Upon hearing Fleur's words, Madame Maxime smiled kindly.
"My child," she said gently, "you must understand—the Triwizard Tournament is not merely an event jointly hosted by three schools. It is an ancient tradition, one deeply rooted in our magical heritage. The British wizarding community has made countless preparations for this event. Do you really think the media would miss such an opportunity?"
"A perfect chance to make a big headline," Harry muttered under his breath.
"What was that, child?" Madame Maxime asked, not having caught what Harry said.
"Nothing," Harry replied quickly. "I was just thinking we'd better be careful around those reporters. You know how they are—they'll do anything to grab attention and stir up a scandal."
"That hadn't occurred to me," said Madame Maxime, nodding thoughtfully. "Although I have heard that your Daily Prophet has a reputation for embellishing its stories—and sometimes even inventing facts—to attract readers' attention…"
"But their commentary on the Ministry is certainly… classic," Harry said airily, glancing sideways at Mr. Crouch. His face was dark as thunder, which only made Harry's smile more relaxed. "After all, the British Ministry of Magic is undoubtedly superior—because it's managed to overcome difficulties that other countries don't even have."
Viktor Krum ducked his head, pressing his lips together to keep from laughing.
Fleur turned her face skyward, mentally trying to recall the most painful experience she'd ever endured in her life.
As for Mr. Bagman, he looked utterly at ease. He met Dumbledore's gaze—and both burst out laughing.
"This is slander, Mr. Potter—absolute slander," said Crouch coldly.
Harry shrugged. "It's rather humorous, isn't it?"
"All right, that's enough," Dumbledore said, clearing his throat as he addressed them all. "You may go now. Have a good night's rest, yes? Tomorrow morning there will be a few more matters awaiting us. And as for you, Harry—" his eyes twinkled as he added with a wink, "I imagine your fellow Gryffindors are quite eager to celebrate their new Hogwarts Champion with you."
That wink nearly made Harry nauseous.
Alright, Headmaster, he thought wearily. Please, save that playful charm for Gellert instead.
After bidding farewell to the three headmasters, the two other champions, and both Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch, Harry finally left the cabin and returned to his loyal Gryffindor common room.
"I've heard Gryffindor's got a Champion this year?" said the Fat Lady before he could speak the password. "Word travels fast, you know. A fine achievement, Mr. Potter—now then, the password?"
"I'm the Gryffindor Champion now, and you still need the password?" Harry said incredulously. "You know who I am!"
"Of course I do," said the Fat Lady primly, "but rules are rules." She glanced left and right to make sure no other portraits were paying attention, then whispered, "Oh, the password is 'Champion,' so in you go, Mr. Potter."
She swung aside, letting Harry pass through.
"Thanks," said Harry, grinning as he stepped inside—
—and was immediately showered in a burst of confetti that exploded over his head.
The Weasley twins had chosen quite the way to welcome him back.
"Seems you missed me," Harry said with a laugh. "What a creative welcome."
"Let's hear it for the Lion of Gryffindor, returning to his faithful den!"
Fred and George raised a triumphant cry, and their classmates echoed it, jumping and waving their arms in jubilant celebration.
Well, at least they'd nailed the posture.
"Even if the Goblet didn't choose me, at least it chose someone from Gryffindor!" Angelina shouted over the cheers. "As long as another house didn't snatch it—especially Slytherin—ha! From now on, whenever I run into a Slytherin, I'll hold my head high. Don't you agree?"
"Down with Slytherin!" everyone roared back.
"May Slytherin's lovely ladies bear Gryffindor's children—!"
No one knew who shouted that, but the room erupted in agreement.
After all, the two houses couldn't be more different. Look at Gryffindor's girls—wrapped head to toe in their robes. And then Slytherin's? Layers of mysterious fabrics and bare legs everywhere.
Fashion, it seemed, was one area Slytherin had mastered.
"Come on, Harry, we've got food—lots of it!" Ron called, holding up a chicken leg from his seat.
"I'm not hungry, really. I already ate plenty—"
But no one was interested in hearing that. They dragged him into the party anyway. Harry felt like Tom being hauled out by troublesome customers—forced to "perform" against his will.
