And so,
when the Durmstrang delegation strode down the gangplank of their colossal sailing ship with all the swagger of conquering heroes,
they found themselves flanked by two grotesque "door gods" planted firmly to either side.
Six ravenous orange-yellow eyes glared down at them, ropes of drooling saliva dangling from jagged fangs.
Ghostly blue flames flickered inside hollow, skeletal skulls.
Humanoid forelimbs gripped silver-white staves like sentinels on duty, while tattered wings beat lazily behind their backs.
"Gah—gah?!"
Headmaster Karkaroff's jaw dropped; his eyes bulged as he gawked at the pair of nightmare creatures.
Their absurd, almost clownish silhouettes forced stifled giggles from a few students who simply couldn't help themselves.
Headmaster Dumbledore, lips twitching with barely-contained mirth, stepped forward.
"Welcome, Mr. Karkaroff. Pay them no mind; there was merely a minor, harmless mishap earlier."
He paused, then added thoughtfully, "All the same, I believe Ravenclaw deserves twenty points for their swift and fearless response."
[You welcomed these distant guests with an enthusiastic ceremony] [Soul fusion increased by 0.2%]
Ethan's lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile.
With a theatrical flourish, he produced a silk top hat and tipped the brim with elegant nonchalance.
"Nothing at all."
On the Beauxbatons side, the girls' cheeks flushed crimson.
They kept stealing shy glances at Ethan.
Karkaroff faltered.
He lifted his chin, scrambling to salvage his dented dignity.
"You must be the infamous Ethan Vincent. Starting the festivities with such a grand spectacle…
Aren't you worried the tournament will feel dull by comparison?"
Ethan blinked, genuinely surprised. "What are you talking about? That wasn't even an appetizer."
Karkaroff: ""
Abruptly, he whipped around, seized his star Seeker Viktor Krum by the shoulder, and growled low,
"Does your team carry life insurance? If not, I'm buying it for you right now!!"
Krum: ""
Krum gave a slow, solemn nod.
He turned to face Ethan.
Beneath that grave, imposing stare,
the gathered students swallowed hard, pressure coiling in their chests.
Yet excitement crackled like static.
He's issuing a challenge!
What ferocious sparks would fly between these two titans?!
The next instant,
Krum fished a thick stack of parchment from his robes and thrust it toward Ethan.
In a gravelly mutter: "Fan letters. They begged me to get your signature."
Everyone: ???
The crowd froze.
They stared, dumbfounded, at the stoic, uncomplicated Krum.
Then—click.
Something inside their hearts shattered.
Perhaps it was the idol filter, crumbling into dust.
"I'll sign them when I have time."
Ethan accepted without hesitation, tucking the letters away with care.
(On a related note,
Fleur Delacour's relentless flood of correspondence occupied its own enchanted locker.
Ethan, ever the benevolent soul, would sign them…
Though under what name remained delightfully TBD.)
Inside the castle,
Ethan transformed into the world's most theatrical tour guide.
He strolled ahead, gesturing grandly as he narrated:
"We are now crossing Hogwarts' infamous Screaming Corridor."
"Legend claims the Headless Hunt once harvested hundreds of souls here, stacking their skulls into a grim little monument. Behold his glorious portrait…"
"Up the staircase lies the domain of the Lethal Flora."
"Eyeball Grapes flourish in these vines; feel free to make friends."
Ethan pivoted.
He flashed a radiant smile at their ashen faces.
In the gloom, wand-light danced across his moving lips:
"Hmm… call it a hunch, but I think we've picked up a few extra guests, haven't we?"
Students: ??!
Terror detonated; souls nearly vacated bodies as frantic inner screams erupted:
Compared to invisible "guests," the castle's new "attractions" are a thousand times worse!
And—
Why is it pitch-black in broad daylight?!
"Wuwu… I want to go home…" Several Beauxbatons girls were already sniffling.
In that moment,
Ethan's dazzling features twisted into something nightmarish.
The uncanny valley yawned wide.
Even the hardy northern lads looked green.
Headmaster Karkaroff clenched his fists until knuckles cracked.
"To sap our morale with such underhanded tactics… Hogwarts is utterly shameless!"
Headmaster Dumbledore: ""
He was innocent, truly.
This was all Ethan.
What could an elderly headmaster say?
When the delegation finally stumbled into the blazing light of the Great Hall, relief bordered on tears.
Yet before anyone could exhale,
a bewildered voice slipped out:
"Er—why is there a railway track jutting through the middle of your hall?"
They weren't hallucinating.
An iron rail—sharp, predatory, unstoppable—had punched straight through floor and ceiling like a spear poised to impale.
Ethan scratched his head with bashful charm. "Ehehe☆ A mysterious grand prize for the ultimate champion"
Everyone: ""
Karkaroff squawked, "Outrageous! Utterly despicable!"
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Ahem. Perhaps we should explain the Goblet of Fire's selection process."
If he didn't redirect now,
Hogwarts would once again be branded the tournament's darkest horse.
Please. They'd always played fair.
Couldn't win? Look inward.
The rule was simple: inscribe your name on a slip of parchment and feed it to the golden goblet wreathed in sapphire flame.
Dumbledore himself had drawn the Age Line.
Second-years and younger were barred.
Ethan, as host, was likewise prohibited.
He didn't mind.
Curiosity flickered, yes—but he was far more eager to watch his Enlightenment Society protégés bloom after two-plus years of his… unique tutelage.
This wasn't merely a Halloween jest.
When the Society members filed forward in perfect formation, dropping their names one by one,
the hall thrummed with awe.
"So those are Ethan's hand-picked elite?" Krum rumbled.
His gaze locked on a broad-shouldered boy whose build mirrored Durmstrang's own.
Cedric Diggory turned; their eyes met—sparks flared.
Krum: "Hmph. Intriguing… Let's see if Ethan's eye for talent holds up."
Elsewhere,
when little Luna Lovegood rose on tiptoe to deposit her slip,
gasps rippled.
"That Loony girl joined too?"
"She's… oddly capable, but no way the Goblet picks her…"
Fred and George Weasley, Harry Potter, Ron, even Neville Longbottom—all eligible—stepped up with defiant grins.
The eerie blue fire writhed.
It devoured the parchment, sifting destinies in silence.
Ethan watched, satisfied.
This time, with my new rules in place, Harry put his own name in…
Barty shouldn't have any openings, right?
Several days later,
a letter slid into Ethan's hands.
We must circumvent Dumbledore's wards and enter Ethan Vincent's name…Let him perish in the tasks—quietly, cleanly… —Barty Crouch Jr.
Ethan traced the words, a slow, curious smile blooming—like a cat who'd just spotted the cream.
--
Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my pa-treon:
pat reon .c-om/windkaze