This Glory Will Not Be Mine Alone!

Upon hearing Dumbledore's words, the Great Hall fell silent for a moment, then erupted into a murmur of whispers.

The students automatically ignored the dangers Dumbledore mentioned; their minds were filled with thoughts of participating in the Triwizard Tournament, becoming Hogwarts Champion, and gaining priority in choosing a spouse within the school.

Students often dream of becoming heroes who save the world, but they often overlook the risks that come with it.

"I know you are all eager to win the Triwizard Cup for Hogwarts," Dumbledore, "But the participating schools and the Ministry of Magic have agreed that there must be an age limit for this year's competitors. Only students who are seventeen years of age or older—that is, seventeen years and older—are allowed to register for consideration."

Blido raised his voice slightly because some people protested angrily after hearing his words.

The Weasley twins, who already knew this would happen, didn't care at all; they had already come up with a plan.

"However, we believe this measure is necessary because the Triwizard Tournament remains very challenging."

It's very dangerous. No matter how many precautions we take, students below sixth or seventh grade simply cannot handle it. I personally guarantee that not a single underage student will deceive our impartial referees and become Hogwarts Champion.

His gaze swept over Fred and George, a meaningful glint in his blue eyes. "Therefore, if you are under seventeen, I urge you not to waste your time submitting your application."

Although the two Weasley family twins from Gryffindor were unusually calm, Dumbledore knew without a doubt what kind of shit those two little rascals were up to.

"But at the same time," Dumbledore said meaningfully again, "We will also make an exception and allow some exceptionally outstanding students who are not of the standard age to participate in the Triwizard Tournament."

After he finished speaking, the entire Great Hall fell silent.

Apart from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang's students, everyone's eyes were fixed on Harry, who was slowly sipping Pumpkin Juice.

Not old enough, but exceptionally outstanding—isn't that a perfect description of Harry?

Last year's Quidditch Match —the one where the Dementor stormed the arena—is still fresh in everyone's memory.

The sky was filled with blue flames; even professors might not be able to achieve that level of skill, let alone sixth or seventh graders like them.

If they felt they had some hope competing with others, then competing with Harry—

never mind.

Beauxbatons ' classmates and Durmstrang were whispering among themselves, asking who the person they were all looking at was.

But everyone kept quiet, determined not to discuss Harry's true abilities with these despicable outsiders.

Despite the jokes and banter, the Triwizard Tournament is ultimately an honor for the school.

It's one thing for the four colleges to compete for the House Cup in normal times, but when it comes to the crucial moment, the cup of this Triwizard Tournament absolutely cannot fall outside the school.

Even the Slytherin thought so.

They had long been transformed by Veratia into a completely different person.

Just then, the door burst open.

Suddenly, a thunderclap resounded from the dark clouds above the Great Hall, and as the clouds churned, there was a hint of an impending explosion.

Suddenly, a blue Charms light emanated from the entrance and struck the churning dark cloud, halting its impending attack.

"It seems I'm a little late, Albus."

The people walked towards the Faculty Table, one by one, and in the flash of lightning, their faces were illuminated vividly.

The students had never seen a face like this before. It looked as if it had been carved from a piece of rotten wood, and the sculptor only had a vague idea of what a human face should look like, and was not very skilled at using the carving knife.

Every inch of skin on his face seemed to be scarred, his mouth looked like a crooked gaping mouth, and the part of his nose that should have been prominent was missing.

What's most terrifying about this man is his eyes.

One of his eyes was small, black, and sparkling; the other eye was large, round like a coin, and a bright, vivid blue. That blue eye moved incessantly, darting up, down, left, and right, completely unrelated to his normal eye—then, the blue eyeball rolled back and disappeared into the man's head, leaving everyone with only a large white eyeball.

"It's not too late," Dumbledore smile. "Come on, Alastor, I think you should sit in the Faculty Table we've reserved for you."

Harry turned to look at the Faculty Table and saw the expression on Durmstrang Headmaster Karkaroff's face as he looked at Professor Moody.

The expression was a mixture of fear, disgust, and, more than anything, wariness.

Could it be that the two of them have a grudge?

Harry's gossip-loving spirit is burning brightly.

