In the center of the Great Hall, a brand-new long table gleamed under the candlelight.
The students from Beauxbatons, like a flock of elegant swans, gracefully took their seats on the left.
The students from Durmstrang, resembling a disciplined army, neatly occupied the seats on the right.
When the last guest was seated, Dumbledore gently tapped his crystal goblet, and the crisp sound instantly quieted the noisy Great Hall.
"Good evening, everyone!"
He stood up, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles sparkling with wisdom. "First, allow me, on behalf of all the teachers and students of Hogwarts, to extend our sincerest welcome to our friends who have traveled so far!"
He paused briefly, his gaze warmly sweeping over the two Headmasters and the eager elite students below.
"As the three ancient schools of magic in Europe, we should bear the important responsibility of promoting magical cultural exchange. Alas, since the Triwizard Tournament was suspended over two hundred years ago, inter-school exchanges have become increasingly rare…"
The Headmaster's voice suddenly grew enthusiastic. "But today, the Contract Dueling Arena will become the bond for us to renew our friendship! Therefore, I propose that after tomorrow's exhibition match, we might as well add a more challenging three-school joint duel?"
A hint of surprise flashed in Madame Maxime's eyes, quickly turning into deep interest. Karkaroff narrowed his eyes, his fingers unconsciously stroking his chin, evidently weighing the pros and cons.
Sagres observed with a cold eye, fully understanding that this was their true purpose for the visit.
Otherwise, why would they go to such great lengths, bringing all the elite students from their schools, just to attend a simple exhibition match?
The flood of news in the papers had already made them restless. If they didn't act soon, next year's enrollment season would be in jeopardy.
Although there was a tacit agreement not to recruit in each other's territories, if parents themselves wanted to send their children to Hogwarts, who could stop them?
After all, there were only three major magical schools in Europe, and with Hogwarts generating such momentum this time, ignoring it would be nothing short of foolish.
As Fang Yuan once pointed out about the hypocrisy of the world: when someone faces hardship, everyone's quick to share the burden; but when another enjoys success, the same people expect a piece of the glory. It's nothing but false righteousness. In reality, deep down, they all want to see the other fall and claim the top spot for themselves.
And they understood this perfectly.
What harm was there in riding the wave? Even if it meant being a bit shameless.
At worst, they could claim they had come to discuss restarting the Triwizard Tournament.
Thus, it was only natural that no one on the floor raised any objections. Dumbledore's gaze behind his spectacles fell on Sagres, and he gave a sly wink: "Since no one has any objections, then—"
He clapped his hands cheerfully. "Let us kick off this grand event with a sumptuous dinner!"
As the Headmaster finished speaking, the long table was instantly covered with a dazzling array of delicious dishes.
Just at this joyous moment, a comical figure in baggy trousers suddenly dangled upside down from the ceiling.
"Newcomers? Heard of the great Peeves?"
Peeves rubbed his hands together, mischief gleaming in his eyes. Then, under the confused gazes of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang guests, he deftly pulled several dark, smooth dungbombs from his pocket.
Professor McGonagall's face instantly turned pale, and the young Wizards gasped in shock.
If they really welcomed their guests with dungbombs at a banquet, Hogwarts would become the laughingstock of the entire European magical world.
Peeves cackled wildly, raising the dungbombs high. At the same time, Dumbledore's expression grew serious as he prepared to draw his wand.
But before anyone could act, Sagres looked up at Peeves and said in a calm, even tone..
"Get out of here, Peeves."
That ordinary sentence struck like an invisible whip.
Peeves let out a terrified shriek, his whole body shuddering before he turned into a blurry grey shadow, fleeing at top speed—the fastest he had ever moved in his life.
Only a series of faint, indignant curses echoed in the air…
"What was that? A ghost who can touch physical objects?" a Beauxbatons girl gasped, covering her mouth as she stared in the direction Peeves had vanished.
"That was Peeves," Nightingale explained calmly. "Hogwarts' resident nuisance spirit."
"What was he trying to do just now? Throw something horrible at us?" another girl asked, her face pale and still shaken.
"It was a dungbomb!" a Durmstrang boy sitting opposite her scoffed with a hint of schadenfreude. "As the name suggests, that thing smells like Horse shi—"
"Enough! I understand!" the Beauxbatons girl immediately interrupted, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "He's that bold? Dares to cause trouble right under Headmaster Dumbledore's nose?"
"Chaos spirits have no scruples," Nightingale replied calmly. "They are not truly alive, and therefore cannot be killed. And once they have no fear of death, they naturally do as they please."
As she spoke, she noticed Kestrel—seated next to Sagres at the Professors' table—winking at her, and she couldn't help but smile slightly.
"But he was still driven away, wasn't he? Who is that young Professor?" the girl pressed, her gaze locked on Sagres at the head table.
"That's an alumnus who graduated from our Durmstrang," the Durmstrang student who answered spoke with respect in his voice. "He was 'Grozny' for two years at school—from enrollment to graduation."
"What is Grozny?"
"The Head Duellist! The strongest among all students!" another Durmstrang student eagerly chimed in, his eyes shining.
"But he looks…" the Beauxbatons girl observed Sagres's slightly slender figure and composed demeanor, "very different from you all."
"A wizard's strength never lies in appearance or physique," Nightingale interjected smoothly, her voice gentle yet unmistakably firm, "but in the wisdom of his mind."
"Miss Veiliss makes a very good point…"
Professor Baferos, sitting diagonally opposite Nightingale, interjected with a deliberately dismissive tone. "But if I may be frank, Sagres is just an inexperienced student. How can he be called a 'powerful wizard'?"
"Oh?" Nightingale raised an eyebrow slightly, turning her gaze to Baferos with a hint of amusement. "Professor Baferos seems to know him well?"
"I taught him Advanced Dark Arts Practicals."
Baferos puffed out his chest, a look of disdain crossing his face. "I have to admit he has a bit of cleverness, but magic requires practical application! A bookworm who only knows how to study…"
He pursed his lips, revealing an expression of utter contempt, as if discussing someone beneath notice.
The two Durmstrang students next to him opened their mouths, seemingly wanting to retort, but were halted by a stern glance from an older student beside them.
"I see." Nightingale's lips curved into a faint, ambiguous smile.
Baferos caught the smile, mistaking it for approval, and immediately flashed what he thought was a charming grin, his expression suddenly eager.
"Veiliss, may I call you that?"
"Absolutely.. Not, Mr. Baferos," Nightingale replied calmly, without even looking up.
Baferos's smile instantly froze on his face, as if he had been struck by a full-body Bind Curse.
The direct, almost icy rejection caught him completely off guard, leaving him stunned and speechless.
The few students seated nearby, having witnessed the entire exchange, quickly lowered their heads, desperately recalling the saddest memories of the past two years—only just managing to hold back the laughter threatening to erupt.
Pfft~!
Even so, their shoulders still trembled uncontrollably.
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