Chapter 323: Dylan, I really think you should join Ravenclaw!
Time quietly slipped into late October, and the Scottish Highlands were thoroughly imbued with the breath of autumn.
Every morning, thick morning mist, like solidified cotton, shrouded the valleys, wrapping the spires of Hogwarts Castle until only a blurry outline remained.
It wasn't until mid-morning that the mist would slowly disperse, yet it left an lingering chill in every Corner of the Castle.
The stone bricks in the corridors felt cool to the touch, and the breath exhaled by students as they moved condensed into faint white vapor.
The weather also became increasingly unpredictable.
One moment, the sun was peeking through, and Herbology Class students had just followed Professor Sprout to the greenhouses.
Suddenly, the sky darkened, and fine rain silently fell, clinging to hair and shoulders, instantly dampening the outer cloaks.
If it rained after nightfall, the rain would condense into tiny ice beads in the latter half of the night, pattering "shasha" against the Castle's glass windows and the courtyard's leaves, a delicate yet clear sound that, accompanied by the howling evening wind, was particularly distinct in the silent night.
The atmosphere in the campus also took on the tranquility of autumn.
Outside the examination rooms, which had previously been bustling due to the Triwizard Tournamentselections, the corridors gradually became deserted.
In the past, people would always gather at the entrance, peeking in, or discussing selection criteria in groups of three or five; now, only a few students hurried past.
The library's foot traffic also decreased significantly; in the afternoon, more than half of the seats in the reading area could be empty, and even Madam Pince's movements while organizing books slowed down a bit.
Discussions about the selection examinations had long faded, replaced by Professor Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, which students talked about after meals.
Whether in the Gryffindor common room or at the Slytherin dining table, one could always hear people replaying the details of practical training.
"Did you clearly see Professor Moody's 'Expelliarmus redirection technique' yesterday?"
"Dylan's defensive sequence against three Charmss last time was too crucial; I tried three times and couldn't succeed."
"I heard that in the next class, we'll be practicing quick casting of Finite Incantatem; even a slight delay won't do."
Even Crabbe and Goyle, who usually disliked discussing classes, would babble a few words about "Moody's magical eye being able to see through concealment Charmss."
This showed how popular the class was.
During breaks, students often practiced with their wands in open spaces.
Some repeatedly rehearsed defensive stances against tree trunks, while others simulated duels in pairs; the swishing sounds of wands and the clashing sounds of Charmss became the most vibrant background noise in autumn Hogwarts.
In the corridor, someone was discussing.
"Remember Dylan, who dueled with Professor Moody before? Oh my god, I can feel that when Professor Moody taught us just now, he wasn't really serious, the Charms power was very light, but he must have used his full strength against Dylan."
"Yeah, didn't he get pulled up by the Professor to duel again recently? How do I feel like Dylan is very relaxed, but Professor Moody looks like he's about to run out of energy."
"Probably because he's a bit old. Dylan can easily dodge his Charmss with a casual move, but his legs aren't good, so if he can't block the Charmss, he'll look very strained."
The group chatted as they stepped onto the slowly moving staircase, their feet descending with the rhythm of the stairs.
As they spoke, they had already reached the vicinity of the marble staircase.
A noisy commotion came from the entrance hall not far away, and faint voices could be heard discussing loudly.
"I think I heard it clearly!" A student suddenly stopped, his eyes instantly lighting up, and he shook the person next to him, "It's news about the Tournament! It must be!"
"That's right!" The latter also reacted, his voice full of excitement, "It's already late October, Halloweenis almost here, they really should be arriving!"
The others also nodded, their faces showing expressions of anticipation.
At this moment, Luna also slowly walked to the marble staircase. As soon as she came down, she saw Dylan's figure and immediately walked over.
"Why is it so lively?"
Dylan glanced at Luna and smiled.
"It should be news about the Tournament."
Dylan explained, then raised his hand to point in the direction of the entrance hall, "Let's go down and take a look too; it might be news about other Wizarding schools visiting."
As the two were about to step down the stairs, an owl suddenly flew through the Castle's oak doors, flapping its wings and landing in front of them, its talons gently swaying in mid-air.
Luna immediately raised her arm, palm up, and the owl landed precisely on her arm, tilting its head and rubbing against her sleeve.
"You're here. Sorry, I forgot to feed you today. Let's go over and see together." Luna said softly.
The owl tilted its head.
Dylan laughed, "Don't worry, I fed it casually."
"Oh, thank you." Luna nodded slightly, "You've gone to so much trouble."
"It's nothing." Dylan shook his head.
The two walked forward.
The notice board was already surrounded by students, a bustling crowd with noisy discussions rising and falling.
Beside them, Luna saw Anthony and a few others huddled together, arms linked, pushing hard into the crowd.
The people in front occasionally moved back, and they stumbled several times, struggling to squeeze into a position closer to the notice board.
The owl in Luna's arms tilted its head, its round eyes fixed on the lively crowd, its wings fluttering a few times, as if wanting to fly up to see more clearly.
Luna reached out and pulled it into her arms, gently admonishing, "You can't do that, there are too many people, you'll get bumped."
"Yah yah?" It tilted its head in confusion and chirped twice, but obediently stopped flapping its wings, only wiggling its body left and right, finding a more comfortable position to lie in Luna's arms, its head resting on her wrist.
After Anthony and the others had clearly seen the announcement in the crowd, they exerted tremendous effort to squeeze their way out.
Someone stepped on Anthony's shoe, and Michael's backpack strap was even pulled loose; they finally managed to emerge from the crowd and gasped for air as soon as they reached an open space.
Just as they were bent over, catching their breath, Harry, Ron, and Hermione also returned from their outdoor class, carrying the faint scent of fresh grass and the dampness of rain.
Ron spotted them at once and immediately hurried over, asking with a curious expression, "Dylan, why are so many people gathered around the notice board? What happened?"
"People from other Wizarding schools are coming!" Anthony finally caught his breath, straightened up, and said loudly, his voice barely concealing his excitement, "Delegations from those Wizarding schools will all arrive on October 30th!"
He took another deep breath and added, "The specific time is 5 PM... And the second class that afternoon is directly canceled so we can all go welcome them!"
"October 30th? The second class in the afternoon is..." Harry's smile, which had just appeared due to the cancellation of class, suddenly froze on his face, his brow furrowing slightly.
He suddenly turned to look at the stone staircase behind him, which led to the dungeons.
That was the direction of the Potion Class classroom, a hint of complexity flashed in his eyes, then he grinned and cheered, "The second class that afternoon is Potion Class! That's wonderful!"
Ron immediately high-fived Harry, their palms meeting with a crisp sound, his voice full of relief, "Now he'll have one less chance to poison us! As long as we can safely make it to Christmas..."
"Poison?" Chris Moan, standing nearby, immediately leaned closer, his eyes full of curiosity, "Who's going to poison? Is it Professor Snape?"
"Who else could it be?" Harry shrugged, his mouth twisting as if recalling some unpleasant experience. He looked at the surrounding Ravenclaw students and hesitated, "Don't tell me... he hasn't mentioned anything similar to you?"
The Ravenclaw students all shook their heads in unison, Terry even instinctively stepped back half a pace, clearly surprised by the mention of "poison."
