<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/UDp2UYu.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/yuExVFv.png)</div><table class="bbc_table"><tbody><tr><td><br/><strong>NAME:</strong> Orick Phixyll<br/><strong>OCCUPATION:</strong> Headmaster for Hogwarts<br/><strong>BLOOD STATUS:</strong> Half Blood <br/><strong>WAND:</strong> 10 7/8 inch | Cedar | Unicorn Hair | Very Flexible<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong> The dapper suit and jacket in his photo<br/><strong>DATE | TIME:</strong> 2 September, 2019 | Evening<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong> Hogwarts Grand Hall <br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong> Why so serious?<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong> Open</td></tr></tbody></table><br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/><br/>“My fellow witches and wizards, welcome.” Orick Phixyll stood with his hands folded neatly at the flat of his back, speaking with a sonorous, smokey voice. His stern and angular face, deeply creased with wrinkles, remained still as stone while his steely gray eyes peered slowly across the collected students all settled at their house tables. The four long rows stretched all the way to the back wall, somehow fitting every rump without sacrificing any elbow room. Dishes and goblets were set, while the traditional candles floated high over head to cast the room in a warm glow. Everything seemed quite familiar, with the exception of house banners replaced with the crest of Hogwarts itself. Those who noticed and payed attention to the Ministry shifted and murmured with excitement when they had first arrived. But all chatter was quickly silenced when their headmaster spoke. “Welcome back to what I confidently assume will be another thoroughly riveting year at Hogwarts. And, for you first years, I personally welcome you to your first steps into a world of adventure, mystery, and magic.”<br/><br/>Two sharp claps of his hands echoed like thunder, and with some surprised gasps from the collected students, the ceiling above their heads changed. No longer did it reflect the cloudy and wet fall evening being mirrored from outside, but split into two new skies; the snowy, frigid landscape of Durmstrang and the milder and clear night sky of Beauxbaton academy.<br/><br/>Now there were more gasps, a few squeals, and perhaps the least surprising of all, looks of object horror as the name<em>Cedric Diggory</em>floated around in whispers. Orick allowed a few moments of excited chattering to continue before silencing the hall with the power of his deep voice. “As some of you well know, it has been decided by the Ministry of Magic to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament.<em>This</em>” he said sharply, “is not a contest to be taken lightly. Students have died tragically in these tournaments and while every precaution and safety measure will be taken into account, it is not a decision to be made on a whim.”<br/><br/>He paused to give a sharp look at some of those students known to be a little<em>relaxed</em>on rules and authority. He was just as concerned with their safety as he was with the rest of the school and wouldn’t allow any foolishness. He had been young and foolish once, he knew all about bravado and the youthful assumption of immortality. “Those of proper age will have a month to consider entry. Consider thoughtfully. Consider wisely. For yes, if you retrieve the cup your name will echo in glory throughout history. But remember, danger follows closely at the heels of victory, snapping like ravenous wolves starving for a meal.”<br/><br/>Silence stretched, almost uncomfortably intense, before his wrinkled face unfolded into the wide, friendly stretch of a sincere smile. “And, speaking of meals. Perhaps it is time to move onto the part we have all been waiting for. You will be informed more about these trials in a few weeks. Talk among yourselves, greet your dearly missed friends. But, most importantly of all… Feast!”<br/><br/>With that, all the serving platters on all of the tables filled with delightful creations, promising to satisfy even the pickiest of eaters. Orick himself returned to his seat at the head of the table and took a healthy drink from his goblet. All of the seriousness had melted from his face, replaced, now, instead, with hunger and longing as he reached for a drumstick and began to fill up his plate.