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The Great Hall had been transformed with brand-new candelabras and torches. The entire castle had been meticulously decorated—more festive than Christmas. Colorful silk banners hung above the four long House tables:
Above Gryffindor, a red-and-gold lion shook its mane proudly.
Ravenclaw's bronze eagle gleamed with flowing blue highlights.
Over Slytherin, a coiled serpent with emerald eyes and silver scales looked regal and aloof.
And of course, Hufflepuff's cheerful badger.
The four long tables filled the center of the Hall, now crowded with many unfamiliar faces—mostly sixth- and seventh-years from the other three schools.
The Beauxbatons students sat at the Ravenclaw table in silver-trimmed uniforms. The girl in the front row stood out the most: a waterfall of silvery-blonde hair cascading to her waist, shimmering in the candlelight, her slender waist curving elegantly.
"Merlin's beard! She has to be the most beautiful girl in the world! Beauxbatons… what's her name again?"
Seamus stared, completely mesmerized. "Is Beauxbatons an all-girls school? Why wasn't I born in France? I visited Paris once—why didn't they send me an acceptance letter?"
Dean nodded vigorously. Harry found himself nodding along too.
Hermione glanced at a downcast Ginny, then elbowed Harry. "Stop drooling! She has Veela blood. Remember what happened at Dartmoor that night? Stare too long and the magic will mess with your head and make you look ridiculous!"
Harry remembered the performance at the World Cup and quickly snapped out of it, sitting up straight. His eyes, however, still kept drifting toward the Ravenclaw table.
"Did you all go to this year's World Cup final too?"
The witch a short distance away suddenly turned, smiling brightly at Harry's group while tugging on the boy beside her. "Nancy Boot, and this is Pickett Graves. Ilvermorny, Horned Serpent House, sixth-years. Nice to meet you."
Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Dean immediately straightened up, wiped their mouths with napkins, and tried to look presentable.
"Harry—Harry Potter."
"Ron Weasley."
"Just call me Seamus. This is Dean Thomas. We're all Gryffindors, fourth-years…"
Seamus, who loved gathering gossip, had a naturally friendly personality and didn't care about the awkwardness of first meetings. He quickly struck up a conversation.
"Professor Levent graduated from Ilvermorny, so we feel a lot closer to you than to the other two schools. You know Professor Levent, right? I heard he's pretty famous over there too."
"…"
Nancy and Pickett exchanged amused glances.
The Ilvermorny students had chosen to sit at the Gryffindor table. They wore blue-and-crimson robes tied with identical knots—some crooked, some neatly triangular.
Durmstrang, famous for its dark-arts focus, sat at the Slytherin table under Headmaster Karkaroff's lead. Coming from a frozen climate, the students were all large and burly, wrapped in thick fur cloaks they refused to take off even indoors.
The Slytherin students, however, looked down on them, muttering that the cloaks were ugly and wasted good pelts, and that the Durmstrang boys gawked at the enchanted ceiling and fiddled with plates and goblets like country bumpkins.
If Fleur Delacour was the standout from Beauxbatons, the most eye-catching student from Durmstrang sat near the back: thick black eyebrows and a signature hooked nose. Thanks to the summer World Cup final, he was already a world-famous Quidditch player.
"Merlin! That's Viktor Krum! Bulgaria's Seeker! Bulgaria wouldn't have even reached the final without him! I thought he'd already graduated!"
Ron's voice trembled with excitement. "He's still a seventh-year? Not even graduated yet and he's already a famous Seeker! He's going to win so many trophies! Do you think I could get his autograph?"
"…"
Behind the staff table, luxurious velvet curtains embroidered with the Hogwarts crest hung in place—the four animals clustered around the letter [H].
The four headmasters and professors sat in a row, along with Barty Crouch from the Ministry. The sudden influx of guests made the usually spacious area feel crowded. The enchanted ceiling had been adjusted to show a clear, starry night sky despite the gloomy clouds outside.