"You have Potion Class with Hufflepuff, right?" Ron's expression instantly turned somewhat unpleasant, his brows furrowed, "Does that mean only us Gryffindor and Slytherin face the risk?"
"It should only be you Gryffindor."
Michael Corner pushed up his glasses, his tone certain, "Would Professor Snape poison Slytherin? Unlikely... No, absolutely impossible."
"Hmm, poison? How come I don't know about this? Are you talking about the 'Wide-Range Antidote' class from before?"
Dylan spoke, his gaze falling on Harry and Ron, "If it's that, perhaps he just wanted to test whether the Wide-Range Antidote you brewed was up to standard?"
"Maybe that's the real purpose."
Ron scratched his messy hair, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "But Snape's expression at the time..."
"I just felt like he was in a hurry, as if he wanted to knock us all out before the Christmas holiday."
Harry took over, remembering Professor Snape's gloomy face in the last class, and couldn't help but shiver.
Anthony Goldstein suddenly interjected, "What if he's deliberately tricking you?"
Ron and Harry's eyes instantly lit up, a clear anticipation flashing in their eyes, and they almost asked in unison, "Is that really possible?"
"Of course!" Anthony nodded emphatically, his expression very serious, "Maybe he's waiting until the Christmas holiday when you stay at school to make his move—then there will be fewer people, wouldn't the success rate be higher? Have you forgotten? Professor Moody even talked about similar cases in the last class; Dark Wizards always like to strike when their enemies let their guard down."
"Oh, I suddenly don't want to go on holiday." Ron scratched his hair, his voice full of helplessness, "Even on holiday, I have to outwit Snape, that's too miserable."
"What if he waits until after the Christmas holiday to make his move?" Harry suddenly raised an even more unsettling speculation, his voice lowered, "Didn't Professor Moody say? You must wait until the enemy completely relaxes their guard before you can strike successfully!"
Luna gently stroked the fur of the creature in her arms, and the owl comfortably rubbed against her fingertips. She softly suggested, "Perhaps you could prepare an antidote in advance? Brew a few extra doses."
Dylan usually had no interest in Harry's classes or daily life, and Ron and his friends didn't really bother him or discuss things with him.
After thinking for a moment, he still asked, "There shouldn't be any problem with the Wide-Range Antidote you brewed, right?"
"Should... be fine."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, their tones somewhat forced. Ron scratched his cheek and added, "At least when we submitted the Potion last time, although Snape's face was very unpleasant, he didn't say it was unqualified."
"The Potion is fine, but Professor Snape's expression is unpleasant?" Terry Boot frowned, leaning forward half a step, his eyes full of confusion, "What's the connection between these two statements? Logically, if the Potion was qualified, he shouldn't react that way."
"This is the experience Harry and I have summarized!" Ron slightly raised his chin, his tone carrying a certain certainty of an "experienced person," and his fingers subconsciously pointed at himself and Harry, "And it only applies to the two of us... It might not be the same for others."
"Simply put, as long as we successfully brew a qualified Potion," Harry shrugged, his mouth twisting as if recalling countless Potion Class scenarios, "Snape has never shown a good face, as if our success is a bad thing."
He paused, his tone then sinking, "But now the more crucial thing is, even if we brew the Wide-Range Antidote, it probably won't work. Snape seemed to say he's going to use a specially formulated poison."
"There's also a way to deal with specialized poisons; just combine the Wide-Range Antidote with specific Potion ingredients."
Dylan smiled slightly, his tone clear and concise, "For example, for a poison that makes the tongue swell, emergency treatment is very simple."
"How exactly?" Harry leaned forward, his eyes full of eagerness.
"Drip three drops of leech juice into the Wide-Range Antidote, then shake the vial vigorously until dense white foam appears inside, and then apply the foam to the tongue."
Dylan explained in detail, even raising his hand to demonstrate the shaking motion.
"Is it that easy?" Harry blinked, somewhat disbelieving, "I have leech juice in my pouch; I just need to shake it until foam appears?"
"This is just an emergency measure." Dylan patiently explained, "Normally, this can at least alleviate the symptoms, prevent your tongue from continuing to swell, and reduce the throbbing pain. You'll be fine until you reach the hospital wing."
He added, "If it's Potion poisoning that makes your whole body burn, break off three small pieces of fresh peppermint, put them into the Wide-Range Antidote, shake it until foam appears, and then drink it."
"If you fall directly into a coma, find a bottle of Kwikspell, mix it with the Wide-Range Antidote in a one-to-one ratio, and pour it into your mouth to wake up."
"Kwikspell can be used like that?" Ron's eyes widened, his face filled with shock, "I always thought it was just an energizing drink for when you felt sleepy in class!"
"Kwikspell's original form was a powerful stimulant, so it's naturally effective against coma-inducing toxins." Dylan nodded, "But these are all just emergency treatments; they can't completely detoxify."
"If it can only temporarily relieve the symptoms, you'll still have to go to the hospital wing to see Madam Pomfrey afterwards."
He paused, then offered an even more crucial method, "If you encounter a particularly potent poison and don't have the right ingredients on hand, just pop a bezoar into your mouth."
"Why?" Harry frowned, his face full of confusion, "I remember bezoar powder was already added when brewing the Wide-Range Antidote; how come using a bezoar directly is more effective?"
Dylan patiently explained, "Because a natural bezoar itself is the highest-grade emergency antidote, and it's particularly rare and highly valuable."
"Only a small amount of powder is added to the Wide-Range Antidote, firstly to save ingredients, and secondly, it needs to be combined with ingredients like mistletoe to fully activate the bezoar's detoxifying properties, allowing it to counter various toxins. Using a whole bezoar directly, while wasteful, has a more direct and rapid detoxifying effect."
"So that's how it is!" Harry and Ron exclaimed in unison, exchanging glances, their eyes full of sudden understanding.
The surrounding students who were watching also expressed similar sentiments, some unable to resist applauding.
They had originally just come over to listen to the commotion, wanting to know why Harry and Ronwere so afraid of Snape, but they unexpectedly learned so many practical detoxifying tips, and each of them showed surprised expressions.
Terry even pulled out a notebook and quickly jotted down the various combination methods Dylan mentioned, fearing he would miss crucial information.
"Dylan, I really think you should join Ravenclaw!"
Chapter 324 Which School Will Arrive First?
The worry that "Snape is going to poison" only lingered in the minds of Harry and many other Gryffindor students from beginning to end.
Of course, Dylan was not included; now Snape no longer paid much attention to his learning progress.
Dylan had also long since turned his attention back to the Triwizard Tournament.
Hufflepuff and Slytherin students, of course, didn't give it a second thought.
The most popular topic in the Castle recently was all about the upcoming visiting magic schools.
Everyone gathered around the long tables and in the corridors, pondering.
How many different tricks do magic schools from different countries truly hide?
Almost all well-known magic schools have special protections, the most common of which is the "Unplottable" charm.
This spell is not a simple concealment; it can directly make the school disappear from all ordinary magicmaps.
Even if someone comes looking with high-level positioning tools,
As soon as they step into the alert range around the school, they will fall into an illusion of circular 迷路.
Either they walk in circles and return to the starting point, or they stumble into a nearby forest or swamp, making a proper visit as difficult as ascending to the heavens.
It is because of this barrier that Hogwarts students who want to understand the details of other schools can only rely on old books in the library.
