But despite the interest in my appearance in old age, I wanted to confirm or refute one theory about how exactly this Age Line determines age. Does it work with a much deeper analysis of the body, or with the soul? Definitely not with the mind—psychological age can differ greatly from physiological, and one can simply convince oneself of something—too unreliable.
I stepped over the line and immediately felt two things—the beginning of the line's influence, and the energy in the Goblet. There really was the Tribunal, but because of its specificity I couldn't just take and scoop up a little. I couldn't summon it either—didn't know how. Leaky memory.
Feeling a sharp push designed to push me away, I somersaulted in the air and landed on my feet. I didn't notice any special changes, except maybe that I seemed to become taller by two centimeters maximum—it seems I have already reached my maximum height. Funny to realize this only now, as well as to realize that I look straight into the eyes of the same Cedric, a rather tall guy among all the others, and not slightly from below, as last year.
Of course, chuckles were heard around, but I was not distracted by them, and taking out my wand, conjured a full-length mirror. Amusing. It seems even in old age I will be in excellent shape, which is clearly indicated by the physique of my reflection. True, gray long hair and beard... Waving the wand, shortened the beard, leveled the hair, created a rubber band in my hand and quickly intercepted the mane into a ponytail at the back of the head. Give yellow eyes instead of bright blue, and the image will be complete. Forcing the remains of the beard on the floor to disappear with the help of Evanesco, turned to the giggling guys—Potter and Weasley wrote names on pieces of parchment.
"It doesn't seem, Mr. Granger," the Headmaster began to speak, "that old age weighs on you."
"Healthy food and physical exercise, sir," I smiled slightly. "And no sciatica, rheumatism, and other ailments."
The Headmaster also smirked into his beard, and from the outside our dialogue simply had to be funny.
"Eh," he sighed feignedly. "If you had told me this recipe some sixty years ago, maybe I wouldn't suffer with my knee. Will you go to the Hospital Wing, or does your health allow you to wait for dinner and the selection of champions?"
I even warmed up and moved from side to side.
"Absolutely no difference. I'll wait."
"I envy you with white envy," Dumbledore nodded and moved aside with other Headmasters a little to the side, and several teachers already joined them.
"That was very irresponsible," Hermione clearly wanted to express her opinion, but I interrupted her.
"Later. Guys," looking at the suspiciously happy Harry and Ron, I spoke quietly. "Drop your blood on your parchments and throw them with Leviosa into the Goblet. From above. Can you handle it?"
Using the wand, I transfigured two needles in my hand and handed them to the guys.
"Asking," Ron chuckled, but Harry looked with slight doubt.
"Blood magic is forbidden..." Hermione's next lecture was cut short without starting, and by her own will. "Although, what magic is here..."
Our actions were hidden from the Headmasters, but some guys sitting on the benches next to us watched us with undisguised interest—many knew that Creevey's attempts with Leviosa ended in complete fiasco.
Ron poked his finger with a needle without hesitation, waited for a drop of blood to swell, and poked his finger into the parchment. Harry seemed to be inspired by his friend's act and repeated everything exactly. While we were doing all these manipulations, Durmstrang students, who looked almost dressed up today, quickly "threw off" and dispersed who knows where.
"What a colorful wizard," a familiar female voice was heard from behind.
Turning around, I saw Romanova in their uniform—a rather long skirt and a red fitted tunic. True, now her dark chocolate hair was loose, flowing in waves below her shoulders. This is much better—the image itself lost in "soldier" brutality, but gained in femininity, well, and correct and proportional facial features are generally difficult to spoil with a hairstyle, only improve.
"Miss Romanova, what an honor," I answered with a slight smile.
"Am I the only one who finds it strange, Granger, that unlike other 'brave' ones, you don't look like an old wreck ready to go to the next world at any second?"
"Healthy food..."
"...and physical exercise, yes," almost everyone in the company finished for me.
While we were talking, Potter and Weasley approached the Age Line, and the French, preparing to throw names, stopped in anticipation. Of course, the maneuver of two friends attracted the attention of the Headmasters.
"Wingardium Leviosa..."
The guys simultaneously cast levitating charms on their sheets of parchment, crumpled into balls on Cedric's advice. They carefully levitated them over the almost invisible dome from the Age Line, and everyone in the hall quieted down in anticipation.
"You go, and I'll go right after you," said Ron.
"Okay."
Harry dispelled the charm, and the parchment ball fell exactly into the Goblet. The flame flared up, but threw nothing back. Ron immediately dispelled the charm, and his attempt also succeeded. And silence.
"Ha, it worked! Hector!" Ron turned to me, shining brighter than a polished Galleon. "You're a genius!"