He didn't know Moody or Karkaroff; he just wanted to gossip.

An eerie silence fell over the Great Hall; no one dared to utter a sound, given the overwhelmingly stern aura of the new Professor Moody.

It was like an old cat watching them, a bunch of little mice.

"Please allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Class teacher," Dumbledore cheerfully, breaking the silence, "Professor Alastor Moody."

Normally, when a new teacher meets everyone, everyone applauds to welcome him, but now, apart from Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Harry, not a single teacher or student applauded.

The three of them clapped a few times, but finding the applause echoing in the quiet Great Hall sounded lonely, they wisely stopped.

Everyone else seemed stunned by Moody's strange appearance, staring at him intently.

Moody's seemed unmoved by the lukewarm response.

He ignored the large jar of Pumpkin Juice in front of him, instead reaching into his travel cloak, pulling out a curved bottle, and taking a large gulp.

As he raised his arm to drink, his cloak, which was dragging on the ground, was pulled up a few inches, Harry saw a few inches of Wood Carvings prosthetic leg peeking out from under the table, with a claw-shaped foot underneath.

"It seems he's not very mobile," Hermione remarked to Moody, who had never liked professors.

"He was an Auror." Ron looked at Moody with some reverence. "My father often told me about him. Although he had a bad temper, he was indeed a formidable Auror —you know, many Death Eater hated him to the core, but they couldn't kill him—look, the wounds on his body were left by those Dark Wizard, and the Dark Wizard who left those scars—"

"Are they all dead?" Hermione asked.

"Some are dead, some are in Azkaban, and some have spent their lives lying in St. Mungo's's," Ron shrugged.

Harry looked at Karkaroff and Moody again.

These two seem to have a story. Harry's curiosity was piqued. What kind of fate brought them together?

Moody walked with a limp to the Faculty Table, and as he passed Karkaroff, he gave Fang Yi deep, penetrating look.

Instead of darting around, the fake eye, along with its owner, stared intently at Karkaroff, motionless.

After a moment, Moody snorted and turned to sit down in the seat reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

It seems he also dislikes Karkaroff.

"It seems Professor Moody doesn't like Headmaster Karkaroff, and Headmaster Karkaroff doesn't like him either," Hermione whispered beside her, then suddenly realized, "Oh! Could it be that Headmaster Karkaroff used to be Dark Wizard? That's why Professor Moody was once Auror, doesn't like him?"

"Not necessarily," Ron guessed. "You know Durmstrang doesn't forbid students from learning Dark Arts. Perhaps Professor Moody's prejudice against Headmaster Karkaroff is for that reason?"

"Your guess isn't impossible," Hermione said thoughtfully. "However—I still want to know why—"

"Being curious isn't a good thing, Hermione," Ron said in a low voice. "I don't want you to be given to Durmstrang as a diplomatic gift by the Ministry of Magic."

"How could that be?" Hermione scoffed. "I just wanted to find out the truth—"

"If you guess wrong, that's fine, but if you happen to discover something, things could get complicated."

When Ron got to this point, he exaggeratedly added, "We can't just investigate randomly, what if we find something?"

"That's true," Hermione nodded in agreement. "It would be impolite if they found out something."

Finally, Dumbledore said a few more words, and then the final part of the welcome dinner for new students began.

Sing the Hogwarts school song.

It must be admitted that Hogwarts ' unique Hogwarts school song chorus truly opened the eyes of students from the other two schools.

The way each of these people has their own unique style is something they couldn't have imagined, even if they were asked to.

After everyone had finished singing, Dumbledore wiped away the tears from the corner of his eyes.

"Music is truly captivating." After saying this, he turned to everyone again and said, "Alright, it's getting late. It's important that you all be refreshed and clear-headed when you enter class tomorrow morning. Go to bed now! Hurry up!"

"In addition," Dumbledore added, "The students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang can go back to their dormitories with the Prefect of their chosen houses, where they will assign them temporary rooms."

The students followed their respective college's Prefect to their college's Common Room.

"Who do you think will be the Hogwarts Champion in the end?" Fred asked George and the others. "I think it should be someone from Gryffindor, like—I think it should be someone from the seventh year."

