Chapter 131: The Blood Man
The violent pounding on the door stopped after a few seconds!
“Just a prank after all!” Jon shook his head helplessly, then tossed the last black eel carcass onto the floor.
Then he picked up the glass bottle on the ground...
“Alohomora!”
A loud voice rang from outside, and the door to Snape’s office was burst open and crashed to the floor.
“Who’s there!” Jon spun around, alert, his dragon-hide-gloved hand going to his waist to draw his wand.
Standing in the doorway was a short, gray-haired witch.
“Uh… Professor Sprout… why is it you…” Jon said, a little taken aback.
Professor Pomona Sprout’s expression looked rather odd…
In Jon’s memory, Professor Sprout had always been gentle, but now her face was caught somewhere between shame and helplessness.
“Jon, hurry…” she rasped. “Come with me to the Great Hall!”
Before he could argue, an invisible gust shoved Jon to his feet and drove him toward the door.
“Wait, Professor…” Jon struggled mightily not to slosh the eel blood in the glass bottle. “Let me change first… and put this down!”
...
At that moment, in the Great Hall of Hogwarts...
A buzzing hum rose from every corner.
High on a pillar along one wall hung a portrait—
Its subject should have been a wrinkled witch: Headmistress Isabel Garwood (1547–1622). In 1607 she oversaw the Great Hall’s reconstruction and cast a powerful spell on its ceiling so it would forever mirror the sky outside, which is why her portrait has always hung here.
But now, the frame was crammed with more than a dozen witches and wizards, packed shoulder to shoulder.
“What’s the situation now?” Headmaster Phineas Black muttered, trying not to let the students hear him.
“Yes, he still hasn’t arrived. The first time in seven hundred years!” Headmistress Isabel Garwood shook her head helplessly. “Disgraceful… When the Goblet of Fire spat out the Hogwarts Champion’s name, he wasn’t even present—he was serving detention!”
“That brat, Jon Hart?” Headmaster Phineas Black said with a trace of schadenfreude. “He’s brought utter shame on Hogwarts!”
With a soft thud, Phineas was shoved aside, and a male wizard appeared where he’d been standing.
“What are you doing, Everard?” Clutching his waist, Headmaster Phineas Black managed weakly.
“Sorry, Phineas… but he’s coming!” Headmaster Everard said excitedly. “I saw him in the portrait at the first-floor staircase—he’s sprinting this way, fast… he should be here any second!”
A dozen pairs of eyes snapped to the doors.
They even jostled for better spots.
The doors of the Great Hall opened...
A blood-soaked boy was all but shoved inside!
“Oh, Merlin’s beard!” Headmaster Phineas Black gaped in shock.
“Did he just slay a dragon?” Everard Headmaster shook his head in disbelief.
“That amount of blood… must be a Ukrainian Ironbelly…” Headmaster Oliver Cromwell analyzed with solemn gravity.
“Disgraceful!” The wrinkled witch closed her eyes and shook her head helplessly. “Why would the Goblet of Fire be so blind as to choose someone like this to represent Hogwarts!”
“Don’t you think the look is actually pretty cool?” Headmistress Dilys Derwent asked, surprised.
...
As the doors opened, the hall—humming with whispers a moment ago—suddenly fell silent.
Hundreds of eyes turned in unison toward the entrance.
Students seated toward the back—especially the girls—edged inward in fright.
Jon Hart stepped into the hall, mortified… blood still dripping from his dragon-hide coat.
He briefly considered stripping it off… but his robes were still in Snape’s office; if he took the coat off now, he’d be in his underclothes, which would be even more mortifying.
At the same time, he was wondering what on earth had happened to make Professor Sprout hustle him here in such a rush.
Could it be…
“Let us welcome…” Mr. Ludovic Bagman forced himself forward to the side of the “uninvited guest.” “The fourth champion—Hogwarts’ second champion!”
“What? Pardon?” Jon’s jaw dropped. “Who’s the fourth champion?”
“Why, you are, Mr. Hart!”
“Clatter…” The bottle of black eel blood slipped from his hand with a sharp crack, shattering on the floor. Scarlet spattered all over Mr. Bagman.
“You’re joking, right?” Jon stammered.
Mr. Bagman clapped a hand over his nose and backed up a few steps.
“I don’t think anyone would joke about this, Mr. Hart…” he said with a frown. “Head to the dais!”
Jon finally understood… why Hannah had come for him, why Professor Sprout had dragged him here!
Why was this happening?
Which wretched scoundrel had the nerve into the Goblet of Fire?
And why was the Goblet of Fire so blind… I’m no The Chosen One, just an ordinary student! This completely ignores the course of history!
...
“Jon, to the podium,” Professor Sprout had reached his side and reminded him softly.
There was no other choice—
Jon set off down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. The walk felt endless…
As he went, eel blood dripped steadily, tracing a dark red trail between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.
It felt like an hour before he finally reached Dumbledore. He could feel every teacher’s eyes on him.
“All right… through that door, Jon,” Dumbledore said. There was no smile on his face.
“Um… Professor Dumbledore!” Jon raised his blood-smeared hand. “I’m a third-year Hufflepuff. Why should I be competing in the Triwizard Tournament… Couldn’t you find someone else?”
“Can I withdraw?” Jon asked, righteously indignant.
Comments (0)
Please login or sign up to post a comment.