Theodore's sentence changed the room.
The tournament was no longer a school event.
It was a formation.
A trap wrapped in banners, cheers, broomsticks, and Ministry paperwork.
Professor McGonagall looked as if she wanted to object for at least another ten minutes, but the words stopped at her lips. She was angry, not blind. If the enemy had already connected the Quidditch pitch to the array, canceling the tournament might only push the danger somewhere worse.
A controlled battlefield was better than an invisible one.
She hated that it made sense.
Dumbledore walked to the window and looked toward the dark pitch.
"How many students need to know?"
"The fewer, the better," Theodore said. "Panic will feed it."
Flitwick nodded at once. "The Heaven's Extinction fragment. Fear, accidents, timing."
"Exactly."
McGonagall's face tightened. "Then the students involved must believe they are only helping with ordinary tournament preparations."
Filch immediately straightened.
"I can make them obey routes."
Dumbledore looked at him.
"Without terrifying them?"
Filch hesitated.
Mrs. Norris meowed.
Filch sighed. "I can try."
Snape, still standing near the wall, looked at Quirrell bound to the chair.
"What about him?"
Everyone turned.
Quirrell's head hung low. The turban was still. Too still.
Voldemort had retreated.
That did not mean he had surrendered.
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Professor Quirrell remains here."
Voldemort's voice came weakly from beneath the cloth.
"You cannot keep me in this room."
"No," Dumbledore said mildly. "But I can make leaving unpleasant."
Fawkes spread his wings.
The phoenix flame brightened.
Voldemort fell silent again.
Theodore raised his hand. A green leaf talisman floated onto the back of Quirrell's chair and sank into the bindings already placed there.
"This will warn us if he tries to move the remaining nodes through Quirrell."
Snape's eyes narrowed.
"You can track the Dark Lord through a leaf?"
"No."
Theodore smiled.
"I can track the thing trying to eat him."
Snape did not look comforted.
That was fair.
Outside the window, the Quidditch pitch pulsed once.
Theodore looked at it.
The core was impatient.
Good.
Impatient enemies made mistakes.
By morning, Hogwarts changed shape without looking like it had changed at all.
That was Dumbledore's skill.
The banners went up as planned.
The stands were cleaned.
The pitch lines were repainted.
The official notices spoke of safety inspections, guest seating, and "minor route adjustments for event management."
Students complained exactly as expected.
Which was useful.
Complaining students were ordinary students.
Ordinary students did not panic.
Professor Flitwick charmed the railings and announced cheerfully that it was to prevent "overexcited leaning." He said this while standing on a ladder, wand moving so quickly that the air around him glittered.
Professor Sprout placed thick potted plants near the entrances. She told everyone they were decorative. One Slytherin second-year poked a leaf, and the plant poked him back.
Nobody touched them afterward.
Madam Hooch inspected every broom twice.
Then a third time.
Any broom that twitched without permission was locked away.
Professor McGonagall turned several stone ornaments near the stands into watchful beasts. They looked like decorations until someone stepped too close to a restricted area. Then their heads turned.
Very slowly.
That was enough.
Filch, meanwhile, entered the happiest period of his career.
He had official routes.
He had talismans.
He had permission to shout.
He also had a list.
No one knew where he got the list.
No one wanted to know.
"Left corridor! Not that one! Can't you read?" Filch barked at a group of third-years.
One boy pointed at the sign. "It says temporary route."
"Yes, and I am temporarily telling you to move!"
Mrs. Norris sat beside a yellow talisman and stared at anyone who came too close.
The talisman burned faintly.
The students walked faster.
At the Gryffindor table, Ron watched all this with deep suspicion.
"Hogwarts looks normal."
Hermione did not look up from her notes. "That is the point."
Ron frowned. "No, normal normal is fine. This is pretending normal. That's worse."
Harry touched the willow branch under his robes.
"It's quieter today."
Hermione's pendant gave a faint warm pulse.
"Too quiet?"
Harry nodded.
Ron leaned back.
"I hate that I understood that."
Theodore arrived with a plate of toast.
Hermione immediately asked, "What are we doing?"
"Watching."
"That's it?"
"For now."
Ron looked relieved.
Then Theodore added, "During the tournament, you three will sit in different positions."