"Unlikely," George said seriously. "If Dumbledore hadn't said that, the Triwizard Tournament might have been decided among sixth and Triwizard Tournament graders; but since Dumbledore said he could make an exception and allow students under Triwizard Tournament to participate, it means he actually prefers Harry to participate—hey, Harry, what do you think?"

A question mark appeared above Harry's head when he was suddenly mentioned, and then he said very skillfully, "Although I am not in a position of power, I still consider it my duty to bring glory to the school; if it is the will of the people that the only way to benefit the school is to become a hero, then I can only take on the responsibility and completely abandon my own selfishness."

Everyone: —

Good heavens, how can you be so slippery?

"It seems Harry doesn't mind becoming Hogwarts Champion," the Twins chuckled. "Well, if you want to be Hogwarts Champion, then we're withdrawing, and the glory of Gryffindor will be yours."

"I will not keep this honor to myself." Harry's expression was as resolute as if he were standing on Dragon Position.

The Twins immediately knelt down on one knee in a funny manner, pretending to hold up a crown.

"Then please ascend the throne, our Lion King Your Majesty."

Seeing the Twins being so funny, everyone burst into laughter.

They continued forward to the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, which was hidden behind a huge portrait of a Fat Lady in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked as they approached.

"Nonsense," George said. "A Prefect downstairs told me."

With a click, the Fat Lady stepped aside to make way for the Common Room.

However, no one had much desire to talk to each other. After all, they had been on the train all day and had been caught in the rain. So, they returned to their dorm rooms while saying goodnight to each other.

The next morning, the fourth-grade students began their new year's Herbology Class.

In Herbology Class, students collect Bubotuber, and their main learning task is to study how to collect the juice from this plant.

Harry was surprised to find that the liquid in this thing smelled like gasoline; if you didn't know better, you would think it was something flammable and explosive.

Obviously, the boys really liked the smell—but the girls didn't; they found it disgusting.

The process of squeezing the Bubotuber, in particular, is extremely disgusting.

But Professor Sprout's next sentence dispelled the girls' aversion to the Bubotuber and even made them like it.

"The pus from the Bubotuber' is the best medicine for treating stubborn acne—this will prevent students from using drastic methods to remove their pimples."

After the Herbology Class, the first class of the new semester was on Care of Magical Creatures.

Newt returned to school this morning, along with Pabbie.

After seeing Harry, Pabbie made Harry hold his breath for a full two minutes.

"You're suffocating me!" Harry said, panting.

But Pabbie was clearly very excited, and she dragged Harry to a secluded grove and gave him a good cuddling session.

"I really miss you, Harry," she said sweetly.

"Okay, I got it," Harry said, panting again, but now excited. "Can we talk about it later? I have to go to class now—you know that, even though Newt is your nephew..."

But I can't go too far, right?

"Okay." Pabbie a little disappointed, but she cheered up and said to Harry, "Hagrid got some new stuff that Newt finds very interesting, and this Care of Magical Creatures is related to it."

Something new?

"What's new?" Harry asked with interest. "Did he catch some new Magical Creatures?"

"Oh, no," Pabbie said. "But you could put it another way. He didn't catch it; he bred it—though it might not look very appealing, but Newt thinks it's very valuable—if I remember correctly, it's called something like Blast-Ended Skrewt."

As they spoke, they returned to the area where the Care of Magical Creatures was held.

Newt was leading his classmates around the fence, and they seemed to be observing something.

Hagrid stood at the back of the crowd, looking proudly at the fenced area in the center of the arena.

"Ugh, how disgusting!" Hermione exclaimed instinctively.

Harry walked over and peered into the center.

To be honest, the word "disgusting" perfectly encapsulates Harry's impression of these Blast-Ended Skrewt.

They looked exactly like deformed, shell-less lobsters; they were grayish-white, slimy, and quite frightening in appearance.

Many feet are sticking out haphazardly, and you can't see the head.

Each box contained about a hundred of them, each about six inches long, which crawled around on top of each other, dazedly bumping into the sides of the boxes.

They also emit a very strong smell of rotten fish and shrimp. Every now and then, a Blast-Ended Skrewt will shoot out some sparks from its tail, and then with a soft pop, the Blast-Ended Skrewt will move forward a few inches.

