Karkaroff and Madame Maxime on either side of Dumbledore looked as tense as everyone else, and filled with anticipation.
Ludo Bagman was beaming broadly, winking at the students from each school, while Mr. Crouch wore an expression of utter boredom, almost one of irritation.
"Alright, the Goblet is about to make its decision," Dumbledore said. "I estimate it will take another minute... Listen, once the champions' names are announced, I want them to walk to the top of the Hall, then proceed along the staff table and into the next room—"
He pointed to the door behind the staff table and repeated: "And there they will receive their initial instructions."
He drew out his wand and gave it a wide flourish.
All the candles except those inside the pumpkin lanterns extinguished, plunging the Great Hall into a state of semi-darkness.
The Goblet of Fire now emitted a dazzling light, brighter than anything else in the entire Hall; the blue-white flames shooting sparks were almost blinding.
"It's coming!" Ron said excitedly. "Now, this is the moment that makes history!"
The flames inside the Goblet suddenly turned red again, crackling as sparks flew out.
Then, a tongue of flame shot into the air, and from it flew a charred piece of parchment—the entire Hall held its breath.
Dumbledore caught the parchment and held it at arm's length so he could read the words by the fire's light.
The flames had now returned to blue-white.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he said in a clear, strong voice, "is Viktor Krum."
Applause and cheers swept through the entire Hall.
Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table, chest puffed out, and strode toward Dumbledore.
He turned right, walked along the staff table, and entered the next room through that door.
"Brilliant, Viktor!" Karkaroff bellowed like a thunderclap; despite the loud applause in the Hall, everyone could hear him. "I knew you were destined to be the champion!"
Harry quietly grumbled to himself: If I didn't know the selection was rigged by you, I'd have been fooled by your superb acting.
Once Viktor had left the Hall, the applause and chatter gradually died down.
Everyone's attention focused back on the Goblet; a few seconds later, the flames turned red once more.
A second piece of parchment, propelled by the flames, shot out of the Goblet.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore said, "is Fleur Delacour!"
The girl who resembled a Veela rose gracefully, tossed her silvery hair, and glided lightly between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.
"Oh, look, they're all so disappointed," Hermione said amid the uproar, nodding toward the other Beauxbatons representatives.
That said, "disappointed" was far too mild a word.
The two girls who hadn't been chosen were in tears, burying their heads in their arms and sobbing heartbrokenly.
When Fleur Delacour had also entered the next room, the Hall quieted again, this silence surging with an excitement so intense it was almost tangible.
Now it was Hogwarts' champion's turn...
At that moment, the Goblet of Fire turned red once more, sparks flying, a tongue of flame leaping high into the air, and Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment from the tip of the flame.
"The champion for Hogwarts," he announced loudly, "is Harry Potter!"
The Hall fell into silence, then erupted into cheers even more thunderous than the previous two times.
Dumbledore and the three Heads of House smiled and applauded Harry, while Snape clapped reluctantly, his face looking rather sour.
Karkaroff was the same; he'd heard of Harry's fame, though he didn't know the boy's magical prowess, but to have killed Voldemort at his peak as an infant—he wasn't sure what to say...
As for Madame Maxime, she was applauding Harry with genuine enthusiasm.
Harry stood up, and the cheers in the Hall grew even more fervent.
"Mate! Brilliant!" Ron shouted, clapping loudly.
"Whoa!" Colin stood on his bench, snapping photos of Harry nonstop, looking every bit the war correspondent.
"Potter's our king!" the Weasley twins joined in the heckling, even pulling out a few Filibuster's Fireworks; suddenly, bursts of sparkling trees and silver flowers bloomed in the Hall.
Professor McGonagall's smile froze on her face as she glared at the two troublemakers.
But Dumbledore, as headmaster, showed no intention of punishing the pair; in fact, he seemed quite pleased, and when he met the twins' eyes, the old man even sneakily gave them a thumbs-up in encouragement.
As the master of big scenes, Harry wasn't fazed; he raised his hands in acknowledgment to his cheering classmates, looking every bit the part.
He glanced at Cassandra and found her watching him too, her eyes holding a mix of indulgence and helplessness.
When their gazes met, Cassandra suddenly adopted an expression of utter disdain.
Tsundere.
