The dismal recruitment situation lasted all day.
At the entrance to the Great Hall, gloating gazes buzzed like sticky flies.
Fred and George's sales pitches were like poisoned honey, every word clinging to the Champions' sensitive pride.
Cedric had almost given up all hope. He had even begun rehearsing in his head how to announce the humiliating collapse of this glorious undertaking to the entire school.
Just then, a resolute figure passed through the watching crowd and strode up to the deserted registration table.
It was Neville Longbottom.
His steps were steady, his eyes full of the confidence and decisiveness befitting the president of the Swiftwind Sword Club.
His straight back was like an unsheathed sword, instantly cutting through all the surrounding noise and mockery.
"When it comes to thinking, I'm no match for Hermione."
Neville's voice was steady and powerful as his calm gaze swept over the three Champions.
Everyone looked at Hermione, then at Neville, their expressions seeming to ask, Are you serious?
Comparing yourself to her?
The imposing air Neville had just built up suddenly faltered.
"Ahem, well, what I mean is, I'm not even as good as Ron..."
Everyone glanced at the two of them, then nodded.
Ron???
Neville hurried on, afraid that if he kept explaining, his imposing air would vanish altogether.
"So I haven't been involved in your plans. But if what you need is pure strength, then I'm willing to offer my greatsword."
His words rang out with conviction.
As a legendary figure who had defeated an upper-year student from the Durmstrang Institute in a duel, his joining was like a ringing bugle call, resounding in the hearts of all those who had been afraid.
"President!"
Several low cries rang out, barely containing their excitement.
Then several core members of the Swiftwind Sword