"European Magical Education Assessment" and "Hogwarts: A History" have recently become "hot commodities."
As soon as the library opened in the morning, people rushed in to grab seats and flip through books; if they arrived late, they could only stand by the bookshelf and wait for others to finish.
Occasionally, there would even be small commotions due to 爭搶the same book.
Regarding foreign schools, actually, at the end of last school year, a Professor from Wagadou brought an exchange group to Hogwarts.
Their members demonstrated several exquisite Animagus Transfigurations on the spot.
Some could instantly transform into agile black panthers, their fur gleaming in the sunlight.
Others turned into nimble hummingbirds, circling and chirping above the crowd.
At that time, many students gathered to watch, exclamations rising and falling, which also made everyone firmly remember this African magic school that focused on Transfiguration.
Dylan also knew about this, but he didn't join the excitement, after all, what's the point of watching others perform?
It's better to stay in his own little world and research more wonderful magic.
For this Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts students had heard rumors about Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, these two famous European schools.
Beauxbatons is most famous for Alchemy.
After all, they produced a legendary Alchemy master like Nicolas Flamel.
Students privately rumored that Beauxbatons' underground laboratories were filled with bronze cauldrons passed down for hundreds of years, and even first-year basic courses taught how to refine metal essence, while older students could even get an introduction to the theory of turning stone into gold.
Durmstrang, on the other hand, had a complex reputation due to its proficiency in Dark Arts.
The Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald, who instigated the Wizarding World War, was once a student there.
However, while at school, he was expelled by the school authorities not long after injuring a classmate during a private experiment with dangerous Dark Arts.
When this topic came up, someone always couldn't help but exclaim, "No wonder they dared to accept such a student, how exciting must this school's curriculum be?"
Some Slytherin students also whispered, "Maybe their Defense Against the Dark Arts Class is even tougher than Professor Moody's practical training."
Finally, there was a detail that wasn't crucial but concerned many people.
A student flipping through "European Magical Education Assessment" found that whether it was Beauxbatons or Durmstrang,
The scholarships they provided to students seemed to be significantly more than Hogwarts.
Ron almost slammed the table when he saw this news: "Why? We have to scrimp and save to buy Potion ingredients, while they can use scholarships to buy extra magic tools!"
Dylan didn't respond, but he heard a Hufflepuff student next to him quietly complain: "If Hogwartsscholarships were more, I could buy more rare herb seeds."
Harry, Ron, and Neville, each with a copy of "Unfogging the Future" tucked under their arms, laboriously pulled open the trapdoor of the North Tower and descended the creaking spiral staircase.
A thin layer of dust covered the staircase railing, and with each step, one could hear the groaning of the overburdened wooden planks.
"I really didn't expect... your Divination assignments were made up?" Neville's round cheeks flushed slightly, and his eyes widened after hearing Harry and Ron's "answering techniques," his tone full of disbelief, his fingers unconsciously clutching the textbook in his arms.
Professor Trelawney had just specifically kept the three of them behind.
She said that Harry and Ron's assignments were written with "great prophetic talent" and must have been guided by Dylan.
At the same time, she also asked them to guide Neville more whenever they had time, to help him find the "entry tricks" for Divination Class.
Neville stood on tiptoe and looked up at the trapdoor above his head, confirming that ProfessorTrelawney hadn't poked her head out, then quickly lowered his voice: "But didn't she see that it was made up? Those words sound fake at first listen."
"She falls for that every time." Ron shrugged, casually brushing dust off his trouser leg, his tone full of understanding, "Regardless of whether it's true or false, as long as it's bad luck, her eyes light up. Dylan already told us all her habits."
"In this respect, he's actually a bit like Snape," Harry mused, stroking his chin, "Snape hopes we truly stumble and is happy to see us in trouble, while Trelawney loves to hear our made-up tales of misfortune. The more detailed they are, the more she'll praise you for being 'gifted'."
"So you just do as we say," Ron stepped aside to let a ghost coming down from upstairs pass, and continued, "First, go to the library and check next month's 'Astronomy Observation Report' to see what celestial phenomena there are—like Saturn retrograde, Mercury opposition, etc.—then make up a misfortune related to it."
"Last time I wrote 'Saturn afflicted my life palace, I stumbled over the wind while walking,' and she even said I had keen perception."
"But, you know, doing it occasionally is fine, but doing it too much is really tiring." Ron sighed, his brows furrowed, "The main thing is I really can't understand those tea leaf patterns and crystal ball reflections, otherwise, I would have applied to switch to Arithmancy Class long ago."
He paused, his voice full of envy: "The other day Hermione was telling us that Viktor Professor of Arithmancy Class praised everyone's classroom performance, so there's no homework this week—I'm so jealous!"
No sooner had he finished speaking than Ron suddenly cried out, "Ouch!"
Something slippery was on the staircase steps. His ankle gave way, and he instantly lost his balance, about to fall backward onto the steps.
Harry reacted extremely quickly, grabbing his left sleeve.
Neville also quickly grabbed his right arm, and both pulled him up simultaneously, barely steadying him.
Ron leaned on the staircase railing, panting heavily, his palms covered in sweat. Before he could calm down, the medieval armor standing next to him suddenly rattled loudly, and strange chuckles came from its chest, as if someone inside was stifling laughter.
Harry and Ron immediately reached for their wands at their waists. Before they could draw them, Peeves emerged from behind the armor.
He floated in mid-air with his hands on his hips, a mischievous grin on his face, and shrieked, "Red-haired boy! Someone pulled you this time, but you won't be so lucky next time!"
Dropping that sentence, he turned and floated down the stairs.
Just as Harry and Ron breathed a sigh of relief, Peeves suddenly twisted his upper body 180 degrees, pulled a small cloth bag from behind his back, and hurled it fiercely at them.
Harry and Ron were stunned. Just as they were about to pull out their wands, Neville reacted even faster than them, kicking the flying cloth bag hard.
The cloth bag flew back with a whoosh, hitting the ceiling.
Finally, it exploded with a bang.
White foam rained down, covering Peeves' face and clothes.
"You'll get yours!" Peeves wiped the foam from his face, shrieked furiously, twisted his body, and floated into a crack in the ceiling, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, both giving Neville a thumbs-up. Ron clapped him on the shoulder: "Neville, that kick of yours was so cool! You reacted faster than both of us!"
Neville's cheeks flushed with praise, and he scratched the back of his head shyly, his hair a bit messy from the gesture: "It was... just an instinctive action. When I saw something flying towards me, my foot just lifted on its own. I didn't expect to actually kick it."
Ron clicked his tongue: "You're really amazing now. Dylan must have taught you a lot, right?"
Neville chuckled: "Dylan is really amazing. I feel like just chatting with him for a bit is as good as learning alongside the Professors."
"Oh, right!" Harry suddenly slapped his forehead, as if remembering something important, and turned to Neville, asking, "Those books Dylan recommended to you earlier, how do you like them? I was thinking if I have time during the summer, I might look for them and read them too. Maybe I could learn something."
"I think they're very useful. They cover a lot of basic Potion and plant knowledge, more detailed than the textbooks."
Neville nodded quickly, his tone sincere, "You want to read them too? I haven't returned the books to Dylan yet. When we get back to the dormitory, I'll ask Dylan if he needs them urgently. If he agrees, I'll give them to you, and you can read them at your leisure."