"They just hatched," Hagrid said proudly. "You can raise them yourselves! We can do a big project!"

"I suspect they'll produce some kind of gas like methane," Hermione said, looking up at Harry. "Like some creatures in nature, like those stink bugs that shoot out hot, foul-smelling shells from their asses."

The stink bug, scientifically known as the Bombardier Beetle Bombardier Beetle, emits a loud bang from its tail when encountering enemies, spraying out a foul-smelling, high-temperature projectile while simultaneously producing yellow poisonous gas and smoke to confuse, irritate, and frighten predators.

"Then perhaps we can use these things to collect fuel," Harry said, looking at the Blast-Ended Skrewt. "But wouldn't that seem a bit useless for just that purpose? You know, the Magical World isn't short of fuel."

"I really can't imagine what they'd be used for," Hermione sighed. "At least not in terms of food. I simply can't imagine how anyone could eat something like that without poisoning them."

But Newt clearly didn't think so; he was completely immersed in the world of researching new things and had even forgotten to teach his classmates.

The students were naturally delighted with all of this; they sat there, not wanting to remind Professor Scamander of the lesson.

It's best if you forget about it.

Thursday arrived quickly.

Everyone was eagerly anticipating what kind of unique Defense Against the Dark Arts this Auror professor would bring.

After all, Ms. Rosier and Professor Lupin made a deep impression on everyone in the second and third years.

Professor Moody, who used to be an Auror, must have a deep understanding of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

With this in mind, they arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom full of anticipation and sat down to wait for the professor to arrive.

They took out their copies of "Dark Powers: A Guide to Self-Defense" and waited, but when Professor Moody entered the classroom, his first words were to tell them to put the books away.

Moody pulled out the roster, shook his head to clear his long, graying hair from his contorted, scarred face, and began calling out names. His normal eye moved down the list, while his magical eye darted back and forth, scrutinizing each student who answered.

"Alright," he said after the last student finished answering, "I received a letter from Professor Lupin introducing the course. It seems you've grasped quite a bit of the basics about dealing with Dark Arts creatures—you've learned how to deal with Boggart, Red Cap, Hinkypunk, Grindylow, Kappa, and Werewolf, right?"

The students unanimously agreed.

"But you haven't learned enough about dealing with spells—not nearly enough," Moody said. "Therefore, I'm going to show you the magic spells that wizards use against each other. I have a year to teach you how to deal with Dark Arts."

How to combat Dark Arts?

Apart from Ron, Seamus, Neville, and Hermione, who were participating in the Dueling Club, everyone else was very excited.

The reason is simple: no one has taught them how to deal with Dark Arts.

"Alright—let's get back to the main topic. Spells come in many forms, each with different magical powers. Now,..."

According to the Ministry of Magic's regulations, I should teach you various Counter-spell, nothing more. Logically, since you're not yet in sixth grade, I shouldn't be telling you what illegal Charms look like, because you're too young to deal with that kind of thing.

Moody raised his head and surveyed the classroom with an air of authority.

"But Professor Dumbledore has praised your courage greatly, believing you are capable of handling it, and in my opinion, the sooner you learn what you are dealing with, the better. How can you protect yourself in the face of something you have never seen before? A wizard who wants to cast an illegal spell on you will not tell you his intentions. He will not cast the spell on you frankly, fairly, or politely. You must be prepared and vigilant—you'd better not move around while I'm speaking—Mr Mr. Finnegan!"

He pulled out a piece of chalk from somewhere and threw it at Seamus Finnegan, who was sticking bubble gum under the table.

Seamus rubbed his head, which was throbbing from being hit by chalk, and muttered in admiration at the new professor's precision in throwing chalk.

"So—does anyone know which spells will be punished most severely under wizarding law?"

Professor Moody looked at everyone expectantly as he spoke.

He had made up his mind to show these arrogant classmates the terror of Dark Arts.

To his surprise, several ignorant little animals raised their hands.

Among the people who raised their hands, Professor Moody saw Neville, who looked timid.

He certainly recognized Neville, and seeing his expression, Professor Moody gave a meaningful smile.