The hall burst into applause, and even the French applauded politely. Dumbledore looked thoughtful, but did not think long, and just headed towards us. While the Headmaster did not approach, I glanced at our company. Hermione looked at all this, stupidly opening her mouth. Cedric shook his head with a smile, as if he didn't expect anything else. There, on the benches, Hufflepuffs who heard Ron's words congratulated not him, but me, as if I had already won the Tournament, although I am not even going to participate there.
"Mr. Granger," the Headmaster spoke strictly, approaching us, and everyone in the hall quieted down, interesting after all. "Tell us how you bypassed the protection?"
"Of course..."
The French began to throw their names one by one, but did not go far. The acoustics in the hall were good, and we spoke loudly.
"...I watched various attempts to overcome your Age Line for most of the day, but all were futile. Everyone ran into the fact that they had to deceive it specifically, and only one Colin Creevey guessed to bypass it altogether."
"With Leviosa, as I understand?"
"Yes, Headmaster. Simple and elegant, but the Goblet refused to accept the application. Then I just thought—and how will the Goblet determine worthiness by name? Weigh the letters, or what?"
Someone giggled, and there were quite a few of them.
"Indeed, what nonsense," the Headmaster nodded.
"There. Seeing many times how someone threw their name, I noticed that the fire in the Goblet touches the hand one way or another. So I assumed that the degree of 'worthiness' the Goblet determines exactly at the moment of contact with the wizard. And the name and school on parchment—is nothing more than a tag, like on a sample of some material. This theory was helped to confirm when a seventeen-year-old threw a name with Leviosa, and the Goblet did not accept it."
"And you decided to use, let me guess, blood?"
"Exactly," I nodded. "Blood contains all information about the wizard, plus it is a magical substance carrying his magic—an excellent replacement for the hand holding the parchment. There were, of course, other hints of the correctness of my train of thought. For example, the prohibiting line is drawn at such a distance that it is impossible to throw a name into the goblet with a hand without stepping over the line, but there is no protection against banal throwing of parchment into the Goblet. Which means simple throwing cannot work in principle. Well and other details..."
The Headmaster stood, looking at me with laughing eyes.
"And you know what, Mr. Granger? Fifty points to Hufflepuff for a simple, elegant and completely unexpected way to solve a problem that everyone else stumbled over."
Such a statement, of course, was met with applause from guys from our house.
"Interesting," Romanova glanced at me. "Still, you are not so simple, Hector Granger. Why didn't you throw your name into the Goblet?"
"Answer for an answer. Why despite the fact that you threw your name, there is neither joy, nor hope, nor anticipation in your eyes, as if you know something? After all, you are obviously the best among your own."
"Hmm, everyone has the right to secrets."
Soon after that, Dumbledore announced the start of dinner, and it flew by almost instantly—everyone languished in anticipation and expectation of the Goblet's verdict. The Goblet itself, by the way, was moved to the Great Hall and it stood where the distribution of newcomers via the Hat usually takes place. But of course, not only the upcoming decision of the Goblet was the topic for conversation, but also the fact that I solved the "problem", and thereby helped Weasley and Potter throw names into the Goblet. No one expects them to be chosen, but the very fact of successfully bypassing protection—is quite a topic for discussion. Well, and some also giggled, looking at me.
Dinner came to an end, food and dishes disappeared, but drinks remained. With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore dimmed the light by changing the tone of the fire in the bowls and candles under the ceiling from yellow to white, with a slight tinge of blue. As a result, the Hall began to look very magical and mystical, the night sky above heads played with completely different notes, it became gloomy, but bright enough to see what was happening.
Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch, like all teachers sitting at their table, tensed in anticipation.
"The moment has come that we have all been waiting for," the Headmaster began to speak in a calm but slightly agitated voice, pumping even more mysticism into the atmosphere of the Hall. "The Selection of Champions!"
The Headmaster approached the Goblet and passed his hand over it.
"The Goblet of Fire is about to make a decision. I think it needs another minute," the Headmaster addressed the Hall. "When the names of the champions become known, I will ask them to approach the table and proceed to the room. Instructions for the first round of tests will be given there..."
The flame in the Goblet began to burn a little brighter, became larger, rising upwards. Those students whose seats were closer to the exit from the Hall stood up from their seats to see better. Suddenly the flame turned crimson, and I was confirmed in the correctness of my thoughts—it is in this color that the Flame of the Tribunal is painted for a brief moment when it makes a decision.
A slightly charred piece of parchment flew out of the flame, and the Headmaster held out his hand—the parchment smoothly lowered onto his palm. Everyone froze in anticipation.
"The Durmstrang Champion—Viktor Krum."
The Hall literally exploded with shouts of encouragement and applause, and Krum, rising from his seat, slouching a little approached Dumbledore, shook his hand and went to the room indicated by the Headmaster, the entrance to which was behind the teachers' table.
