Witcher at Hogwarts

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The students from the visiting schools glanced around in confusion, whispering urgently to the Hogwarts students beside them as they tried to make sense of what had just happened.

At the Gryffindor table, Neville Longbottom sat frozen in his seat, mouth hanging open in shock.

He hadn't even realized that the food he had just put in his mouth was still there, unchewed.

It would have been a comical sight—if anyone had been in the mood to laugh.

But no one was laughing.

There was no applause, no cheers—just a rising murmur of uncertainty filling the Great Hall.

Students stood up, craning their necks to get a better look at Neville, who remained motionless as though he had been petrified.

At the head table, Professor Greg shot to her feet, hurrying past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff.

Reaching Ethan, she patted his shoulder hastily before signaling to Dumbledore, urging him to come over.

The moment the three of them gathered, Professor McGonagall wasted no time.

"Merlin's beard! What is the name of—what's going on?!" she demanded, her voice uncharacteristically frantic.

"I don't know—" Dumbledore admitted, his expression grave.

"I monitored the Goblet of Fire the entire time. I can assure you, there was no foul play—"

"That's not the point!" McGonagall cut in, her voice rising.

"Neville cannot participate in the Triwizard Tournament! That's Neville! He—he won't survive the competition!"

"Minerva—" Dumbledore began gently, but McGonagall had had enough.

"We must follow the rules," he continued.

The charter clearly states that anyone whose name is drawn from the Goblet of Fire is obligated to participate in the competition.

"But this is absurd! It's Neville!" McGonagall's voice cracked with frustration.

Before they could say another word, an eruption of noise came from the Gryffindor table.

The three professors turned just in time to see a commotion breaking out around Neville.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

Hermione's panicked voice rang across the hall.

"Neville's choking!"

Ethan reacted instantly. In three swift steps, he was off the platform, pushing his way through the gathered students.

Without hesitation, he grabbed Neville and performed the Heimlich maneuver.

A moment later, with a wet plop, a piece of baguette shot out of Neville's mouth and landed on the Gryffindor table.

The entire hall held its breath.

Neville gasped desperately for air, inhaling deep lungfuls as his color slowly returned to normal.

The tension in the room finally eased as the students let out a collective sigh of relief.

But Neville, now fully aware of the hundreds of eyes on him, wished he could have just passed out instead.

His face turned scarlet as he stared firmly at his shoes, avoiding the gaze of everyone around him.

"Professor Ethan—I swear, I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire!" he blurted out desperately.

Ethan crouched slightly, his voice reassuring.

"I believe you, Neville."

Then, glancing toward the chamber where the champions were expected to gather, Ethan gave a slight nod.

"Neville, you need to go through that door," he instructed gently.

For a moment, Neville hesitated, looking as though he might faint.

But when he realized there was no other option, he stumbled forward, keeping his eyes glued to the floor as he made his way toward the exit—desperate to escape the weight of every gaze in the Great Hall.

As soon as Neville left, the Great Hall erupted into frantic discussion.

Most of the Hogwarts students were convinced that the Goblet of Fire had malfunctioned—after all, no one truly believed that Neville Longbottom had deliberately entered himself into the tournament.

"Quiet! Quiet!"

Dumbledore's voice echoed through the hall, cutting through the noise.

"Tonight's break will begin early! Prefects, escort your houses back to the common rooms!" he commanded firmly.

Though some students grumbled in protest, they were accustomed to following Dumbledore's orders.

Gradually, the crowd began to move, filing out under the watchful eyes of their prefects.

Only after the last student had exited did Dumbledore turn to the other professors, his expression grave.

"We need to get to the bottom of this—immediately," he said.

Without hesitation, they made their way to the chamber where Neville had been taken.

The moment they entered, the scene before them made several professors freeze.

Karkaroff had both hands gripping Neville's shoulders, shaking the boy roughly, his face twisted with fury.

"You cheated, didn't you?" Karkaroff snarled, his eyes blazing.

"Tell me! You threw your name into the Goblet of Fire!"

Neville was trembling violently, his face pale as parchment. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out—he was too terrified to speak.

"My word, Karkaroff! What do you think you're doing?!" Professor McGonagall gasped in horror.

Nearby, Viktor Krum hesitated. His expression was conflicted—he wanted to intervene, but he held back, unwilling to challenge his headmaster.

On the other side of the room, Madame Maxime and Fleur Delacour watched Karkaroff with disgust.

Fleur, her hands clenched into fists, looked ready to step in, but Madame Maxime held onto her sleeve, keeping her from acting rashly.

"You don't understand!" Karkaroff barked, his voice raw with frustration.

"We must deal with cheaters immediately!"

Before he could continue, Ethan strode forward and seized Karkaroff's arm in an iron grip.

The force of it made Karkaroff release Neville instantly, letting out a pained grunt.

"What are you doing?!"

Karkaroff snapped, turning on Ethan with fury—until he seemed to realize who had stopped him.

A shadow flickered across Karkaroff's face, his earlier aggression vanishing.

He lowered his gaze, avoiding Ethan's eyes, his posture suddenly rigid and subdued.

Dumbledore stepped forward, his expression cold.

"Mr. Karkaroff," he said sternly,

"I believe Hogwarts professors should discipline Hogwarts students."

There was no mistaking the disapproval in his voice.

McGonagall, ignoring Karkaroff entirely, crouched beside Neville.

Her expression softened as she gently cupped his round face, rubbing soothing circles over his cheek.

"Poor child… are you all right?" she asked gently.

Neville was still visibly shaken. He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly before managing to whisper the only thing on his mind.

"Professor McGonagall, I—I didn't put my name in the Goblet!"

His voice came out hoarse, mechanical, as though he had repeated the words too many times in his head.

"Oh, you poor boy," McGonagall murmured, her eyes glistening with emotion.

Dumbledore, watching Neville carefully, flicked his wand. A steaming cup of hot chocolate appeared in his hand.

"Have a drink, Mr. Longbottom," he said kindly, pressing the warm cup into Neville's shaking hands.

"Take a moment to rest."

Neville clutched the cup tightly as if it were a lifeline.

For the first time that evening, he finally began to breathe again.