At some point, the atmosphere suddenly became tense and confrontational—
Harry blinked, his gaze sweeping over the adults around him. He now had quite a few questions, such as who was this person missing a leg and an eye (when Dumbledore introduced Moody, his voice was drowned out by 'give me back my money')? Why did he seem to know him? What was his relationship with the headmaster of Durmstrang?
And why did the Durmstrang students seem to all recognize him? According to Senior William, wasn't Voldemort just a local terrorist?
How had he become famous even abroad?
"Ah... it's you, Mr. Crouch, I'm sorry about your son."
Igor Karkaroff's gaze moved away from Moody and landed on the middle-aged man standing behind Harry. Staring into the man's grey eyes, he suddenly pulled a smile that made his smooth demeanor disappear. He straightened his back and faced the man directly.
Looking into the seemingly emotionless eyes of his opponent, Karkaroff frowned—it stood to reason that the other should hate him deeply because if it weren't for the clues he provided during interrogation, Barty Crouch Jr. wouldn't have been exposed so quickly, and Barty Senior wouldn't have suffered the biggest political setback in his career so hastily—
Though this shrewd politician had quickly disengaged from his son's Death Eater identity, the impact was still fatal: a head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a strong candidate for Minister of Magic, ultimately fell from grace—
Now, he's even been "exiled" to some place like... the International Magic Cooperation Department? A broken corner with no chance of climbing further in this lifetime.
However, since before the banquet ended, Karkaroff noticed that the opponent's gaze wouldn't stay on him for more than three seconds—
Sure, Karkaroff knew he wasn't some cover girl, but based solely on the hatred between them, he expected at least one unpleasant exchange between them, at least like he had with "Mad-Eyed" Moody just now, and Karkaroff had mentally prepared himself for it before departing—
Yet, none of his anticipations came to pass.
The way things developed was completely and suddenly unexpected, which was something Karkaroff, who tried to control everything with fawning compliance, absolutely couldn't stand. It was like a student anticipating a beating because of his failing grades; until the expected punishment actually fell, his heart would always be stuck in his throat—
The last time he experienced such torment was when he learned Voldemort was about to fall on that night, when he failed to escape and was captured by the Ministry of Magic; he had no choice but to "sell" the names of a few members he'd gathered within the Death Eaters organization, only to find most of them had already been caught—
Barty Senior's promise of a deal with him failed—
Thus, he had no choice but to sell out Barty Crouch Jr.'s identity to Crouch's political enemies at the time, thus sparing himself the prison sentence in Azkaban.
And now, like a student eager to find out whether his father had actually seen the failing paper, Karkaroff desperately wanted to figure out what exactly caused Barty Senior's abnormality: was it because he didn't want to recall this matter, or was it related to the rumored returning man—
Knowing from "rumors" that Voldemort supposedly appeared during the Quidditch World Cup, Karkaroff initially intended to flee Europe with a packed bag.
But in the end, as there was no further news, coupled with Dumbledore's invitation, he returned to this place.
And it was the "Peter Pettigrew" instinct that allowed the man to keenly discern Barty Senior's oddity. After a brief contemplation, he chose to speak as a probe, which would also make that damned "Mad-Eyed" Moody shift his gaze from himself—
Damned, being stared at dead by that blue magic eye, Karkaroff felt like even his underwear was drenched in sweat.
...Well, whether he was sweating or scared was something only he knew.
And now, Barty Senior's originally indifferent face seemed to be slightly dumbfounded for a moment. He then looked as if he did not expect Karkaroff to dare say such a thing at this moment, and a flush of anger suddenly surfaced on his previously unperturbed face—
He reddened.
Seeing that his words could unexpectedly flush the well-practiced calmness of Barty Crouch Senior, Karkaroff's heart relaxed a little.
It seems just now the guess was right, evidently Barty Crouch Senior was intentionally forgetting his disgraced son who had died in Azkaban, not wanting to even remember the enemy standing right in front of him—
Hehe, so unfeeling.
"You better be clear on what you're saying, Karkaroff."
Barty Crouch's voice seemed squeezed out between his teeth, his grey eyes like a stagnant pond.
"Why are you guys clustered here?"