"Okay." Harry immediately agreed, then pulled his wand from his pocket, aimed it at the scattered white foam on the floor, and quietly chanted, "Scourgify!"
As the spell fell, the foam on the floor vanished instantly, leaving not even a trace of stickiness.
"That's strange. Peeves usually just throws chalk or splashes water balloons. How did he get cleaning solution this time?" Ron frowned, his eyes full of confusion, and he kicked the nearby floor, "Did he conspire with Filch? Filch is always wandering around with cleaning solution, isn't he?"
Neville followed Ron's gaze to the armor where Peeves had been hiding, reaching out to gently touch the armor's metallic surface, which was cold and smooth: "Look at this armor. It looks like it's just been polished. Maybe someone came to clean it, and Peeves took the opportunity to steal the cleaning solution."
The three chatted as they walked down the corridor, and soon discovered it wasn't just this one piece of armor.
The portraits hanging along the way had all been cleaned.
The dust on the frames was gone, the wooden frames gleamed with a warm luster, and the canvases were brighter, making the clothing patterns of the figures in the paintings much clearer.
Sir Cadogan's portrait was especially refreshed.
The previously faded frame was polished smooth and shiny, the colors on the canvas were vibrant as if freshly painted, and the armor Sir Cadogan wore was gleaming, even reflecting images in the patterns on his helmet.
As soon as Harry and his two friends approached the portrait, Sir Cadogan in the painting immediately squeezed his gray dappled pony with his legs. The pony's hooves clattered on the painted ground, charging towards the three, shouting: "Hey! You little rascals, stop!"
The three instinctively stopped, looking at him in confusion.
Sir Cadogan reined in his horse, the dappled pony neighed as it reared its front hooves, and he straightened his back, patted the armor on his chest, his voice booming: "Look at me! Look at this brand new armor! Look at this shiny frame! Hurry up and say something nice, praise how wise and mighty I am now!"
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, both feeling a bit helpless.
They couldn't bring themselves to say overly exaggerated compliments.
Seeing that the three hadn't spoken for a long time, Sir Cadogan immediately grew anxious and slapped the dappled pony's rear: "You won't say it? Then I'll chase you and ask!"
With that, he rode his dappled pony out of the portrait and chased the three down the corridor.
The three had no choice but to run, with Sir Cadogan in hot pursuit, constantly shouting: "Praise me! Praise me! I'm much more imposing than before!"
This chase continued for a while, until Sir Cadogan, chasing too eagerly, accidentally charged into the adjacent portrait of Barnabas the Barmy, where he was stopped by a Troll in a pink ballet costume.
The Troll stood with its hands on its hips, roaring at Sir Cadogan, clearly not welcoming his intrusion into its territory.
Harry and his two friends took the opportunity to stop, leaning against the wall and panting heavily, then looked back at Sir Cadogan and the Troll in a standoff in the portrait, unable to help but laugh.
The announcement of the Triwizard Tournament not only completely shifted the focus of student discussions but also brought a long-overdue major cleaning to Hogwarts Castle itself.
This cleaning started from the highest towers of the Castle—
Next to the spiral staircase of the North Tower, House-elves were polishing the armor with cloths dipped in polish.
The Astronomy Tower's observatory was cleaned repeatedly, even the portrait frames that had accumulated dust for years were meticulously polished.
It was precisely because of this that the armor Harry and his friends encountered earlier was gleaming like new, and the portraits along the way also radiated vibrant colors.
On October thirtieth.
The entire Castle had completely transformed.
Not a speck of dust could be seen in the cracks of the stone corridors, the metal torch holders gleamed with a warm luster, and even the wooden steps of the moving staircases were polished smooth to the touch.
The most significant change, however, was in the Great Hall.
The usual Halloween pumpkin lanterns and ghost decorations were all removed, replaced by a solemn and dignified arrangement, with a sense of formality even in the air.
On the walls on either side of the Great Hall, several brand new silk banners were hung, each corresponding to one of the Hogwarts houses.
On one wall hung the Ravenclaw and Slytherin banners.
The Ravenclaw banner had a pure sky-blue background, with excellent drape, and embroidered on it was a bronze eagle with outstretched wings, poised to fly. The patterns on the eagle's wings were clearly visible, as if it would break through the silk in the next second.
The Slytherin banner, in contrast, was a rich emerald green, embroidered with a silver serpent coiled into a spiral. The serpent's scales were intricately embroidered with silver thread, layer upon layer, shimmering with tiny glints under the light.
The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff banners on the other wall were equally striking.
Gryffindor's was red like a burning flame, with a majestically embroidered golden lion, its head held high, its mane distinct strand by strand, exuding a fearless aura.
Hufflepuff's banner was a warm wheat color, with a lively black badger. Its front paws rested on an embroidered loyalty pattern, appearing honest and steadfast.
During History of Magic Class that afternoon, sunlight streamed through the high windows into the classroom, falling warmly on the students' textbooks.
Usually at this time, some students would doze off during Professor Binns' monotonous tone, but today no one had their heads down.
Everyone either rested their chin on one hand or hovered their pen over their notebook, their gaze occasionally drifting to the clear blue sky outside the window, their eyes full of anticipation.
Someone secretly muttered to themselves.
Perhaps some magic school had a habit of arriving early, and if they appeared now, Professor Binnsmight dismiss class early, allowing them to go watch the spectacle.
But things did not go as hoped; until the "ding-a-ling" of the dismissal bell rang, the sky outside the window remained clear, without even a single unusual cloud.
The students immediately sprang into action, hastily shoving "History of Magic: A Thousand Years of Tradition and Secrets" into their bags, and haphazardly sticking their fountain pens and quills into their pencil cases.
Professor Binns' figure had barely floated slowly into the wall and disappeared when more than half of the people in the classroom had already rushed out the door, and the rest quickly followed with their bags.
The corridor instantly became lively, everyone's mouths full of all sorts of questions.
"Which magic school do you think will arrive first? Will it be Beauxbatons?"
"How many people will each school send? Will it be a dozen students plus two or three Professors?"
Even more curious was their mode of transportation—
"Will they use a portkey? Like at the Quidditch World Cup, just grab it and be transported over?"
"Maybe it's a magic train like the Hogwarts Express, steaming into the Castle courtyard?"
"I wonder if it's Beauxbatons' flying carriage, or Durmstrang's magic ship that can travel underwater?"
One question after another was posed, but no one could provide an answer, so they could only walk towards the entrance hall with eager anticipation.
Chapter 325 Beauxbatons and Durmstrang
The last orange hue of the sunset was gnawed away by the biting cold, and the sky quickly darkened as if steeped in ink, blurring even the distant outline of the Forbidden Forest into a deep black.
The students had already lined up in the entrance hall, and the Deans of the four Houses, along with the prefects, were checking their appearance one by one.
Professor McGonagall gently smoothed a Gryffindor student's crooked tie with her wand.
Snape, meanwhile, frowned, his gaze sweeping over the flashy badges pinned to the Gryffindorstudents' chests, a silent warning in his eyes.
Professor Flitwick stood on tiptoe, helping a Ravenclaw student push their crooked glasses back into place.