"Bravo! Viktor! Bravo!" Karkaroff managed to shout over the applause and the hum of the hall. "I knew you had it in you!"
I couldn't resist, and quickly glanced at the Durmstrang students. Many sincerely supported Krum and were happy for him, but there were also those like, for example, Romanova, in whose gaze and smiles there seemed to be knowledge: "It couldn't have been otherwise". This is interesting. I feel intrigue.
The noise in the Hall died down quite quickly, and everyone began to wait for the next decision of the Goblet again. The blue flame rose again, and here, flashing crimson for a moment, it threw out a piece of parchment almost untouched by fire. Dumbledore held out his hand again, but this piece turned out to be more daring—had to intercept it with fingers in flight.
"The Beauxbatons Champion—Fleur Delacour."
The girl who was related to Veelas and was the owner of gorgeous platinum hair rose from the Ravenclaw table and with a light flying gait headed to the Headmaster.
"Look how upset they are," Hannah couldn't help but notice two sobbing girls from Beauxbatons. "Snakes."
"What's with you?" I smiled at my classmate.
"Just that, Grandpa Hector," she giggled. "They are snakes, the realest ones. There are rumors among girls about their fierce competition. And she is also a Veela. You understand yourself, a school in the mountains, where there are two or three guys for ten girls. Competition for attention. Veela."
"Oh! Horror," I nodded. "Good thing I was born in England."
While we were talking, Delacour went into the room, the hall plunged into silence again, only this time the tension hanging here could, it seemed, be touched with hands.
The Goblet threw out another parchment again.
"The Hogwarts Champion—Cedric Diggory."
Well, it's a sin not to support the prefect, and therefore even I willingly applauded along with everyone else.
"But why?!" Ron's thunderous roar reached us. "Why him, and not me?!"
This phrase generated not only waves of laughter, but also intensified the already active congratulations and applause. Cedric, smiling sincerely, quickly left the table, approached the Headmaster, shook hands and went into the room. The Hall quieted down.
"Excellent! We now know the names of the champions. I am sure that I can rely on all of you, including students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Your duty—is to provide comprehensive support to friends who have fallen to defend the honor of your schools. By supporting your champions, you will make a truly invaluable contribution to their successes, future victories and the development of friendly relations between our schools. The Goblet of Fire will wait for the end of the Tournament to be sealed again upon its completion, and in five years flare up again, at a new Tournament, which will be hosted by the winning school. And now, at such a late hour, I wish everyone a pleasant evening and good night."
With these words the official part ended, and the unofficial one, I am sure, will continue in the house common room. Don't know how things will be with our guests, but badgers will definitely throw a party. And as for me—I need to go to the Hospital Wing. Yes, I can remove this magic due to life energy, but why cause unnecessary questions?
Wrapping myself in magic and flavoring it with an image and a desire to avert gazes from myself, quickly and deftly seeped through the crowds of students and went to the Hospital Wing.
There, in Madam Pomfrey's abode, there were no patients anymore—she patched everyone up just in time for the feast. So I'll be the last one treated for old age today.
"Madam Pomfrey?" I called our mediwitch, and she did not keep me waiting, coming out of her office here, into a large hall with cots and screens.
"Hmm... It seems your condition doesn't bother you at all, Mr. Granger."
Madam Pomfrey pointed her hand to an empty cot standing closest, and I quickly sat on it.
"Healthy food..."
"And physical exercise, yes, I heard," she smiled sparingly. "But still, do you know what age the Headmaster set for the sake of his joke?"
"No idea."
"One hundred years, Mr. Granger."
"Oh! Amusing. That is, other things being equal, I will be like this at one hundred years old?"
"Not a fact," she shook her head and took out her wand. "Need to diagnose your condition to know the specific influence of magic."
"Of course."
Treatment took really little time—a couple of minutes for diagnostics and analysis, a minute to drink an insanely bitter-sour potion, and another minute for Madam Pomfrey to cast an unknown spell on me.
"Excuse me," I addressed the mediwitch while the body returned to normal. "I plan to become a Healer."
"Praiseworthy."
"Advise something? Literature there, what spells."
"Can advise to study better and pay attention to improving general knowledge of magic and sorcery. Practice, practice and practice again. No one will entrust you with this rather complex, and in inept hands also dangerous knowledge, until they make sure that you are a competent wizard."
"Clear. There will be no short way."
"There won't be."
"Thank you," I smiled. "It seems I recovered."
"Yes, that is so," Madam Pomfrey checked my condition again. "You may go, Mr. Granger."
"All the best."
On the way to the common room, I pondered only one question—in what form to ask Cedric to give me control over the flame if he wins? And I will help him win, even if he doesn't want to.
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