Triwizard Cup

The chamber was in uproar by the time Sal arrived. The moment the ornate doors of the Wizengamot opened, he was hit with a wall of noise—overlapping voices, frantic whispers, and heated arguments echoing off the high, stone walls. Robed officials and noble representatives filled the chamber, their faces tense, some pale with fear, others flushed with agitation.

"Everyone knows what that mark means!" someone shouted from across the hall.

"It's his mark! Could he be back?"

"Nonsense. Everyone knows he died trying to kill Potter."

"Yes, and we're just supposed to believe a baby killed You-Know-Who?"

The overlapping voices blurred into chaos. Sal's eyes flicked across the room. Phineas Nigellus sat in stony silence, arms crossed, his dark gaze watching the crowd without contributing to the hysteria. Albus Dumbledore, ever composed, sat quietly near Lindsey, his expression unreadable as he studied the proceedings.

At the center of it all was his mother, Minister Lindsey Syltherein, standing at the head of the chamber and doing her best to restore order. "Please! One at a time!" she called out, but her voice was barely audible above the arguing.

Sal had enough. He wasn't in the mood for diplomacy. Stepping forward, his voice rang out across the chamber as he raised his wand.

"ENOUGH!"

A ripple of magic pulsed through the air, strong and clear, and the entire chamber fell into stunned silence. Every head turned toward Sal, his presence commanding the room in a way they hadn't expected from someone so young.

Albus gave him the faintest nod of approval. "Well done, Lord Cross," Dumbledore said, formally addressing Sal by title in recognition of the moment. "The floor is yours, Minister."

Lindsey offered her son a quick, grateful glance before stepping forward. "Thank you," she said, her voice regaining control now that the chamber was quiet.

"Now listen carefully," she began. "Yes, the Dark Mark was cast. Yes, there were Death Eaters involved. But there is no evidence that Voldemort himself has returned. Fearmongering will only create the panic these cowards wanted. What we need now is calm and unity. This is a time for vigilance—not hysteria."

Sal stepped forward next, speaking clearly, cutting straight to the point everyone was thinking. "So what do we do? How do we stop this from spiraling out of control?"

The room shifted, the tension focusing on him.

Lindsey answered. "Damage control. The Aurors are already increasing patrols around Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Hogwarts is reinforcing its protections. The professors are taking their own precautions. And, as Albus said, if Voldemort's followers wouldn't dare challenge him directly, they won't risk it now."

Murmurs of agreement circled the chamber.

"We must reassure the public," Lindsey continued, "and show that we have everything under control. If we don't, we risk mass panic and civil unrest."

"Potter," came a voice from the seats—Augusta Longbottom, Neville's formidable grandmother. "Was he the target? Is the boy safe?"

Sal answered this time. "Harry's fine. Their goal wasn't to hurt him. This wasn't an assassination attempt—it was a show of fear. A reminder that they're still out there."

"I hope we're not considering bringing back dementors," Sirius Black cut in from his seat, his voice dark and cold. "If we do, you'll have more problems than Death Eaters."

"Rest assured, Lord Black," Lindsey said, her voice firm. "There will be no dementors at Hogwarts. You have my word."

Sal glanced around the room. "What we need is control over the narrative. A cover-up won't hold, but a redirected story could work. Let the press report it as nothing more than a drunken riot that got out of hand. Magic flares, property damage, but no organized attack."

"Agreed," Phineas finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the silence. "Better a rowdy festival gone wrong than the return of the Dark Lord plastered across the Prophet."

"Perfect," Lindsey said. "I'll handle the press conference first thing tomorrow morning. I want everyone unified behind this. No conflicting statements."

Dumbledore nodded. "And I will ensure Hogwarts is prepared. With the Triwizard Tournament being hosted this year, the extra security will not only protect the students but also serve as a public show of strength."

The chamber slowly began to relax as the plan took shape. The panic eased into purpose, and the chaos dulled into murmurs of agreement.

Sal exhaled quietly. It wasn't victory—but it was a start.