Ron's relief died.
"Of course."
Theodore pointed at Hermione. "You will be near the commentator's box. It has the clearest view of the stands and pitch."
Hermione nodded.
"Harry, you stay near the Gryffindor team entrance. Your willow branch will react if the array targets the players."
Harry's expression became serious. "Got it."
"Ron."
Ron braced himself.
"You sit with the twins."
Ron blinked.
"With Fred and George?"
"Yes."
"That sounds less dangerous."
Hermione looked at him.
Harry looked at him.
Ron thought for a moment.
"That sounds more dangerous."
Theodore smiled. "They will attract chaos. Your job is to make sure the chaos bites the right thing."
Ron looked down at his sleeve.
A Chomping Cabbage peeked out, looking eager.
"Brilliant. I've become a vegetable handler."
Harry patted his shoulder.
"It suits you."
Ron glared at him.
By afternoon, the first visitors arrived.
A few Ministry officials.
Several invited guests.
Old Hogwarts graduates.
A small group connected to the Quidditch Association.
Nothing too grand yet, but enough to make the castle lively.
Enough to feed the pitch core with noise.
Theodore stood on a balcony overlooking the grounds.
He could feel the array stirring.
Every footstep toward the pitch.
Every raised voice.
Every excited thought.
The core drank all of it lightly, cautiously, like a beast pretending to sleep while smelling blood.
Beneath Hogwarts, Willow Immortal's roots held still.
The Wuzhuang foundation did not rush to suppress it.
Theodore had changed the strategy.
If the enemy wanted a feast, he would set the table.
Then lock the door.
Dumbledore approached quietly.
"For a school tournament," the old wizard said, "this has become rather complicated."
"The school is complicated."
"That is true."
They stood side by side for a moment.
Dumbledore watched the students below.
"The difficult part," he said softly, "is letting children walk near danger because stopping them would create greater danger."
Theodore looked at him.
"Then don't let them walk blind."
Dumbledore smiled faintly.
"That is what we are doing."
"No," Theodore said. "That is what you are doing."
Dumbledore turned to him.
Theodore's eyes remained on the pitch.
"I am letting the array think they are blind."
For a moment, Dumbledore was silent.
Then he laughed softly.
"I see."
He did.
The students were not the bait.
The appearance of vulnerable students was the bait.
That difference mattered.
At sunset, the Quidditch pitch gave its strongest pulse yet.
The stands creaked.
The goalposts hummed.
A thin red line appeared beneath the grass and vanished almost immediately.
No student noticed.
But every prepared defense answered.
Flitwick's charms glittered once.
Sprout's plants turned their leaves toward the pitch.
McGonagall's stone beasts opened their eyes.
Filch's talismans burned yellow along the corridors.
Willow Immortal's roots tightened beneath the ground.
And in the Headmaster's office, the bindings around Quirrell's chair flashed.
Quirrell jerked awake.
Voldemort hissed.
The formation had called him.
And something in his damaged soul had answered.
Dumbledore was not there.
Only Fawkes watched him.
The phoenix tilted its head.
Quirrell did not move.
He was terrified of Voldemort.
He was also terrified of Fawkes.
For once, fear kept him useful.
By night, Theodore entered the Room of Requirement.
The miniature valley had expanded again. Three stolen fragments glowed beneath the soil, while the lake hook mark pulsed faintly near a stream.
The Wuzhuang foundation was ready for the next step.
Theodore raised his hand.
The valley changed.
A small Quidditch pitch appeared at its center.
Stands.
Goalposts.
Crowd paths.
Player entrances.
Commentator's box.
Every important point matched the real pitch outside.
Then green roots spread below the model.
Yellow talisman marks appeared along the paths.
Silver charms wrapped the stands.
Stone beasts took position.
Plants opened around the entrances.
Theodore looked at the whole layout.
Not perfect.
But enough.
The tournament would begin tomorrow.
The Ten Absolute Arrays would attack.
Voldemort would try to seize control again.
The hidden will behind the formation would try to use Voldemort.
The lake prison would react if the third node was pulled too hard.
And Hogwarts would pretend not to know.
Theodore smiled.
"Let's see who takes the first bite."
Far beneath the real pitch, the core opened its next eye.
This time, Theodore let it watch.
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