The Great Hall seemed somehow far more crowded than usual, even though there were only just thirty or so additional students present. Or perhaps it was because their differently colored uniforms that stood out so sharply against the sea of black Hogwarts robes.
The students of Durmstrang also drew attention once they had shed their heavy furs, revealing robes of a deep, blood red that contrasted starkly with the rest of the hall.
The staff table still had a couple of empty seats when the feast began, though it was not long before they were filled. Two representatives from the British Ministry of Magic arrived first, and Hagrid followed a full half hour into the feast, the last of the Hogwarts staff to take his place.
He entered through a door behind the staff table rather than the tall oak doors at the front and, instead of sitting at once, went cheerfully toward the center of the table, clearly having been occupied with other tasks and arriving with something to report.
"All sorted," he said in a low, excited voice as he came to a stop behind Dumbledore and Maxime, his eyes darting between the two while he puffed out his chest and straightened his coat.
"Thank you, Mr. Hagrid," Maxime said, offering him a gracious nod. "Albus has spoken very highly of your remarkable way with magical creatures. I trust there were no… difficulties?"
"Oh, none at all, yer ladyness," the big man's cheeks flushed visibly. "They was right calm, really. Didn' give me a spot o' trouble. Took care o' the fellas meself. Settled in proper, they are. Got loads o' space and a right good feed. Beautiful creatures, truly."
"Olympe, please, Mr. Hagrid," she corrected him lightly.
Hagrid fidgeted visibly, as if he was fascinated by the floor. "Er… yes. Olympe. I, er… beg yer pardon."
A brief, awkward pause followed, lingering until Dumbledore cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling with an unreadable expression. That, however, could wait. He smiled and glanced over his shoulder.
"Thank you, Hagrid. Please, take your seat and join us for this occasion."
The half giant nodded vigorously, beaming like a child and made his way to the far end of the table and slipped into his seat.
Watching the small exchange from the corner of his eye, Maverick could have sworn starlight flickered in Hagrid's eyes just then, as though the big guy had just laid eyes on something more precious than anything else in the world.
Could it be that… just like in the original story? He mused, taking a few slow bites and glancing briefly sideways at the woman beside him. I mean, who could blame him? Those majestic… cough, cough.
"Hmm, little raven, is the food not to your liking?"
"No… and could you please stop calling me that?" he sighed.
Anyway, should I be a wingman? Give the guy a hand?
Another half hour later, as the golden plates were gradually wiped clean and students leaned back in their chairs, Dumbledore rose once more and moved to the podium.
A pleasant tension settled over the Hall, and a ripple of excitement passed through the students, their eyes fixed on the headmaster, eager for what was to come next.
"The moment has come."
Dumbledore's voice carried effortlessly through the Great Hall, warm and resonant, reaching even the farthest corners as he smiled at the sea of upturned faces before him.
"I suspect you have all been waiting for this with no small amount of impatience," he continued mildly. "If it offers any comfort, I can assure you that I share your anticipation."
A ripple of quiet amusement moved through the students. Dumbledore allowed it to settle before lifting a hand toward the staff table behind him.
"However, before we address the main purpose of this evening, I must first draw your attention to two very important guests who, without their tireless efforts over the past several months, would have made this momentous tournament considerably more difficult to organize."
At his gesture, heads turned toward the two wizards seated together, their matching attire setting them apart.
"Allow me to introduce Mr. Rufus Scrimgeour," Dumbledore said, his tone respectful. "Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the British Ministry of Magic, and also serving as Acting Foreign Secretary for International Magical Cooperation."
Scrimgeour was not a man for theatrics. He simply rose, inclined his head briefly toward the students once, lifted his hand in a precise, almost military gesture, and sat down again without ceremony.
"And beside him," Dumbledore went on, his expression lightening just a touch, "is Mr. Amos Diggory, recently appointed Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
He turned slightly as he spoke, one eyebrow lifting. "It is thanks to Mr. Diggory and the collective efforts of his department that the competitive structure of this tournament has been finalized, with an emphasis on both fairness and, I trust, a suitable level of excitement."
Diggory reacted very differently. He sprang to his feet with an audible rush of robes, grinning broadly as he waved with such enthusiasm that his arm described a wide arc through the air. A few students laughed outright.
Dumbledore was the first to applaud, his hands coming together in a gentle, unhurried rhythm. Then a moment later, a round of applause spread through the Hall, uneven at first before gathering strength.
"Diggory?" a voice muttered from the Slytherin table. "Isn't he that pretty boy's father?"
And over at the Hufflepuff table, the pretty boy in question found himself shoved lightly in the shoulder by grinning friends.
"Oi," one of them said. "Since when did your dad nick Bagman's job?"
"About time, if you ask me," another added. "Everyone knows Bagman was crooked from the inside out."
A third leaned in, lowering his voice theatrically. "So… does that mean your dad knows all the secrets of the tournament?"
Cedric shook his head, his smile fading as all eyes turned to him. "He doesn't tell me anything," he said quietly. Then, with a small sigh, he added, "I'm just as much in the dark as the rest of you."
The badgers all groaned in disappointment, though a few laughed and clapped him on the back all the same.
The applause faded just as quickly, and the crowd's interest turned once again from the introductions to what was yet to come. Several students leaned forward in their seats. Others adjusted their robes or held their breath without even realizing it.
