The ink on the Daily Prophet was barely dry, and the smell of printing ink seemed to linger in the corridors of Hogwarts.
The news was a wildfire, leaping from one head to another.
The Castle emptied in an instant.
Those revising, those who had just finished their exams-everyone surged in the same direction.
The Quidditch Pitch.
Douglas stood in the middle of the pitch, watching the crowds pour from every exit of the Castle and merge into a rushing river.
The buzzing conversations swelled into a sea of noise. Everyone searched for familiar faces, eagerly exchanging fragments of information they had heard that morning.
He saw Dumbledore's bright blue eyes sweep over the crowd, an inscrutable hint of a smile on his lips.
The old headmaster led Fudge and the others onto the makeshift speaker's platform at an unhurried pace.
Douglas's gaze fell on the enormous magical crystal ball on the platform, quietly absorbing the evening glow.
Dumbledore looked at it too and chuckled softly.
"How interesting!"
He snapped his fingers.
A crisp, almost inaudible sound.
Yet in an instant, the uproar across the Quidditch Pitch was wiped away by an invisible hand.
Everything fell silent.
"My apologies for interrupting your enthusiasm this way." Dumbledore's voice reached everyone's ears clearly, carrying a gentle, penetrating quality.
"Our time is limited. I would like everyone except the sixth years to take their seats in the stands first. You may continue your lively discussions there, my dear students. Would that be all right?"
"Of course, only sixth years will be allowed to participate in this event."
"The fifth years are not yet capable enough, and the seventh years..."
Dumbledore paused and blinked behind his glasses.
"You understand. Your exams must come first, unless... you feel today's exam schedule was still too easy?"