The Fall of Dumbledore: The White King

The Triwizard Tournament

The scarlet steam engine slowed to a halt, the familiar sights and sounds of Hogsmeade Station enveloping Hades and his friends as they disembarked. Despite the swirling undercurrent of excitement about his newfound pure-blood lineage, there was still a sense of comfort in returning to the ancient halls of Hogwarts.

"Looks like the fresh crop of Mudbloods are getting their first eye-opener," Draco sneered, nodding towards a gaggle of tiny wide-eyed first-years gawking at the celestial visage of the enchanted castle turrets piercing the twilight sky. "Absolutely priceless."

Pansy made a disgusted sound. "Just wait until they get a load of the ghosts and talking portraits. It'll be a miracle if half of them don't faint from fear."

"Maybe that's for the best," Blaise chimed in lazily. "Weed out the weak-hearted filth before they embarrass us all."

Hades allowed himself a small smirk of amusement as they joined the tide of students flowing through the grand doors and into the entrance hall. He knew all too well how overwhelming the wonders of Hogwarts could be for a Muggle-born experiencing magic for the first time. It was almost enough to make one pity the poor creatures...almost.

The Great Hall's bewitched ceiling shimmered with a dazzling mirror of the velvety evening sky, dusted with a smattering of glittering stars and winking constellations. The young Slytherins took their usual seats, already eyeing the gaggle of fresh meat that made up this year's crop of first years with disdain.

"Look at them, Hades," Draco muttered with a curled lip. "Mudbloods and half-breed scum, the lot of them. Soon their kind won't be poisoning these hallowed halls any longer."

Hades gave a measured nod but remained silent, his thoughts dwelling on his breathtaking discovery at Gringotts. He was a pure-blooded scion of the most noble and ancient lineage, destined for a grand purpose far beyond these mundane schoolhouse rituals. Already his focus was shifting ahead to the future that awaited after leaving this place behind for good.

The Sorting Hat's garbled song had just begun when Dumbledore rose, that insufferable twinkling in his eyes as he raised his hands for silence. "I have an announcement to make before we begin!"

A low grumble of confusion rippled through the assembled students and staff. Clearly, this decree was unplanned and unexpected.

"This year," the old wizard proclaimed, "Hogwarts has been given the incredible honor of hosting that most hallowed of events - the Triwizard Tournament!"

A shockwave of gasps and murmurs exploded through the Great Hall at this news. Hades arched an eyebrow, shooting a sidelong glance at Draco whose face was split by a devious grin. They were both well aware of the legends surrounding the notorious Triwizard Tournament from their pure-blood tutelage.

"For those of you unlucky souls," Dumbledore plowed on with an infuriating wink, "who are unaware of this most illustrious tradition, it is a competition held between the three largest wizarding institutions in Europe - Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang!"

On cue, the great oaken doors swung open to admit a delegation of fur-clad witches and wizards from the fabled Durmstrang Academy. At their head strode a wizened, grizzled figure Hades recognized from overheard Death Eater whispers - Igor Karkaroff, a disgraced former ally of the Dark Lord. His piercing gaze swept the Great Hall suspiciously as his charges filed in behind him like soldiers.

Hades couldn't help feeling a twinge of envy at the stoic, hardened demeanor of the Durmstrang pupils in their crimson robes and matted fur capes. Their regimented tromp carried the air of elite warriors, a distinct contrast to the wide-eyed wonderment on the Hogwarts students' faces around him. It was rather pathetic.

Dumbledore beamed as Karkaroff and his phalanx came to a halt before the head table. "And now, escorting our guests from the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic..."

The doors parted once more to reveal what appeared to be a shimmering mass of delicate gossamer wings and diaphanous silk. Hades narrowed his eyes in confusion until he realized the radiant blur was a flowing procession of dainty young ladies in pale blue robes. They moved and twirled in unison as if caught in an unseen breeze, gliding along in a balletic cadence entirely at odds with the brutish Durmstrang entourage.

"They make the Beauxbatons ladies seem rather...uncouth, don't they?" Pansy muttered with a derisive sneer.

Draco and Blaise rumbled in agreement, leering at the French witches like a pair of ill-bred trolls ogling veela. But Hades paid them little mind, his watchful gaze centered squarely on Dumbledore. The arrival of the Tournament delegations seemed to carry deeper significance, he sensed, that went beyond the usual pomp and pageantry. Just what sort of role did the old dotard have in store for them all in this impending spectacle?