When the noise had completely subsided, Dumbledore spoke again. "As for judging the performance of the candidates, Mr. Scrimgeour of the Ministry of Magic will serve in a neutral capacity. Alongside him, I will act as Hogwarts' representative, together with Headmistress Maxime and Headmaster Karkaroff, forming the judging panel for this year's tournament."
His gaze passed slowly along the staff table as he lowered his hands. "Each task will be evaluated jointly by us, and every performance by the champions will be carefully judged."
At the word champions, the Hall seemed to grow even quieter, and a small smile touched the old wizard's lips.
"The casket, if you please, Mr. Filch."
Filch, who had been sitting unnoticed at the far end of the staff table, rose with surprising eagerness and hurried forward. He crossed to the inner corner of the platform before approaching Dumbledore, clutching a large wooden chest encrusted with jewels.
The chest looked ancient and mysterious at first glance, and a murmur of excitement spread through the students. A few of the smaller first years stood on their chairs to get a better look, though they gained very little height for their efforts.
"The tasks the champions will face this year," Dumbledore said as Filch set the chest carefully on the table, "have been decided by the three school heads in consultation with representatives of the Ministry of Magic."
He rested his hands lightly on the lid.
"There will be three tasks, spread across the school year. They will test the champions in a variety of ways. Their magical ability. Their courage. Their powers of reasoning. And, naturally, their capacity to face danger."
The silence that followed was so complete that it felt deliberate.
"Those of you familiar with the history of the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "will know that in previous years, a single champion was selected from each school. This year, that tradition will not be followed."
He paused, allowing the words to settle. "After much discussion and careful consideration, we have agreed upon several changes to the rules. Chief among them is this. Each school will put forward not one, but two champions."
A wave of humming excitement rippled through the Hall at the announcement, then settled when Dumbledore raised his hand.
"These champions will be assessed on their performance in each task," Dumbledore said calmly. "Their scores will be combined, and the school with the highest total after the third task will be awarded the Triwizard Cup."
He tilted his head slightly, as though anticipating a question. "You may be wondering whether victory, in that case, belongs to the individual or the school..."
The Hall remained silent, though from their expressions it was clear the students were barely holding back their questions. Dumbledore did not let the tension linger for long.
"In fact," he said pleasantly, "both will be recognized. Two titles will be awarded. To keep matters as uncomplicated as possible, there will be a Champion School, determined by the combined score, and a Champion Individual, awarded to the student who achieves the highest total overall."
He turned back to the chest. "The champions," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "will be selected by an impartial judge."
He let the words linger. Then, with deliberate care, he drew the Elder Wand and tapped the lid of the casket three times. The wood groaned softly as it opened, and Dumbledore reached inside to lift out a roughly carved wooden goblet, about a handspan tall and wide enough to be held easily in both hands.
It was plain in form, almost crude, yet filled to the brim with dancing blue white flames that cast shifting light across the Hall.
"I present to you," he said quietly, holding it aloft, "the Goblet... of Fire."
He lowered it again, closed the chest, and placed the goblet carefully on top, where it stood clearly visible from every seat in the Hall.
"This year," the old wizard continued, his hands resting lightly on the edges of the podium, "it is not only the tournament's structure and rules that have been adjusted. The goblet itself has also undergone certain... refinements."
A hint of satisfaction touched his expression. "It was already a remarkable magical artifact, designed to recognize and select the most worthy candidates. And now, with the assistance of the esteemed alchemist Nicolas Flamel, we have enhanced its capabilities even further. I dare say it is rather more discerning than before and considerably more resistant to…"
He narrowed his eyes briefly before adding, "interference."
Students exchanged excited looks, and a similar reaction played out at the staff table, though only a few understood the hidden meaning behind those words.
"The goblet has one primary purpose," Dumbledore went on, his gaze sweeping the Hall. "It will assess magical energy and intent. Should it select more than two candidates from any one school, the responsibility of choosing which students will compete will fall to that school's leadership."
He inclined his head slightly toward the staff table. "In the case of Hogwarts, that decision will rest with Professor McGonagall and Professor Caesar, should such a situation arise."
At the sound of his name, several students turned at once. Maverick glanced back as well, offering a small smile and a brief nod. This much had already been discussed privately, and more besides, a lot more, though that was a matter for another time.
Dumbledore returned his attention to the Hall. "Any student wishing to put themselves forward as a champion must write their name and their school upon a slip of parchment and place it into the goblet," he said evenly. "After which, I ask that you wait a brief moment for its response. Allow me to demonstrate."
As he spoke, Dumbledore reached into his robes and withdrew a small piece of parchment. Under the watchful gaze of the Hall, he dropped it lightly into the mouth of the goblet.
A breath later, a narrow tongue of blue flame leapt upward, flaring for the briefest instant before settling once more into its steady, enchanted glow.
"The purpose of this reaction," Dumbledore continued, "is simply for the goblet to assess your magical energy. If one does not wait for this response, the name will not be accepted."
He glanced out over the students, eyes twinkling.
"And before you ask, the goblet's reaction will be the same for everyone, just as you have seen. I therefore advise you not to take it as an indication that you have been selected as a champion."
"There are no restrictions regarding age, and I invite all students who have confidence in their magic, and the courage to face what lies ahead, to take their chance."
His eyes twinkled faintly as he added, "But do so wisely."
He looked out over the students, his expression kind but steady. "You will have twenty four hours to do so. Tomorrow night, on Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the students it judges most worthy to represent their schools."
With a small nod, he concluded, "The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall this evening and will remain freely accessible to all... who wish to compete."
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Author's Note:
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