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Halfway through the feast, Hogwarts welcomed two more guests, both from the Ministry of Magic. One was Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. The other surprised everyone.
"Father?"
Draco froze as he looked at the man in Ministry robes at the staff table.
It was Draco's father, Lucius.
As a special Ministry commissioner, he had come together with Ludo Bagman for the gathering of the three schools.
"He did not mention this to me."
Draco looked at his father and frowned slightly.
That was not normal.
He planned to find a time to ask his father about it.
As the feast was about to end, Dumbledore cleared his throat and drew everyone's attention.
"I have an important announcement to make."
"I believe everyone has more or less heard some news already."
"Yes. The legendary competition that has been suspended for several centuries, the Triwizard Tournament, will officially resume this year."
Although everyone had already guessed, after Dumbledore formally announced it, the young wizards still began discussing it excitedly.
"From Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons, one champion will be selected from each magical school."
"Once selected, you will fight alone. This is a dangerous undertaking, so please consider carefully before entering."
Dumbledore emphasized this seriously.
Many young wizards had no mood to keep listening. They only wanted to enter, win attention, and show off properly.
Next, Lucius represented the Ministry and announced the rules of this Triwizard Tournament. There would be three tasks in total. The participant with the highest score would win. To reduce the chance of accidents as much as possible, wizards under seventeen could not enter.
The young wizards expressed their dissatisfaction with this rule, and boos sounded everywhere.
Age had never been the measure of a wizard's power.
Look at the famous Mr. Potter. He had defeated the Dark Lord as an infant, yet he was still not seventeen.
Was this rule not deliberately making things difficult for Mr. Potter?
Dumbledore seemed to have expected this result long ago. He had Filch bring out the Goblet of Fire, a large, roughly carved wooden goblet filled with blue-white flames.
The flames were not ordinary flames.
Using the Data Magic Eye, Dudley saw that there was a contract component inside.
The Goblet of Fire was indeed a contract-bearing magical artifact. The so-called Triwizard Tournament used the Goblet of Fire for registration.
Once a contract was formed, it could not be violated, or the consequences would be very serious.
Dumbledore used his wand to draw a circle around the Goblet of Fire. The white line was extremely clear.
"This is an Age Line. Anyone under the age of seventeen cannot cross this boundary."
"Of course, if you can cross this line and successfully throw the parchment with your name into the cup, that will also be considered a successful entry."
This meant the rule was not absolutely fixed by age. If one had the ability to enter successfully, one passed.
"From now until Thursday this week, the Goblet of Fire will remain here and wait for everyone to enter."
The moment he said this, many young wizards exchanged glances, and thoughts they should not have had became active again.
Representing Hogwarts sounded far too interesting.
More importantly, the champion of the Triwizard Tournament would receive one thousand Galleons.
Watching Dumbledore, Lucius, Bagman, and the headmasters of the other two schools leave, many young wizards were already eager to try.
"Those hoping to get lucky can stop thinking about it."
"The last Triwizard Tournament was stopped because too many people died. In other words, before you are prepared to face death, there is no need to enter."
Dudley kindly reminded them. His words sobered many of them at once.
Glory was important, but not more important than life.
"Karkaroff."
Just as Karkaroff was about to take the Durmstrang students back to the ship to rest, a familiar voice sounded behind him. That voice seemed filled with anger.
Karkaroff suddenly turned. The next moment, his face turned deathly pale, revealing a terrifying expression mixed with hatred and fear.
Directly in front of him, Moody was staring at him with his magical eye.
"You!"
Karkaroff gritted his teeth and glared at Moody with hatred. His eyes looked as if they might spit fire, and his jaw clenched so hard that he seemed about to grind his teeth to pieces.
"Me."
Moody glared back without backing down.
"We meet again, Karkaroff."
"The last time we met was more than ten years ago, was it not? Ah, it feels like yesterday."
Moody's tone sounded as if he were speaking to an old friend. Karkaroff clearly did not think so.
Sure enough, Moody's words turned sharp, and he looked at Karkaroff with open mockery.
"When I threw you into Azkaban like a dead dog."
Back then, Karkaroff had been captured after Moody spent six months hunting him down. This former Auror who had caught him had left a deep shadow in Karkaroff's heart.
Moody glanced at Karkaroff's clenched fists and snorted disdainfully.
"From now on, I will keep watching you. I will keep staring at you. I know you have always maintained contact with those Dark wizards. Heh. If you make any small move and I catch you, I will throw you back in. Back to Azkaban. I promise."
Moody pressed forward step by step. Karkaroff retreated in panic until his back hit the wall and there was nowhere else to go.
"I caught you once. I can catch you twice."
"That is where you belong. With darkness all day and only despair for company."
Moody's voice was icy.
"I am telling you, I am not afraid of you!"
Karkaroff shouted at Moody, but no matter how one listened, his voice lacked confidence.
He had personally experienced Moody's strength. He was no match for him. Even if this was an old wizard with a crippled leg, a missing eye, and many years behind him, Karkaroff still did not have much confidence.
Wizards did not necessarily become stronger with age, but an elite Auror from the past would certainly not be weak even when old.
The Durmstrang students behind Karkaroff looked at one another. This was the first time they had seen their headmaster in such a sorry state.
"Oh, is that so?"
Moody did not commit either way. He gave Karkaroff a meaningful smile, then left past him, his staff striking the floor step by step.
Only after Moody's figure disappeared at the end of the corridor did Karkaroff let out a long breath. Then his face twisted as he glared toward the place where Moody had vanished.
'That cursed old dog.'
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