Jeremiah Ernhurst was pacing his office. It had been a full hour and a half since he'd talked to anyone about the next Triwizard tournament. There were owls to be sent, meetings to be held and portkeys to be set up but for now, he was retracing his steps around the small, dingy room he had occupied for six months asking himself the same question he'd been asking for twelve weeks. Was this really a good idea? Surely not. After all, last time the tournament was held, that Diggory boy had died. Yes, it was Lord Voldermort (saying that name still gave him the shivers) that did it and things were sure to be different now but a small voice kept nagging at him, saying that it was too soon. Nonetheless, Stephen McMyer, his head of office had insisted upon another attempt at the tournament, saying in light of the recent embargo on paid Veela marriage arrangements from Bulgaria, our ties to foreign wizarding institutions need to be strengthened. Well, it's too late to do anything about it now, any moment the three champions will be decided by the goblet of fire, he'll be notified and that'll be the end of his business in the matter. Just then, the fireplace blazed purple and a head appeared in the flames. A severe looking man with hooded eyes, large nose and a beard so thick, you could barely tell where his mouth was on his face, appeared.

"Evening, Ernhurst." said the man

"Evening, Mr McMyer sir, any news on the outcome?" replied Peterson

"Here you go," McMyer handed over a slip of parchment as his arm emerged though the flames, he looked rather grim.

"We're gonna have a field day with this one, wait till the Daily Prophet finds out. Let his father know, won't you?" McMyer added as he shook his head, disappearing from the fire.

Shaking off the ashes from the hastily torn note, Peterson took one glance at it and felt his stomach drop somewhere among his intestines. Summoning a piece of parchment that magically folded itself into a flying paper aeroplane, he grabbed his quill, scribbled the note so fast he blotted it in a few places and nearly upturned his bottle of ink.

My office. Soon as you can. Urgent.

Jeremiah Ernhurst-

Secretary to the Head of International Magical Cooperation

"Head of Auror Offices, Acquimen Locatori!" he said as he waved his wand, sending the little plane zooming out the door toward the elevator down to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, three floors below. He took to retracing his usual steps, this time with more fervent anxiety than before, thinking of how he would explain the situation. A knock sounded on the door, and in came a man with short jet black hair, wearing glasses and long black robes.

"Hello, you called. Ernhurst, is it?" said the man.

"It's….y-your son Mr. Potter" was all Peterson managed to stutter. He had not envisioned his first meeting with The Chosen One quite like this.

"What? What's happened?" asked Harry, his voice rising. Instinctively, he plunged his hand into this robes, in search of his wand. Whatever it was, he wanted to act immediately.

"James Sirius Potter is the new Hogwarts Champion."