"Over the centuries, there have been several attempts to revive the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "but none have succeeded—until now.
The Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Games and Sports at the Ministry believe the time is ripe for another try. This summer, we've worked tirelessly to ensure that no champion will face mortal danger."
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have arrived at Hogwarts. Please join me in welcoming them!"
As Dumbledore's words echoed through the hall, the Great Hall's doors swung open once more.
A group of about twelve or thirteen students entered, looking around eighteen or nineteen years old. Their attire was strikingly different from Hogwarts'—they wore pale blue robes, clearly made of fine silk, exuding an air of elegance and expense.
They walked up to the staff table and stood to one side.
Then, a towering woman strode in.
"Towering" was no exaggeration—Harry had never seen a woman so tall. The Great Hall's grand doors seemed almost ordinary in size compared to her.
Despite her imposing stature, she was strikingly beautiful, with an air of refined grace. Her lavish attire, adorned with enormous, gleaming opals around her neck and on her fingers, proclaimed her as a lady of high status.
For a fleeting moment, Harry thought Hagrid might have found his match.
Sure enough, when Harry glanced at Hagrid, he was staring at the woman, utterly transfixed.
Dumbledore stepped down from the head table to greet her.
The woman's face softened into an elegant smile. She extended a hand, gliding toward Dumbledore. Harry noticed that Dumbledore didn't need to bend to kiss her hand in greeting.
Not that Dumbledore was short—it was simply that this woman was extraordinarily tall.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, my dear Madame Maxime," Dumbledore said, releasing her hand.
"Mr. Dumbledore," Madame Maxime replied in a deep, resonant voice, "I trust you are well."
After exchanging pleasantries, Madame Maxime ascended to the head table, taking a seat beside Hagrid.
Hagrid immediately grew stiff, fidgeting awkwardly as if plagued by invisible lice.
Next, a group of male students entered the hall—not a single girl among them.
They looked sturdy, almost like miniature trolls—Harry wasn't sure why that word popped into his head.
Upon closer inspection, they weren't particularly bulky; their thick fur cloaks gave the illusion of greater size.
The man leading them wore a cloak unlike the others—silvery-white, sleek, and shimmering, likely made from the fur of some rare magical creature.
"Dumbledore!" the man called out warmly halfway across the hall. "My dear old friend, how are you?"
"Splendid, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied.
Karkaroff's voice was smooth and syrupy. As he approached, Harry saw he was as tall and thin as Dumbledore, though his white hair was short, and his goatee, curled at the tip, didn't fully conceal his sharp chin.
He strode up to Dumbledore, clasping his hand with both of his own.
"Dear old Hogwarts," Karkaroff said, gazing up at the castle with a smile—his teeth yellowed, stained with dark spots.
Though his face smiled, his eyes remained cold and piercing. "It's wonderful to be here, truly wonderful… Viktor, come warm yourself… you don't mind, do you, Dumbledore? Viktor's caught a bit of a cold…"
Karkaroff beckoned one of his students forward.
As the boy passed, Harry caught sight of a distinctive hooked nose and thick, dark eyebrows.
"Harry—it's Krum!" Ron whispered excitedly beside him.
Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker who caught the Snitch at the Quidditch World Cup, was Ron's idol.
"I noticed," Harry said flatly, uninterested in the celebrity worship.
At the staff table, Dumbledore, now seated, was chatting with the two visiting headmasters.
After a moment, he stood again.
"And so," Dumbledore announced, "I welcome the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to Hogwarts. On behalf of the entire staff and student body, I extend our warmest greetings."
With that, he began to clap.
The students followed suit, their applause filling the hall.
After a brief pause, Dumbledore raised a hand to quiet them.
"In the coming days," he continued, scanning the room, "our guests from both schools may choose to join any of Hogwarts' four houses and sit at their respective tables for meals. You're also welcome to rest in the house dormitories, where the prefects will make arrangements for you."