Sal leaned back in his seat, glancing over at Tulip. "Tulip, remind me why you're here again? I know Tonks has official orders to keep an eye on Hogsmeade, but you never actually said why you're tagging along."

Tulip grinned, kicking her feet up onto the seat across from her. "Oh, you know me. Purely professional reasons, of course," she said with a teasing glint in her eye. "I figured I should check on Fred and George's shop, make sure our little investment is thriving. The last thing we need is them blowing up half of Hogsmeade with some dodgy prototype."

Sal laughed. "Knowing those two, it's not a matter of if, it's when."

"Exactly," Tulip replied. "And while I was at it, why not catch a ride with my favorite wizard king-to-be? Besides…" she paused, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble."

Tonks snorted from her spot by the window. "Please. Keeping Sal out of trouble? You've got your work cut out for you."

Sal grinned. "I'm not that bad."

Tonks and Tulip exchanged a look and said, almost in perfect unison, "Yes, you are."

Sal rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help smiling. "Fine. But if you're both going to be around all year, at least try not to cause more chaos than me. I'm supposed to be setting a good example now."

Tulip gave him a mock salute. "No promises."

Tonks smirked. "Consider it a challenge."

Sal just shook his head, looking out the window as the countryside rolled by. "This is going to be an interesting year."

And deep down, he knew it already was.

The train slowed as the towering silhouette of Hogwarts appeared in the distance, the evening sun casting golden hues over the castle's spires. Sal always felt a mix of nostalgia and dread this time of year—nostalgia for the magic of Hogwarts, dread for whatever catastrophe would inevitably disrupt his last year.

As the train pulled into the station, Sal grabbed his trunk and glanced back at Tonks and Tulip. "Well, home sweet home," he said, forcing a grin.

Tonks stretched her arms. "Feels like I never left. Just with fewer detentions waiting for me this time."

Tulip smirked. "Speak for yourself. Sal's practically a professor now. If anything goes wrong, it's on him."

Sal groaned. "Thanks for the reminder."

They stepped off the train and joined the stream of students heading toward the castle. Lanterns glowed softly along the path, and the air buzzed with chatter and excitement. As they approached the front gates, Sal could already see Professor McGonagall directing students while Hagrid greeted the first years.

"You lot heading to the tower after the feast?" Sal asked as they climbed the steps.

"Of course," said Tulip. "Feels weird not to."

Tonks nodded. "I'm due to check in with the headmaster anyway. But after that, I wouldn't mind some peace and quiet."

Sal smiled faintly. "The tower's still the best place for that. Just us, the stars, and no marauding Death Eaters, hopefully."

They pushed open the great oak doors and stepped into the Entrance Hall. Students peeled off toward their houses while Sal paused, looking up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall as they entered. Storm clouds brewed faintly above, matching the tension that lingered from the summer's events.

Tulip nudged him. "Last year. Ready?"

Sal let out a slow breath as they made their way to the Hufflepuff table. "Honestly? No. But I guess that's never stopped me before."

They sat down as Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head table, his gaze sweeping the hall, and Sal knew—whatever this year had planned, he wouldn't be facing it alone.

As the students settled at their tables, the Great Hall hummed with anticipation. Dumbledore rose from his seat, the gentle clinking of his goblet against the table drawing the attention of every student and professor.

"Before we begin our feast," Dumbledore announced, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall, "there are some important matters to address. As many of you are aware, this summer's Quidditch World Cup was marred by an unfortunate incident."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall. Sal glanced across to the Gryffindor table, where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were whispering, their expressions dark.

"The Dark Mark was cast into the sky," Dumbledore continued, his usual warmth shadowed by the weight of the words. "Though no lives were lost, I understand the fear that sight stirred in many of you. Rest assured, we have taken steps to ensure the safety of Hogwarts."

Sal glanced to his right where Tonks sat, blending in with the rest of the staff. He knew full well that the Ministry had sent her as an extra layer of protection, and Mad-Eye Moody's appointment would only solidify their defenses.