Professor Sprout gently reminded the Hufflepuff students to tuck their loose hair behind their ears, repeatedly emphasizing no glowing earrings were allowed, and that they must maintain a dignified appearance.
It wasn't until a sliver of the moon finally emerged from above the Forbidden Forest, casting a faint silver glow, that the students, led by their teachers, walked out of the Castle.
The Scottish Highlands on October 30th were already steeped in the chill of late autumn.
As soon as they stepped out of the Castle gates, a cold wind, carrying the desolate scent of grass and wood, swept through with withered leaves, making their cheeks ache.
Many students instinctively pulled their chins into their collars, their hands either tucked into their sleeves or clasped across their chests, their breaths forming white clouds.
But even so, no one was willing to look away.
Everyone stood in neat rows, their gaze constantly shifting between the sky, the Forbidden Forest, and the Black Lake.
Some craned their necks, staring at the clear night sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of flying carriages or broom formations.
Others looked towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest, guessing whether magical creature-drawn vehicles would emerge.
Still others stared at the surface of the Black Lake, trying to find any faint glow of ships underwater; even the usual minor frictions between Gryffindor and Slytherin were temporarily put aside.
Dylan looked at Hermione beside him, seeing her also curious, her scarf not quite covering her neck, and reached out to adjust the wool scarf around her neck.
It was a red scarf embroidered with apple patterns, which Dylan had personally knitted before—well, personally knitted with magic.
He had given it to Hermione as a gift.
Whenever the weather turned cold, she would take it out and wear it.
"Are you cold?" Dylan asked.
"No, not at all," Hermione gently shook her head, breathing into her reddened hands.
"See, this makes it even warmer."
"Hmm, alright."
Dylan shrugged, not using any warming charms or other magic on her.
Hermione's gaze fell on the scarf around Dylan's neck, one she had given him earlier; seeing that Dylan was also wearing it, her eyes sparkled.
"I never asked before, how do you like this scarf? Is it comfortable? The scarf you gave me is very warm. When I was knitting yours, I just wanted it to at least keep out the cold wind."
Dylan nodded: "It's very warm. Actually, I wasn't even planning to celebrate my birthday, it's hard to believe you always remembered my birthday and gave me gifts."
After speaking, Dylan's gaze also swept around, waiting patiently.
The night deepened further.
There was still no movement in front of the Castle, and the previously taut lines gradually relaxed a bit, with whispers slowly beginning to emerge.
Michael from Ravenclaw looked up, staring at the sky for a long time, then let out a breathy yawn, leaning into Terry's ear and whispering, "I bet Beauxbatons will arrive first."
"Not necessarily," Terry pushed up his glasses, looking towards the Black Lake. "Beauxbatons should arrive very soon too."
Anthony next to them immediately interjected: "I think it's Beauxbatons! Their flying carriages are so conspicuous, you can see them from afar, they definitely won't be low-key."
"Then I can only choose Durmstrang."
Another Ravenclaw student shrugged, "I heard their ship can travel underwater, maybe it's already in the Black Lake, just waiting for the right time to emerge."
The discussions grew more fragmented, and even the Hufflepuff students began to whisper bets.
Not to mention Gryffindor; Dylan's ears were almost bursting from the noise.
However, he didn't mind this atmosphere.
No matter what, he was still a student now.
School life didn't necessarily have to be colorful, but there weren't many times when he could participate in activities with his classmates.
So he suddenly felt that he could cherish this time, lest after graduation, he become completely immersed in his research, oblivious to the world.
At this moment, only the Slytherin line remained relatively quiet, but in the eyes of many, the same anticipation could not be hidden.
Harry and his friends were also settling on the incoming schools, arguing back and forth about whose guess was more accurate.
Dylan and Hermione did not join the discussion.
Hermione stood beside Dylan.
Even as the cold wind swept withered leaves across her cheeks, she didn't feel cold at all.
"Why is there still no movement?" someone in the line couldn't help but complain in a low voice, lightly stomping their feet to keep warm.
"Maybe they want to create a big surprise, like the Quidditch World Cup final, appearing with their mascots?" The person next to them immediately responded, their eyes full of anticipation.
The whispers had just become denser.
At the same time, a large, inky black shadow suddenly appeared in the distant night sky.
The shadow was immense, its undulating outline faintly visible in the moonlight, embedded with scattered specks of faint light, like scattered broken stars, slowly moving towards the Castle.
Dumbledore's gaze immediately turned to the black shadow. He raised his hand to stroke his silver-white beard and said loudly, "Children, quiet down—they're here!"
The black mass moved extremely fast, swooping directly towards Hogwarts Castle, the air current it created even stirring the withered grass on the ground.
"Our friends from Beauxbatons Academy of magic have arrived!" Dumbledore's voice sounded at the opportune moment, carrying a gentle smile.
The black shadow quickly swept over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the students finally saw its appearance clearly.
It was a pink and blue flying carriage, astonishingly large, almost the size of Hagrid's Hut. The carriage walls were carved with intricate patterns, gleaming with a soft luster in the moonlight, looking as if custom-made for a Giant.
Pulling the carriage were four gigantic silver-maned horses, each horse's shoulder height almost matching an elephant. Their silver-white manes fluttered in the wind, and as their hooves stepped through the air, they shed tiny specks of light.
The carriage flew with a "rumbling" sound, like distant muffled thunder, which gradually subsided as it slowly descended onto the lawn in front of the Castle.
Beauxbatons' school emblem was inlaid in the center of the carriage door.
Two golden wands crossed into an "X" shape, with three silver stars emerging from each wand tip, simple yet exquisite.
The Beauxbatons students wore light blue silk robes, the fabric thin, making it difficult to withstand the deep autumn cold wind.
The carriage door slowly opened, and the first student to peek out shivered involuntarily as they met the cold outside air, their shoulders instinctively hunching.
He quickly steadied himself, bent down, fumbled on the carriage floor for a moment, and pulled out a folded golden staircase.
The staircase unfolded and landed steadily, its steps carved with the same patterns as the carriage compartment.
When a black high-heeled shoe adorned with pearls stepped onto the first stair, the Hogwarts students gasped in unison.
A woman whose stature rivaled Hagrid emerged from the carriage, her dark blue velvet gown trailing behind her, its hem embroidered with silver star patterns.
Despite her exceptionally tall stature, her face was very handsome, with a hint of majesty in her brows and eyes. It was none other than Madame Maxime, the Principal of Beauxbatons.
Dumbledore stepped forward, elegantly performed a hand-kiss, his gaze gentle: "Dear Madame Maxime, a warm welcome to Hogwarts."
Because Madame Maxime was so tall, he didn't even need to bend down when bowing, a slight dip of his head was sufficient.
"Dumbledore, I hope you are well," Madame Maxime's voice was deep and magnetic. She casually asked, "We aren't the last to arrive, are we?"
"Durmstrang should be arriving soon," Dumbledore replied with a smile, stroking his beard. "They're coming by water, and it's normal for them to encounter some troubles like wind and waves along the way, causing a slight delay."
Madame Maxime nodded, then raised her hand and waved inside the carriage, her voice rising slightly: "Children, come down."
The Beauxbatons students disembarked from the carriage one after another, each of them, like the first student to get off, shivered uncontrollably as soon as they felt the cold wind, their hands clasped tightly inside their robes.