Lee Jordan somehow managed to unearth a massive Gryffindor banner and insisted on draping it around Harry like a cape.
There was no escaping. Every time Harry tried to sneak toward the dormitory staircase, the crowd closed in again, forcing another butterbeer or handful of snacks into his hands.
They partied late into the night before finally winding down.
"When you win the first task," Lee Jordan shouted, "we'll throw an even bigger celebration! I've already spoken to Diggory—Cedric Diggory, that pretty-boy Hufflepuff—he'll help us contact the Hogwarts kitchens. The only condition is that we let the Hufflepuffs join in!"
Another celebration?
Harry's head throbbed at the thought.
When he finally returned to his dormitory, he just wanted to sleep—but his crystal orb began bouncing on the nightstand.
It was Veratia. She was calling him.
"Congratulations," Veratia said with a soft, charming smile. "I heard you've become Hogwarts' Champion. That's wonderful news."
"You already know?" Harry asked, startled. He glanced at his watch. "If I'm not mistaken, it's been less than five hours since I was chosen. How did you find out so fast?"
"I just know," Veratia replied with a mischievous smile. "And of course, I hope you'll go on to win the whole tournament—represent Hogwarts and claim the final victory."
"Mm," Harry nodded.
There was a brief silence. Then Harry spoke first.
"I miss you, Veratia."
"How much do you miss me?" she teased, eyes glinting.
"Well… uh…" Harry glanced around the dorm, coughed twice, and said, "Let's just say it's the kind of missing I can't exactly describe out loud—not while I'm still in the dormitory."
In other words: don't start saying things that'll make me blush if someone overhears.
Veratia caught his meaning and gave him a slow, knowing smile. "I understand. Don't worry." Her tone turned playful. "Perhaps around Christmas, I might have some time. We could meet up… or," she added, arching an eyebrow, "your Apparition skills aren't bad, are they? Why not use them during the holidays, come find me, and share a butterbeer while we talk about life?"
Now that was tempting. Harry's heart leapt.
"How about tonight?" he blurted.
"Not tonight, sorry, darling," Veratia said, shaking her head. "But we can arrange a day ahead. I'll make time for you."
"Have you been busy lately?" Harry asked with concern.
"A bit," she admitted with a small nod. "I've been working on something that's… well, something bound to attract media attention."
"What kind of thing?" Harry asked curiously.
"It's a secret of the Austrian Ministry of Magic, Harry," she said apologetically. "Technically, I'm not supposed to tell you."
"But I know you won't not tell me," Harry said with a grin.
Veratia rubbed her eyelids with her fingers and sighed. "All right, fine—it's nothing too serious. I'm currently representing the Austrian Ministry in negotiations with the Hungarian Ministry about a possible merger. Personally, I think Europe doesn't need so many separate Ministries—it's far too bloated. Don't you agree?"
"Why Hungary, though?" Harry asked. "You planning to restore the glory of the Austro-Hungarian Empire?"
"Hmm." Veratia tapped a finger against her lips. "So you're suggesting… I pick another country? Let me think… ah, yes—historically, Austria was part of the Holy Roman Empire. If I were to merge with another nation, Germany would make an excellent choice. A German–Austrian union! What do you think?"
At that, both of them suddenly felt a faint itch beneath their noses—
—as if a mustache were about to sprout.
"In the wizarding world, that shouldn't be a problem," Harry said, scratching his chin. "But if you said that in the Muggle world… they'd probably think you've gone mad—or the police would just toss you straight into a cell."
Veratia burst into laughter—whether at Harry's joke or the sheer absurdity of the idea, he couldn't tell. The thought of any Muggle authority trying to capture her was pure fantasy.
They chatted affectionately for a while longer before Harry reluctantly ended the call.
Partly because he had important things to do the next morning—and partly because Veratia herself was very busy.
He didn't realize that she had taken his teasing suggestion seriously. He'd assumed she was joking.
After all, who could've imagined that decades later, someone would actually attempt to push for a real German–Austrian union?
That would be poking right at the hearts of the Big Goose and Old Beautiful.
France: "My Maginot Line's moving—I'm out!"
Poland: "Why do I feel like I'm about to disappear again—wait, again? Why did I say again?"
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