"Hogwarts' four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin—each with its own distinct qualities. Gryffindor values bravery, Hufflepuff loyalty, Ravenclaw wisdom, and Slytherin cunning. These traits are not absolute, of course, and I trust you've learned about our houses before arriving. Now… make your choices."
As his words settled, the students from the two schools began selecting their tables.
Most Beauxbatons students gravitated toward the Ravenclaw table, with a few choosing Hufflepuff. None opted for Gryffindor or Slytherin.
Every Durmstrang student, without exception, chose Slytherin.
Once they were seated, Dumbledore spoke again. "Very well—I won't dampen your spirits with lengthy speeches. Let the feast begin!"
The tables before them instantly brimmed with mountains of food. Ron let out a cheer, muttering, "Good to know Dumbledore hasn't forgotten we need to eat."
"He wouldn't forget that," Harry said, reaching for a thick steak and placing it on his plate. "I'm starving."
He needed to dig in.
They'd been eating for a few minutes when Nearly Headless Nick suddenly popped up near the first-years.
Students from wizarding families were unfazed, but those from Muggle backgrounds gasped in shock.
Dennis Creevey, however, was an exception. He recognized Nick instantly.
"You're Nearly Headless Nick!" Dennis exclaimed, pointing. "I know you! My brother always talks about you. He said you and the other ghosts welcome the first-years every year. He wasn't lying—ha, hello!"
"Hello," Nick replied, tilting his head halfway off to demonstrate. "Though I prefer to be called Sir Nicholas."
"Sure thing, Nearly Headless Nick," Dennis said, nodding eagerly, a slice of pizza clutched in his hand.
Nick sighed.
"You must be related to Colin Creevey," Nick said, sizing him up. "No one else would be quite so bold."
"That's so cool!" Dennis beamed. "You actually know who I am? Merlin's beard…"
"We don't say 'God' here," Nick corrected gently. "We say 'Merlin.' If you want to express surprise, try using Merlin instead. What do you think?"
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do," Dennis said with a shrug, accepting Sir Nicholas' suggestion.
The ghost's appearance sparked murmurs of awe, including from the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students.
While both schools had ghosts, none were quite as eccentric as Sir Nicholas or the Bloody Baron, each with their own brand of spectacle.
But clearly, the era of such theatrics was long gone.
Torrential rain continued to lash the darkened windows. A clap of thunder rattled the glass, and a streak of lightning illuminated the enchanted ceiling, casting a glow over the golden plates.
The first course vanished, replaced instantly with an array of desserts.
"I've got to hand it to the house-elves for their efficiency," Ron said, grabbing a plate of caramel pudding. "Serving food without being seen? That's something else…"
"Silly boy," Nearly Headless Nick said, shaking his head. "The mark of a good house-elf is that you never notice them."
Hermione glanced up at Nick but said nothing.
Her experience with Kreacher had left a lasting impression, one that still cast shadows in her mind.
What was that saying?
More educational than Hogwarts itself.jpg.
She'd since learned to respect others' paths and let go of her savior complex.
"I'm sticking with treacle tarts," Ron declared, piling his plate with them. "And chocolate cake—sweet Merlin, desserts are the only thing saving my soul…"
"What about chicken legs?" Hermione teased.
"Oh, chicken legs…" Ron faltered, caught in a dilemma, but quickly rallied. "That's different. Chicken legs are for dinner. Desserts are… dessert. They're in a league of their own."
"Very well!" Dumbledore said, smiling broadly at the hall. "Now that we're all fed and watered, I must ask for your attention once more for a few announcements."
"Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to inform you that several items have been added to the list of forbidden objects in the castle this year, including Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list, comprising some four hundred thirty-seven items, can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office for those interested."
"Additionally," Dumbledore continued, "the selection of champions for the Triwizard Tournament will take place next week. I encourage everyone to participate enthusiastically."
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