Dumbledore evidently noticed this and quickly said, "Hurry into the Castle; there's a fire in the Great Hall, it will be much warmer."
"That would be wonderful," Madame Maxime assented, but her gaze turned to the four silver-maned horses, a hint of worry in her tone, "It's just my horses... they are not accustomed to cold environments."
"Don't worry," Dumbledore said with a reassuring smile, "Hagrid, our school's Professor of Care of Magical Creatures, is very experienced. He will certainly take good care of these precious horses and ensure they rest in warm stables."
"They have quite a bit of strength," Madame Maxime frowned slightly, her gaze returning to the silver-maned horses, her concern undiminished as she added, "It takes someone strong enough to truly care for them; an ordinary person wouldn't even be able to hold the reins."
"Of course, no problem!" Dumbledore immediately nodded, his tone very certain, "I assure you, Hagridis absolutely capable of this job."
"He deals with all sorts of magical creatures year-round, and his strength is astonishing. He even managed to properly settle Giant spiders before, so caring for a few horses is perfectly suitable."
"That's wonderful," the worry on Madame Maxime's face dissipated, and she bowed slightly in thanks, then specifically instructed, "Please tell Hagrid—these horses only drink pure malt whiskey; they won't touch any other beverage."
"They drink pure malt whiskey?" Ron stared at the winged horses, his brows furrowed in confusion, his tone full of doubt, "These horses are too picky, they even drink strong alcohol."
"They are Aethonan horses," Dylan's voice chimed in at the right moment, explaining, "They are a very famous breed of winged horse, and 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' has a dedicated chapter introducing them."
He paused, recalling the book's content as he added, "In ancient Greece, there was a Wizard named Bellerophon who rode a winged horse to kill the Chimera. There has always been debate about the breed of that winged horse."
"Some say it was an Aethonan, others believe it was another winged horse called an Icelon, but the Aethonan's fondness for strong alcohol is widely recognized."
Perhaps due to the advantage of her height, Madame Maxime's steps suddenly halted as she led the Beauxbatons students past the Ravenclaw line.
She looked down the line, her gaze finally resting on Dylan, and nodded slightly, as if in greeting.
Noticing the Principal's action, a Beauxbatons student at the end of the line also stopped, following Madame Maxime's gaze towards Dylan.
He was wrapped in a thick, light blue silk robe, his chin even buried in the collar, with only his eyes visible.
"Merlin's tights!" George stared in the direction of the student, his voice becoming muffled, "That must be a pretty girl."
"How can you tell?" Fred leaned over, looking puzzled, "She's so heavily wrapped, even her hair is hidden in her hood; you can't see her face at all."
"By instinct!" George was very certain, his eyes still fixed in that direction, "I just made eye contact with her, and her eyes are particularly beautiful, bright like sapphires. There's no mistaking it."
He suddenly realized, turning sharply to look at Dylan, his tone full of curiosity, "Dylan, do you know someone from Beauxbatons?"
Fred and the others also nodded.
There seemed to have been no public interaction between Beauxbatons and Dylan, and they couldn't understand why Madame Maxime would specifically greet him.
Several people turned their gazes to Dylan, their eyes full of doubt, waiting for him to provide an answer.
Dylan felt their questioning gazes, looked up at them, and spoke calmly: "Nothing, perhaps Professor Dumbledore has already introduced me to everyone."
"Ah? You get that kind of treatment?" George's face was full of envy.
"Dylan!" George took half a step forward, his tone urgent as if afraid of missing something, "What about that Beauxbatons student who just looked at you? Have you met her? Have you had any interaction with her?"
"No," Dylan's answer was crisp and direct, "How could I know her?"
"Oh!" George sighed heavily, his face filled with regret, his shoulders slumping, "What a pity... but I'm really sure that girl is absolutely charming, just those eyes alone..."
Before he could finish, a strange rumble suddenly came from the Black Lake in the distance.
The sound was deep and muffled, as if something huge was stirring underwater, instantly drowning out George's voice.
The calm surface of the lake was suddenly torn open, and a Giant whirlpool immediately appeared in the center of the lake, the water swirling downwards, splashing more than half a meter high.
"How does it sound like... a flushing toilet?" Fred frowned, his tone full of uncertainty, and as soon as he finished speaking, Ron glared at him fiercely.
"Shut up!" Ron protested, covering his ears, "If you say that, I'll never be able to walk peacefully by the Black Lake again!"
Not only him, but students around who heard this also echoed the protest.
Some frowned and waved their hands, some laughed and complained, "Fred, stop talking," and others deliberately mimicked the sound of flushing to amuse, briefly breaking the previous seriousness.
Fortunately, the strange noise didn't last too long. Just as the whirlpool spun most rapidly, a rusty mast suddenly emerged from the water.
The gurgling sound of water diminished with it.
As more of the ship's hull surfaced, the "flushing toilet"-like rumble finally disappeared completely.
It was a magical ship with an eerie aura.
A strange green glow emanated from the misty portholes, flickering on and off, like the eyes of creatures lurking in the deep sea.
Large patches of black paint had peeled off the ship's hull, revealing the decayed wood grain underneath, mottled as if it were a ghost ship just salvaged from the bottom of the sea.
It stirred up layers of waves on the lake, speeding towards the shore, the sound of the hull cutting through the water sharp and piercing.
When the large ship finally came to a stable stop at the shore, another loud "clatter" was heard.
Heavy iron chains dragged across the deck, sparking as they scraped against the wood, and then the Giant anchor slammed "thud" into the muddy ground of the lake shore, making the ground slightly tingle.
Immediately following, a wide wooden plank dropped from the side of the ship, resting steadily on the shore, forming a makeshift gangplank.
Durmstrang's uniforms appeared excessively thick.
From a distance, their robes looked as if they were woven from thick wool, with heavy fur sewn onto the collars and cuffs, and even their hats had fluffy edges.
As soon as the wooden gangplank was stable, the Durmstrang teachers and students began to step onto the lake shore.
Each of them was wrapped in a large fur cloak, mostly dark brown intertwined with charcoal black, the fur tips messy and tangled, piled in layers on their shoulders, with half-palm-long fur tassels hanging from the edges of the cloaks.
When the wind blew, the tassels swayed gently, clearly revealing the dense undercoat; just looking at it made one feel incredibly warm.
These cloaks were already made of thick material, and wrapped around them, they made their figures appear exceptionally sturdy, their already tall silhouettes widening by another circle, creating a heavy sense of oppression as they walked in the line.
"My goodness, that cloak looks so warm, it's at least ten times thicker than our school robes," Ronwhispered to Harry, staring at the fur.
Harry nodded, his gaze still searching for the Beauxbatons girl he had seen earlier, and casually replied, "More than just warm, this fur looks solid; I bet even the wind can't get through."
Chapter 326: Ludo Bagman and Old Barty Crouch
Dylan paused slightly. Almost the moment the Durmstrang Principal stepped onto the pier, a chilling sense of oppression wafted through the air. Dylan was very familiar with this feeling, similar to damp snake scales brushing against skin—it was the unique aura of the dark mark. Dylan raised an eyebrow.
He looked up, meeting the Principal's gaze.
The other party had oily, reflective black curly hair that clung to his scalp, looking as greasy as his voice.
He looked even greasier than Snape.