Just as the two seemed about to erupt in conflict, a white-robed Dumbledore suddenly emerged from the crowd, followed by a grand procession of headmasters, all leading their own students out. Observing the development, William, hiding in a dark corner munching on snacks, crushed the seeds in his hand—
This was boring; he hoped to see them fight, as that might reveal who among them was truly odd.
Thinking this, William took out the Marauder's Map and magnified the entrance hall's location.
Albus Dumbledore, Barty Crouch, Alastor Moody, Igor Karkaroff...
No problems at all, even the positions of those black spots were consistent, largely eliminating any sense of discord from Polyjuice Potion impersonation, unless somehow there was another person with the exact same name who drank the potion...
That... shouldn't be possible, right?
So, what else could be the reason? Unaware he'd already ruled out one correct answer, William puzzledly stroked his chin.
And now, with Dumbledore stepping in, there's probably not much left to unfold, William got up with his bag of seeds, only to see Hagrid had somehow ended up beside him, with a noticeably rosy complexion, especially with his beard now neatly groomed.
"Seems like it's going well?"
William nudged Hagrid with his elbow, but due to the height difference, it hit right at Hagrid's waist. The rough-skinned half-giant didn't mind, wearing a flush on his face, not saying a word, just chuckling until they left the hall when he finally blurted out—
"I've never seen such a beautiful girl, today I owe you, William!"
...
The next day was Saturday, usually, students were late to breakfast.
However, those up much earlier than usual on this weekend included more than just Harry, Ron, and Neville.
As they walked down to the entrance hall, they saw no less than twenty people gathered there, some still chewing on bread, all carefully eyeing the Goblet of Fire—a wooden carved cup placed in the hall's center on the stool usually reserved for the Sorting Hat.
On the floor, a fine golden line was drawn in a circle about ten feet in radius, surrounding the goblet.
"Has anyone put their name in?"
Ron asked Hermione, who was standing on the side reading. The girl had risen earlier than any of them.
"Yes, but I only saw the groups from Durmstrang and the Institute of Magic," she replied, "Haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts enter yet."
"Someone must have put their name in while we were sleeping last night?"
Harry yawned, he hadn't slept well, as the mystery of why the Durmstrang students knew him lingered in his mind, "If it were me, that's definitely what I'd do... don't want everyone to see, if the goblet scrunches up your name and tosses it aside, that'd be embarrassing."
Suddenly, Harry heard someone behind him burst out laughing.
The group instinctively turned to see Fred, George, and Lee Jordan hurriedly descending the stairs, all of them looking exceedingly excited.
"We've done it!"
Fred whispered triumphantly to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "We just drank it."
"What?"
Ron asked curiously.
"Why, the Aging Potion, you dolt."
Fred shook his head in disbelief, apparently unable to fathom why his brother was so "dense."
"Will it work?"
Neville asked curiously, eyeing the small bottle George had in his hand with a flicker of eagerness—if he could become Hogwarts' champion, his gran might stop being so strict with him? He didn't dare dream of winning, just participating would be enough.
"No."
William took the Aging Potion from George's hand, shaking his head, "Don't worry, Dumbledore wouldn't leave such an obvious loophole." Everyone turned to look at him, and behind him, Cedric, who just put his name into the Goblet of Fire, looked somewhat excited.
"William, do you think I'll get chosen?"
"Don't ask me, I'm not the goblet."
William shook his head, his gaze lingering on Harry until the boy felt a little uneasy, then finally looked away.
Tsk, he originally thought Harry had some way to get his name into the Goblet of Fire, but it seems like there's no action at all? What's going on? Isn't he the protagonist? In this sort of contest, surely the protagonist has to take part—
"You've put yours in?"
George looked at Cedric, he and Fred hadn't taken William's words to heart, the sort who wouldn't turn back until they hit a wall.
"Ready?"
Fred trembled with excitement, asking the other two, "Then, let's go—I'll go first—"
His voice was loud, drawing all the attention in the hall.
Everyone watched eagerly as Fred pulled a parchment from his pocket, which read "Fred Weasley—Hogwarts."
Then he walked straight to the edge of the age line, standing there, swaying on his tiptoes like a diver preparing to plunge from a fifty-foot platform, and then, with every eye in the hall on him, took a deep breath and stepped over the line.