Harry mentally labeled her, planning to punish this dead tsundere severely.
After basking in his classmates' cheers, Harry left the Hall, heading in the direction the other two champions had gone.
As he passed the staff table, Hagrid stood up and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Good on ya, Harry!" he said with a honest grin.
He entered a small room lined with portraits of wizards, with a roaring fire in the fireplace directly opposite the door.
Durmstrang's champion Viktor Krum and Beauxbatons' champion Fleur Delacour were both seated around the fire.
There was no conversation between them; Viktor leaned against the wall, seemingly lost in thought, like that famous "Thinker" sculpture.
Hearing Harry's footsteps, Fleur turned her head and tossed her cascading silver hair.
Seeing a rather short boy, Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"What is it?" she asked. "Are we to go back?"
Clearly, Fleur had mistaken Harry for a messenger student.
"No, Dumbledore told me to wait here," Harry said, sitting between Fleur and Viktor. "I'm Hogwarts' champion."
At those words, Viktor jerked his head up, surprise flashing in his eyes.
But his expression quickly turned sullen again.
Fleur frowned almost imperceptibly; she couldn't understand why Hogwarts would send someone like this...
She sized Harry up.
...Someone so short, who looked barely fifteen, to his death.
"Are you joking?" Fleur asked.
Harry shrugged without a word.
Just then, Mr. Bagman hurried into the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Bagman said excitedly, looking at Harry. "Though it seems unbelievable, representing Hogwarts is none other than Harry Potter, a fourth-year student—he's just turned fourteen this year."
Hearing the name, Viktor's expression grew even more sullen.
Oh...
He'd heard the name—famous, a real spotlight magnet...
Defeating the Dark Lord at such a young age...
But Viktor dismissed it; just a guy who got his fame from his mother's sacrifice. His real skill... Viktor didn't think a kid like Harry could kill the Dark Lord.
No, forget killing—he even doubted Harry could last two moves against him.
Naturally, Viktor straight-up assumed the Goblet must have glitched to select Harry as champion.
But he wasn't happy about it; beating a child to win the Triwizard Tournament would be utterly lacking in grace, and it wouldn't sound good if word got out, even if the child was the Boy Who Lived.
"Is there a mistake?" Viktor asked with a frown. "He's just a fourth-year; he might not even cast Expelliarmus properly. Are they really letting him compete in the Triwizard Tournament? How is that different from sending him to die?"
Good thing Moody didn't hear that, or he'd jump up and give Viktor a taste of Crucio.
That's what you call "can't even cast Expelliarmus properly"?
He casts it too well! He can even use killing curses proficiently...
"I think the same, Mr. Bagman," Fleur asked in heavily accented English. "Such a little boy—can he be a champion?"
Little boy?
Harry didn't feel angry.
Anger often stems from powerlessness over the situation.
But Harry just wanted to laugh.
A couple of words wouldn't cost him a pound of flesh.
"But this isn't up to us to decide, you two," Mr. Bagman said, his face still wearing a polite smile. "Once the Goblet selects a champion, it can't be changed—unless the person decides to withdraw and reselect a champion... So, what do you think, Mr. Potter?"
"I figure I might as well give it a try," Harry said with a modest smile.
At that moment, the heads of the three schools entered together.
Madame Maxime led the way, followed by Dumbledore and Karkaroff; last in was Barty Crouch.
Karkaroff's expression wasn't good; when he looked at Harry, it flickered uncertainly—no one knew what he was thinking.
Mr. Crouch's was even worse; he stared fixedly at Harry, like an Auror interrogating a suspect.
"Very well, I must congratulate you on becoming the champions representing your respective schools in the Triwizard Tournament."
Dumbledore got straight to the point; as president of the International Confederation of Wizards, he had the right to speak first.
His gaze swept over the three champions as he said with a chuckle, "Please trust the Goblet's judgment—it doesn't select without reason or pick an unqualified champion. Any champion it recognizes will have exceptional qualities in some regard."
At that, Dumbledore added, "So, what the three of you need to do now is prepare for the first task next month. But your first challenge isn't the task itself—it's the media interviews tomorrow."
"Media interviews?" Fleur keenly caught Dumbledore's words and asked in her heavily accented voice. "Do we have to do media interviews? Why?"
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