"I can't believe it—it's Krum!" On the way back to the Great Hall, the name "Krum" hadn't left Ron's lips for even ten seconds. By the time they settled at the Gryffindor table, Harry was already developing a certain aversion to the name "Viktor Krum." Hermione, sitting one seat away from Ron with Harry between them, let out a disdainful huff.
"Do you have to be so excited? He's just a Quidditch player, isn't he?" she said.
"Just a Quidditch player?" Ron's eyes widened in disbelief, staring at Hermione as if she'd sprouted a second head. "Just a Quidditch player?! Hermione, Krum is the greatest Seeker in history!"
"So he's a Quidditch player who flies a bit better than most," Hermione replied coolly. "Maybe he doesn't even fly as well as Harry, who's never played Quidditch."
Hermione had never been particularly fond of Quidditch. To her, it was a sport where the outcome often hinged on the quality of the broomsticks rather than individual skill or teamwork, rendering it rather pointless. By contrast, she far preferred Muggle Olympic competitions, where athletes pushed the limits of human potential through relentless training—faster, higher, stronger. That was the essence of sport, not who had the most advanced or expensive equipment.
"Harry… Harry's an exception!" Ron's face flushed red.
Failing to gain the upper hand in his argument with Hermione, Ron quickly gave up wasting his breath. His gaze soon found Krum among the Durmstrang students trailing behind their headmaster into the Great Hall.
The Gryffindors gradually took their usual seats, but when Ron noticed the Durmstrang students hesitating over where to sit, he grew animated.
"Hermione, Harry, scoot over!" Ron began shooing them toward one side of the table, calling out to the Durmstrang students that there were plenty of empty seats here.
Unfortunately, the Durmstrang students ultimately chose to sit with the Slytherins. As they shed their thick fur cloaks, revealing blood-red wizarding robes, they curiously surveyed the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall and the lavish tableware. Watching the Slytherin "scum" chatting and laughing with Krum and his peers, Ron clenched his teeth in frustration.
"Well, now Malfoy and those Slytherin creeps must be thrilled, huh? The world's greatest Seeker actually sitting with them!" Ron glared at Malfoy, who sat beside Krum. Though Malfoy didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about Krum's presence, Ron was convinced he was just playing aloof to draw Krum's attention.
"I hope Krum sees through the Slytherins' scheming soon and cuts ties with that lot," Ron said bitterly, watching the warm welcome the Durmstrang students received at the Slytherin table. He nudged Harry, who was sitting next to him. "Right, Harry?"
"Uh, yeah, sure…" Harry, who had been discussing a few advanced Transfiguration techniques from A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration with Hermione, mumbled a vague response.
Like Hermione, Harry had little interest in Quidditch, a sport he found blatantly unfair. His preference leaned toward Muggle boxing matches—the raw, visceral clash of flesh, sweat, and occasional blood. That was what got his adrenaline pumping.
After Filch, dressed in a musty, moth-eaten tailcoat clearly dug out from the depths of a wardrobe, carried four chairs to the staff table beside the headmaster's seat, Dumbledore entered the Great Hall alongside Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Ludo Bagman, and a middle-aged wizard Harry didn't recognize. Ron, however, answered Harry's unspoken question.
"Hey! Isn't that Crouch, the one Percy's always banging on about?" Ron let out a whistle. "He looks much better in wizard robes than that suit he wore at the Quidditch World Cup."
"Barty Crouch from the Department of International Magical Cooperation?" Harry studied the wizard with his neatly trimmed toothbrush mustache and impeccably parted hair, rubbing his chin. "I actually think he suits a Muggle suit better."
"What kind of talk is that?" Ron clearly disagreed. "Harry, wizards should wear wizard robes. It's tradition."
At the staff table, Dumbledore introduced Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch. Judging by the students' applause, the jovial, boyish-looking Bagman was far more popular among the young witches and wizards than the stern Crouch.
"That's enough for introductions," Dumbledore said cheerfully, clapping his hands. "I'm sure you're all starving, so let's set aside the details of the tournament for now and enjoy this feast!"
Dumbledore took his seat at the center of the staff table, and Karkaroff immediately leaned in, engaging him in enthusiastic conversation.
As usual, the plates before them filled with food. The house-elves in the kitchens had clearly outdone themselves for the occasion. Harry had never seen such a lavish spread, including several dishes that were unmistakably foreign.
"What's that?" Ron asked, pointing to a large dish next to the steak and kidney pudding that looked like a seafood medley.
"Bouillabaisse," Hermione said after a quick glance. "I tried it when I was in France two summers ago. It's delicious, very flavorful. Want to try some, Harry?"
Hermione looked eagerly at Harry, who was examining a yellow, pie-like dish. Ron, meanwhile, muttered, "I'll trust you on this," and helped himself to some black pudding.
