skeeter purred.
She wiggled her large backside inside its tight green silk as she sashayed closer, lipstick-red mouth curling.
"There are rumours you have a terrible relationship with one of the organisers, Ethan Vincent. Is that true?"
Flap.
The tent entrance lifted.
"Are you all ready? The Portal is—"
"Ah!"
With a single startled scream, Rita dropped straight into the yawning black doorway that had opened in the ground at her feet, vanishing along with her half-formed question.
"You may go on," Ethan said pleasantly from outside the tent.
Looking at that pure, harmless smile, no one quite knew what to say.
Still… it was efficient.
And deeply satisfying.
The champions filed out, jittery and exhilarated.
Fleur and Krum were obviously in the lineup.
On Hogwarts' side, the Weasley twins and Harry Potter had been chosen for this round.
Cedric, unable to take the field for the first task, was disappointed, but he had to admit that the "anti-dragon" tactics worked better with the three Gryffindors' coordination.
"Then let me declare," Ethan called.
He stood at the edge of the arena, wand raised high.
Bathed in the blaze of light, his voice rang out clear.
"The first task of this year's Triwizard Tournament… begins now!"
As his voice fell, there was a metallic crack.
Ethan and the other wizards stationed around the perimeter drove their wands into the ground as one.
Magic erupted.
The sky went black.