The brightest silver moonlight poured down from the ceiling, catching on Dumbledore's robes and illuminating his long silver beard.
The other three headmasters were equally striking.
Igor Karkaroff of Durmstrang wore an extravagant mink robe—soft, luxurious, and clearly expensive. He was tall and thin, with short graying hair and a pointed goatee curled at the tip.
He wasn't very popular with the Hogwarts students—mainly because their own Headmaster clearly wasn't fond of him either. When they'd met by the Black Lake earlier, Karkaroff had offered his hand in greeting, but Dumbledore had only given a cold snort.
Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine of Ilvermorny looked to be in his sixties—still considered middle-aged among wizards. Only his temples showed gray. His face was ruddy and his voice booming.
Finally, there was Olympe Maxime of Beauxbatons, dressed in black satin robes and adorned with many gleaming opalescent jewels. She was tall and imposing, easily matching Hagrid's height. Dumbledore didn't even have to bend down to kiss her hand.
Yet she had a strikingly beautiful face—large, dark, expressive eyes, a delicate nose, and long hair swept back into a sleek, shining bun.
"Hagrid's smitten with her, I'm sure of it," Professor Flitwick whispered from his stack of cushions to Professor Sprout. "Completely smitten!"
As a half-breed himself, Flitwick had recognized Madame Maxime's heritage the moment they met. He understood the trouble that bloodline could bring, so he kept quiet since she hadn't announced it herself. That didn't stop him from teasing his colleague.
Beauxbatons had also brought their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Christine Rosier. She wasn't seated with the headmasters at the center but had been placed on the right side. She sat quietly, watching the equally young Muggle Studies professor across from her, a faint smile in her eyes.
"That's Professor Rosier," Hermione whispered to her friends and their new acquaintances. "Beauxbatons' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and a friend of Professor Levent. She helped us in Paris last summer. Bastian and my parents wanted to thank her in person, but she was too busy and left before we had the chance."
"Charlie mentioned her!" Ron said, raising his hand. "Professor Levent and Professor Rosier met in Romania. She used to be an Auror there. The professor helped her solve a dragon-egg theft case."
Seamus rested his chin on his hand, thinking. "So Durmstrang is the only real outsider."
"Looks like this year's Triwizard has nothing to do with them," Dean nodded, looking solemn.
"Quiet, please…"
Professor McGonagall tapped her goblet with a silver spoon.
The noisy Hall fell silent. Some students below wore solemn expressions as they looked toward the rough wooden goblet placed in front of the staff table. It looked ancient, carved from plain wood with no spiderwebs, bite marks, or scorch traces. It had apparently been stored in some forgotten warehouse inside a jeweled box until recently unearthed.
The Durmstrang students' eyes burned with intensity. In 125 tournaments over the centuries, Hogwarts had won 63 times and Beauxbatons 62. Durmstrang had nothing but humiliation to show for it.
This was their chance to break the zero!
"All four schools are now present. The opening ceremony begins."
Melvin stood and amplified his voice with his wand. "Headmaster Fontaine—my old friend—it's wonderful to see you here. Madame Maxime, we missed each other in Paris last time, but we've finally made up for it today. And Headmaster Karkaroff—pleased to meet you. Since you're a Hogwarts alumnus, I suppose this counts as a homecoming."
Most students in the Hall had been three or four years old during the last wizarding war and knew nothing of Karkaroff's past. Even the Durmstrang students only knew their headmaster was a foreign wizard.
Applause for the three visiting headmasters was warm. When Melvin introduced the Ministry representative, the clapping grew noticeably thinner.
Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman didn't seem to mind. Crouch swirled the wine in his goblet absentmindedly. Bagman's dark eyes gleamed as he scanned the students below.
During the Quidditch World Cup final, Bagman had run his own betting ring and taken heavy losses when a few goblins bet big on Ireland at terrible odds. He'd made some money back through the Mirror Club over the past two years, but it still stung. Now he planned to recoup everything with the Triwizard Tournament.