Harry nodded, taking a slice of the yellow pie onto his plate. He took a bite and raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Hermione, Ron, you've got to try this pie—it's amazing!"
He reached for the bouillabaisse, and Hermione stood to ladle some into a bowl for him.
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, taking the bowl.
For some reason—perhaps because the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students' uniforms stood out so starkly against Hogwarts' black robes—the Great Hall felt more crowded than usual, despite only about thirty extra students being present.
Twenty minutes into the feast, Hagrid slipped into the Great Hall through a door behind the staff table, trying to go unnoticed. He settled at the far end of the table and raised a heavily bandaged hand, waving at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"How're the Blast-Ended Skrewts, Hagrid?" Harry called out.
"Thriving!" Hagrid replied cheerfully.
"Yeah, I bet," Ron muttered under his breath. "Looks like they've finally found something they like to eat—Hagrid's fingers… Oi, Seamus, what's wrong?"
Seamus, sitting across from Ron, was staring open-mouthed, as if someone had waved a roast lamb chop in front of him. Ron soon noticed that Seamus wasn't the only one—several boys facing the Ravenclaw table looked as though they'd been hit with a Petrificus Totalus, staring blankly in the same direction.
Then Ron heard it: a light, melodious voice behind him.
"Excuse me, are you still eating this bouillabaisse?"
Harry turned to see a Beauxbatons girl standing behind Ron. She had previously worn a scarf over her head, but now it was off.
And Harry understood why she'd covered her head before.
Just as Harry's lightning-shaped scar marked him, this Beauxbatons girl's appearance was striking to the point of speechlessness. She had large, sapphire-blue eyes, flawless white teeth, and long, silvery hair cascading to her waist, so beautiful it seemed almost inhuman.
Caught off guard by such a stunning girl at close range, Ron's face turned beet red. He gaped at her, trying to respond, but only managed strange, choked noises, as if something were stuck in his throat.
Harry glanced at Hermione for her opinion. She nodded.
"No problem, take it," Harry said, pushing the bouillabaisse—touched only by him and Hermione—toward the girl.
"Are you done with it?" she asked.
"Yeah," Ron gasped. "All done. It was great."
The girl carefully carried the dish toward the Ravenclaw table. Ron's eyes followed her, wide and unblinking, as if he'd never seen a girl before.
Harry chuckled. "Ron, got a crush already?"
Harry's voice seemed to snap Ron out of his trance.
"She's practically a Veela!" Ron croaked.
"No way!" Hermione snapped. "I don't see anyone else gawking at her like an idiot!"
Hermione wasn't entirely right, though. As the girl moved through the Great Hall, many boys turned to stare, some forgetting to chew their food.
"I'm telling you, she's something else!" Ron said, craning his neck to keep her in sight. "Hogwarts doesn't have anyone like her!"
"Hogwarts girls are better," Harry retorted instinctively, regretting it the moment the words left his mouth, especially when he felt a sharp glance from beside him.
The second course arrived, bringing an array of unfamiliar desserts. Ron examined a strange, pale blancmange, then carefully shifted it a few inches to his right, ensuring it was visible from the Ravenclaw table. But the Veela-like girl seemed satisfied and didn't come for the dessert.
For the rest of the meal, Ron's attention was nowhere near his food. Harry and Hermione, meanwhile, kept their heads down, seemingly engrossed in their plates.
When the golden plates were once again spotless, Dumbledore stood, surveying the Great Hall. The students, sensing what was coming, began whispering excitedly, a mix of anticipation and nerves filling the air.
Harry noticed Ron's focus finally shift from Krum and the Beauxbatons girl. He was now watching Dumbledore with rapt attention. Nearby, Fred and George leaned forward, equally fixated.
Dumbledore smiled at the sea of young faces. "Mr. Filch, please bring up the casket."
Unnoticed until now, Filch had been lurking in a corner of the Great Hall. He stepped forward proudly, carrying a large, jewel-encrusted wooden box that looked ancient. The students watched, buzzing with curiosity, some shorter ones standing on benches for a better view.
"The specific tasks for this year's champions have been thoroughly reviewed by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," Dumbledore said as Filch carefully placed the box on the table before him. "We've made extensive preparations for each task. There will be three tasks, spread across the school year, testing the champions in various ways—their magical prowess, their courage, their reasoning, and their ability to face danger."
"As you know, three champions will compete," Dumbledore continued calmly, "one representing each school. Myself, Mr. Crouch, Mr. Bagman, Madame Maxime, and Professor Karkaroff will score each champion based on their performance in each task. At the end of the three tasks, the champion with the highest score will win the Triwizard Cup. The impartial judge tasked with selecting the champions is the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore drew his wand and tapped the box's lid three times. With a creaking groan, it slowly opened. He reached inside and pulled out a large, roughly carved wooden goblet, filled with flickering blue-white flames.
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