"In light of these events," Dumbledore went on, gesturing toward the grizzled man seated near Remus, "I am pleased to introduce our newest security advisor, Senior Auror Alastor Moody. He will be overseeing Hogwarts' protection this year, ensuring that no harm comes to our students. Please extend him your respect… and perhaps a bit of patience."

A few nervous chuckles spread through the older students, especially when Moody's magical eye spun around wildly as if scanning for invisible threats.

"Furthermore," Dumbledore continued, his voice lifting slightly to brighter news, "I am thrilled to announce that this year, Hogwarts has the honor of hosting the Triwizard Tournament. Representatives from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive shortly, and together, our schools will compete for the prestigious Triwizard Cup."

Excitement erupted from the hall. Fred and George high-fived. Ron looked absolutely stunned. Even Cedric leaned forward, clearly intrigued.

Sal allowed himself a small smile, but his thoughts lingered on the political game unfolding behind the scenes. The tournament wasn't just for glory this time—it was a distraction, a message of strength in uncertain times.

"And finally," Dumbledore added with a pleased nod toward the staff table, "many of you will be delighted to know that Professor Remus Lupin has returned to continue his excellent work as our Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. I expect you all to give him the same respect you would any member of this faculty."

A loud applause followed, especially from the Gryffindor table where Harry beamed at Remus, who gave a modest nod of thanks.

"Now then!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Let us not dwell on dark shadows tonight. Let us eat!"

The golden plates filled at once, and the Great Hall shifted into a hum of conversation, laughter, and the clatter of cutlery.

Sal leaned toward Cedric at the Hufflepuff table. "Place your bets now. Which house wins the Cup this year?"

Cedric smirked. "I thought you were entering."

Sal shrugged. "Maybe"

As the feast continued, Sal stole a glance at the staff table. Remus was deep in conversation with Alastor Moody, while Dumbledore sat back observing the students with that enigmatic gleam in his eyes.

One year left, Sal thought. Just one more year.

But somehow, he doubted it would be as simple as finishing his N.E.W.T.s and graduating quietly.

Sal knocked lightly on the door to the headmaster's office.

"Come in," came Dumbledore's familiar, calm voice.

Pushing open the door, Sal stepped inside. The room was quiet, save for the soft ticking of strange magical devices and the faint crackle of fire. Fawkes blinked sleepily from his perch, watching them both.

"You wanted to see me?" Sal asked.

"Yes, indeed," Dumbledore gestured for him to sit. "We didn't have the chance to speak properly during the feast."

"Sorry about that," Sal said, settling into the chair. "It's been… a lot."

"I imagine so. And I must admit, this is not quite how I hoped you would discover the tournament was returning."

Sal smirked slightly. "Funny… my mother said the same thing."

Dumbledore chuckled quietly, folding his hands over his desk. "Wise woman."

Sal leaned back, staring thoughtfully at the glowing embers in the hearth. "I've been thinking. Something's been bothering me since the World Cup."

"Oh?" Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, blue eyes sharp behind his glasses.

Sal turned back to face him. "We both know… he's not back. Not yet. If Voldemort had the strength to make a move, he wouldn't have wasted it on scaring a crowd. That was sloppy, and from what I know of him… he doesn't make mistakes like that. Timing's wrong. It feels… premature."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I agree. If anything, this reeks of desperation. Or perhaps… overconfidence from someone acting in his name."

Sal frowned. "Either way, whoever did it… the real Voldemort won't be pleased. They just painted a target on themselves."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said softly. "And while we wait for the next move to reveal itself… we may as well use the chaos they've created to move more freely. A bit of noise can be rather helpful cover for quieter work."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Sal agreed. "Better to act while everyone's looking the other way."

Dumbledore smiled approvingly. "Your instincts continue to serve you well, Salazar."

There was a pause before the headmaster added, "And tell me… do you intend to submit your name to the Goblet?"

Sal grinned. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Good. Hogwarts will be in fine hands."

And for the first time in a long while, Sal felt like they were truly on the same page.