He sported a neatly trimmed goatee on his chin, also glistening with oil, and it would tremble slightly when he spoke.
"My dear Dumbledore, long time no see. Have you been well recently?"
His tone was deliberately softened, yet it exuded an indescribable hypocrisy.
"Never better, Mr. Karkaroff."
Dumbledore still wore a gentle smile on his face, raising a hand to lightly stroke his silvery-white beard.
"Hogwarts' hearth fire has always been strong, perfect for entertaining friends from afar."
The two stood by the pier exchanging pleasantries, their words full of politeness, but their eyes met inadvertently, hiding a mutual understanding of probing.
While the two Principals conversed, the Hogwarts students had already turned their gazes towards the Durmstrang team, and a suppressed gasp suddenly rose from the crowd.
"It's Viktor Krum!" Someone pointed at the tall, thin figure in the team, their voice filled with disbelief. "I thought he had already graduated; I didn't expect him to still be in school!"
Ron looked in the direction indicated by the finger, seeing the person wearing Durmstrang's iconic thick fur cloak, with messy hair falling across his forehead—it was indeed the world-famous QuidditchSeeker.
He couldn't help but widen his eyes, his mouth slightly agape: "My goodness, he's even taller than he looks on posters. When I watched the Quidditch World Cup before, I thought he was at least twenty."
"Good, good, good! This is going to be so interesting!" George excitedly clapped his hands three times, his voice rising, drawing glances from those around him.
Everyone had arrived.
The Hogwarts students streamed into the Great Hall along the marble staircase, footsteps and hushed discussions intertwining, instantly making the previously quiet space lively.
The House banners hanging on the walls gleamed under the lights, complementing the newly changed silk decorations, appearing more solemn than in daylight.
Dumbledore did not follow the students to the long tables but instead gestured for Principal Karkaroff of Durmstrang to follow.
The two walked through the crowd one after another, Karkaroff's goatee gently swaying with each step, his eyes unconsciously scanning the surrounding students. Finally, he followed Dumbledore into the room at the end of the Great Hall, which had a velvet curtain. The curtain swayed gently twice as it fell, clearly indicating they were going to discuss something privately.
At this time, the seating in the Great Hall had already been arranged, and students from each school were successively guided to their seats.
The Beauxbatons students walked towards the Slytherin long table.
The two sides merely nodded politely, the atmosphere slightly subtle.
The Durmstrang students took their seats last. They untied the fur cloaks around their necks, and the heavy cloaks slid off their shoulders, revealing their blood-red school uniforms underneath.
The hem was embroidered with dark silver anchor patterns, placed alongside the Gryffindor long table's uniforms.
At first glance, there was even a bit of a correspondence. Ron couldn't help but nudge Harry, gesturing with his eyes to look at the details of Krum's uniform.
The uniforms of the three schools spread out on the long tables, varied in color and distinct in pattern. Many Hogwarts students looked down at their own uniforms.
Someone whispered, "Our uniforms are indeed too plain, without even a decorative pattern."
His companion beside him shrugged, running a finger over his lapel: "The advantage is durability; stains from Potion Class aren't noticeable."
Not long after.
The curtain of the meeting room was pulled open, and Dumbledore emerged with the two Principals.
Madam Maxime walked on the outermost side, her dark blue velvet gown trailing on the ground, creating a subtle arc with each step.
When she reached the teachers' long table, the Beauxbatons students all stood up in unison with a "whoosh," their movements so neat there was no delay, and the chair legs scraped against the floor with a slight sound.
Students from other schools were stunned.
The Hufflepuff students gaped, the Ravenclaw students pushed up their glasses, and even the Slytherin students raised an eyebrow.
It wasn't until Madam Maxime raised her hand to signal, a gentle smile appearing on her lips, that the Beauxbatons students sat down one by one, and the long benches made another soft sound.
Dumbledore walked directly to the owl lectern at the front.
He raised a hand to adjust his half-moon spectacles, his gaze slowly sweeping across the hall. Only when the Great Hall was completely silent did he smile and begin: "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and our distinguished special guests."
"The Triwizard Tournament—this is a grand event after many years."
His voice was gentle yet powerful, clearly reaching every corner of the Great Hall. "I wholeheartedly welcome all our friends who have traveled from afar to this land of Hogwarts."
"I sincerely hope that in the days to come, you will gain friendships, broaden your knowledge, and spend every pleasant day and night here."
Dumbledore paused, his gaze falling on the empty platters in the center of the long tables, his tone becoming light, "And now, the most important thing is to enjoy the delicious food—please make yourselves at home, as if you were in your own houses."
As soon as his voice fell, white, misty steam instantly rose from all the empty platters on the long tables in the Great Hall.
Roasted chicken, stewed potatoes, pumpkin pie, and other foods instantly filled the long tables. The aroma immediately spread, and the students' eyes instantly lit up.
The House-elves had already prepared everything, even the honey cake Dylan had seen in the common room earlier was a trial product they had adjusted the flavor of beforehand.
At this moment, steaming dishes continuously appeared on the platters, each corresponding to the regional characteristics of different magic schools, and the rich aromas intertwined.
They wafted out through the open windows towards the outside of the Castle, even drawing a few calls from the night birds in the distant Forbidden Forest.
Dylan always liked to try new foods. Before long, his small plate was quickly piled high with various dishes.
Hermione opposite him forked a piece of steak covered in thick sauce, blew on it lightly before putting it in her mouth, and her eyes immediately lit up.
"This is delicious, you guys try it quickly."
Dylan lowered his head and took a bite; the tender, stewed steak melted on his tongue.
He nodded: "It's indeed good."
Not all dishes won favor.
As a plate of baked snails was placed on the long table, the rich aroma of butter mixed with garlic immediately wafted over, and many students subconsciously stretched their necks, their eyes full of anticipation.
But when someone used a fork to pick up a snail that still had some mucus, the anticipation on their face instantly froze.
That slimy texture immediately reminded them of the Blast-Ended Skrewts from Care of Magical Creatures Class.
Just then, Hagrid pushed a food cart in from the side door. His left hand was wrapped in a thick bandage, still seeping a faint medicinal smell.
Last week, he had sustained several cuts on his arm trying to tame an out-of-control Blast-Ended Skrewt.
The Hogwarts students looked at Hagrid's bandage, then at the wiggling snail on the fork, and the image of Hagrid fighting the Blast-Ended Skrewt automatically appeared in their minds.
The appetite that had just been piqued by the aroma instantly vanished without a trace; some even quietly moved their plates aside.
"This baked snail tastes really good, why aren't any of you eating it?" A clear female voice suddenly broke the surrounding silence. "And the mixed fish soup next to it, with fresh mussels, tastes especially fresh."
George and the others looked over and gasped.
"It's her, the one with the sapphire eyes—"
The girl took off her hood, revealing a head of soft golden curly hair, and her eyes were indeed as clear as sapphires.
The expressions of several boys around her became particularly noticeable.
The boy who had been wolfing down a chicken leg suddenly slowed his movements, picked up a napkin to gently wipe the corners of his mouth, even softening his chewing, and unconsciously straightened his posture.
The boy diagonally opposite stared at the snail on his plate as if he had made some kind of decision, forking one up and putting it into his mouth, deliberately slowing his rhythm while chewing carefully, afraid of appearing ungraceful.