He would once again run the book while also serving on the organizing committee and acting as host and judge. Bagman refused to lose money this time.
"The Triwizard Tournament has a glorious seven-hundred-year history. Restarting it was a joint decision. With Ilvermorny joining as a new partner, the Triwizard becomes the Quadwizard, bringing fresh competition and new energy."
Melvin's voice carried clearly through the Hall. "Given the dangerous nature and high casualty rate of past tasks, we have revised the format. We created a more reasonable selection process and designed safer tasks to protect the students as much as possible."
He waved his wand at the wooden goblet. Blue-white flames immediately sprang up inside, bright and dazzling.
Many students finally understood where the name "Goblet of Fire" came from.
"There will be two rounds of selection. First, the entry forms. The four headmasters, four Heads of House, and Professor Rosier of Beauxbatons each hold parchment entry forms. Anyone who wishes to compete must earn their approval and receive one."
"The second round is the Goblet of Fire itself. Write your name and school on the parchment and drop it into the flames. Tomorrow night—Hallowe'en—the Goblet will select the approved candidates."
Melvin paused, then raised his voice slightly. "The Goblet of Fire will be placed in the Entrance Hall. Any student who wishes to enter may touch it. You have twenty-four hours to decide: will you remain a rational spectator in the stands, or step forward to become a champion watched by the entire wizarding world?"
"No age limit?" a young witch's surprised voice rang out from below.
The Triwizard Tournament hadn't been canceled on a whim. To combat the rising death toll, the three schools' professors had tried to make changes. An age restriction had been proposed three hundred years earlier.
It had started at fourteen, then fifteen, then sixteen. By the final tournaments before cancellation, it had reached seventeen—and still hadn't reduced the casualties. That was when the headmasters finally shut it down.
So when students heard there was no age limit at all, they were shocked.
Melvin smiled. "The age limit was meant to ensure you had basic self-defense skills. Age is just an easy, visible benchmark. We didn't want to take the lazy route of a blanket cutoff, so we created two rounds of selection. Only by showing enough ability will you earn a professor's approval."
The Hall erupted in cheers. "Professor Levent for the win!"
The other three headmasters smiled from the staff table. They had brought only seventh-years. Without an age limit, Hogwarts clearly had more potential entrants, but they didn't seem bothered.
A blanket cutoff was lazy, but not wrong.
Generally speaking, a seventeen-year-old wizard was stronger than a sixteen-year-old. Seventh-years were the elite of any school. Even if Hogwarts produced a few younger champions, they would likely fall in the later tasks.
"How many champions per school?" George and Fred asked, standing up.
"Actually, we set no limit on the number of champions per school."
Melvin raised a hand to quiet the rising noise and explained with a smile, "The competition is elimination-based. You don't need to worry about the format. Later tasks will determine the final winner."
---
In the small hours of the morning, the Gryffindor boys' dormitory was still brightly lit. Harry leaned back against his four-poster bed, listening to his roommates' excited discussion.
After the feast ended, the Hogwarts students had returned to their dormitories while the visiting students went back to their enchanted carriages and ship—both expanded with Undetectable Extension Charms to provide plenty of sleeping space.
"Let's all sign up together! Maybe we can even be on the same team!" Ron declared, pumping his fist.
"We don't even know how to get a professor's approval yet," Harry sighed.
"I do," Neville said quietly.
"You do?!" Every eye in the dorm turned to him.
"Professor Levent started preparing right after term began. In the second week of Potions I knocked over my cauldron. Snape gave me detention, and Professor Sprout took me to help set up the tasks."
Neville muttered, "It was the old third-floor corridor—the space under the trapdoor. It's not one long connected room anymore. They turned it into separate chambers. Professor Sprout moved half of Greenhouse Two and Three there. The entry parchments are inside."
"The other Heads of House probably did the same."
The boys' breathing quickened. They looked at one another, the same thought written on every face.
"Nighttime wander!"
"Right now!"
---