Another boy simply put down his knife and fork, resting his chin on his palm, his gaze drifting directly towards the source of the voice.
Dylan followed the clear female voice and looked over, seeing a girl with long silver hair standing next to Luna.
Her hair length was similar to Luna's, but Luna's light golden strands flowed like waves, with natural curls, appearing even more lively and beautiful under the light.
As soon as she sat down, Fred blinked sharply, as if waking from a dream, and while vigorously rubbing the red mark pinched on his arm, he muttered, "She really is a beautiful girl—her eyes are as bright as sapphires, so enchanting."
"No—" He suddenly frowned, as if he had thought of something, and subtly turned his body, peeking at Fleur from the corner of his eye, not daring to look directly. "This isn't right—she couldn't have Veela blood, could she? This attraction, it's practically mental magic!"
"She's so beautiful." George was still staring in Fleur's direction, a silly smile on his face, his lips almost reaching his ears. "You're right, as captivating as the Veela in legends."
"This guy is hopeless."
Fred rolled his eyes and scoffed.
Just then.
The heavy oak doors of the Great Hall suddenly creaked open, and two figures walked in, one after the other.
The Wizard in front was tall and upright, wearing a dark Wizard suit that was impeccably ironed without a single wrinkle, a stiffly starched shirt collar, a meticulously tied tie, and even the watch chain peeking from his cuff was polished to a shine.
The Wizard behind him was much more casual, wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a flame pattern, topped with a light brown casual jacket, a cheerful smile always on his face, and his steps were lighter than the person in front.
The two walked directly towards the teachers' table, and as they passed the Gryffindor table, Ludo Bagman even waved at Ron.
They had met once last year at the Quidditch World Cup.
"It's Ludo Bagman and old Barty Crouch!" Fred narrowed his eyes, scrutinized for a moment, and whispered to the person beside him, "With these two here, the people in charge of the tournament should all be present."
George, who had originally been secretly glancing at Fleur at the Beauxbatons table, withdrew his gaze upon hearing this, followed Fred's line of sight to the teachers' table, and nodded.
Not long after, the desserts on the students' plates suddenly vanished as if by a Vanishing Spell.
The surrounding students immediately reacted, sitting up straight, exchanging excited and nervous glances, and even unconsciously softening their breathing.
Dumbledore was clearly prepared; before the last macaron crumb slid from his beard, he quickly reached out a fingertip to dab it up, and, seizing the moment when no one was looking, swiftly popped it into his mouth, a bit of pink frosting still clinging to the corner of his lips.
This scene was just caught by Snape, who had turned to look at him. Snape's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and his lips curled slightly, revealing an undisguised coldness and disdain; his gaze, as it swept over Dumbledore, was like ice.
Karkaroff, sitting beside Snape, immediately noticed his change in expression, quickly turned, leaned his head close, and whispered something, his finger subtly pointing in Dumbledore's direction.
Dumbledore paid no attention to their small actions, slowly stood up, adjusted the hem of his robe, and walked towards the owl lectern at the front.
As soon as he moved, the Great Hall fell completely silent; the faint murmur of conversation vanished, leaving only the slightly hurried breathing of the crowd.
A mix of anticipation and excitement, like the food aroma that had previously permeated the air, quickly enveloped the entire Great Hall.
Some secretly clenched their fists, others leaned slightly forward, their eyes fixed on the lectern.
"I imagine you are all eagerly awaiting this moment."
Dumbledore stood behind the lectern, a gentle smile still on his face, his voice amplified by magic, clearly reaching every corner, "To be honest, I am as full of anticipation as all of you."
He paused, then raised his hand to indicate the teachers' table behind him, his tone growing more solemn: "But before we get to the main topic, please allow me to introduce two crucial guests."
"Without their tireless preparations over the past few days, the smooth running of the Triwizard Tournament would, I fear, be much more difficult."
With his gesture, all eyes focused on the two Wizards who had just taken their seats.
"This is Mr. Barty Crouch, the current Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."
Dumbledore's voice carried respect, "He has put immense effort into the international coordination of the tournament."
Old Barty Crouch immediately stood up, his figure still ramrod straight, and gave a slight nod to the students.
His wave was as precise as his attire, without an ounce of superfluous movement; his fingertips merely lifted slightly before he calmly sat down again.
"And this is Mr. Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
Dumbledore pointed to the other side, his tone a little lighter, "It was he who single-handedly finalized all the competitive rules of the tournament, ensuring fairness and excitement."
Ludo Bagman's reaction was completely different from old Barty's.
He sprang to his feet with a "whoosh," his smile as bright as sunshine, and waved with such a wide arc that his arm almost formed a semicircle.
He even gave a playful wink in Gryffindor's direction, causing many students to chuckle secretly.
As soon as Dumbledore finished speaking, he was the first to raise his hands and applaud softly.
A not-so-enthusiastic round of applause followed in the Great Hall.
Most of the students' hands merely touched symbolically, the force of their fingertips so light it was almost inaudible, and their gazes frequently darted towards the front of the lectern. Clearly, no one's mind was on applauding; all attention was fixed on "what comes next."
Some subtly adjusted their posture, others tightened their grip on their robes, and even their breathing became shallower than before.
"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch, along with myself, Madam Maxime, and Principal Karkaroff, will form the judging panel." Dumbledore's hands slowly lowered, his gaze sweeping over the Principals at the teachers' table. He gestured around, his tone solemn, "In the subsequent events, every performance of the champions will be jointly judged and scored by us."
As soon as the words "the champions" left his lips, the Great Hall instantly became so quiet that one could hear the crackling of burning candles.
The students who had been half-heartedly applauding suddenly became focused.
Ron of Gryffindor leaned sharply forward, his chin almost touching the edge of the table.
Anthony of Ravenclaw quickly pushed up his glasses, his eyes wide.
The Hufflepuff students also sat up straight, their previously relaxed shoulders tensing.
Even in the usually composed Slytherin ranks, many subtly straightened their backs.
Dumbledore didn't delay any longer. He drew his wand from his robe sleeve and lightly tapped the ground with its tip.
A pale golden light emanated from the wand tip, spreading across the floor, and then, a half-human-height stone platform slowly rose from the center of the Great Hall floor.
The stone surface was smoothly polished, and a faint magical glow still lingered at its edges, clearly indicating it was made of special material.
A gentle smile always on his face, he turned and raised his arm towards the Great Hall doors, his voice clear: "Mr. Filch, please bring up the box."
All eyes instantly turned to the door, where Filch walked in, his back hunched, his steps heavy.
He held a wooden box tightly in his arms, his arms stiff from the effort, his face still bearing its usual gloomy expression, but for once he wasn't frowning and scolding the peering students around him.
The wooden box looked extremely ancient; intricate vine patterns were carved into the dark brown wood, and large and small jewels were embedded in the crevices.
Rubies and sapphires were interspersed, with a few pearls dotted among them, and the metal clasp of the box was engraved with Vague (móhu) ancient runes. It was clearly no ordinary object.
The students at the back immediately grew anxious.
Some stood on tiptoe, their heels lifting off the ground.
Some simply stood up, steadying themselves by holding onto the back of the chair in front.
Two younger students at the end of the Ravenclaw table even secretly stood on the edge of their chairs, only to be held down by an older student's hand on their shoulders.