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Accompanied by the "enthusiastic" but slightly off-key performance of an indoor band composed of house-elves in the corner, the banquet gradually drew to a close amidst the clinking of glasses.
About twenty minutes later, as the last batch of French molten chocolate cakes and frosted rice puddings were polished off by the students, Dumbledore, as usual, gently waved his hand.
All the plates, leftovers, and grease on the long tables vanished instantly, leaving the surfaces as clean as new.
Dumbledore straightened his robes and stood up with a smile, clearly prepared to announce the long-awaited blockbuster news.
However, just as he raised his hand and before he could speak—
Bang!
The doors of the Great Hall were suddenly pushed open once again.
Led by the Castle caretaker, Filch, two figures walked in one after the other.
Lynn recognized the person walking in front; it was Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
But the person following half a step behind Bagman was someone Lynn had never seen before.
It was a Male Wizard who looked to be around fifty years old, thin-framed, with a serious expression.
He had meticulously combed grayish-brown hair, a tight jawline, and wore rimless glasses, exuding an air of efficiency and unapproachability.
Like Bagman, he wore the robes of a Ministry of Magic official, but his were much stiffer and more formal than Bagman's, with a badge symbolizing his rank pinned to his chest.
"I hope we aren't too ridiculously late, Dumbledore," Bagman, walking in front, spoke first.
Dumbledore's expression showed not the slightest displeasure at being interrupted. "The timing is perfect, Ludo, just in time for the most important part. However, unfortunately, Arthur, you did indeed miss a rather sumptuous banquet."
The Male Wizard called "Arthur" merely nodded slightly. "Delayed by official business. The banquet was not the primary purpose of this visit, Headmaster Dumbledore."
Lynn gently nudged Edgar, who was craning his neck to look, and asked in a low voice, "Who's that guy in the back with the 'everyone owes him a hundred Galleons' face?"
Edgar squinted, carefully identifying the serious Male Wizard's face, then whispered back to Lynn, "That seems to be Arthur Wendell. He recently took office, replacing Barty Crouch as the new Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Look at the style of his badge; it's from the International Cooperation side."
"Barty Crouch was replaced?" Lynn was somewhat surprised. Although he didn't care much about high-level Ministry of Magic personnel changes, Crouch was something of an "old acquaintance." "When did this happen? How come I haven't heard you mention it? Why was he replaced?"
Edgar looked around nervously, confirming no one was paying attention to their whispering, before lowering his voice even further.
"It was decided during the holidays and wasn't announced with much fanfare. As for why..." He hesitated, his gaze flickering slightly. "You remember the time you used Crucio to 'treat' Barty Crouch, right?"
Lynn remembered, of course, and nodded.
Edgar wore a strange expression. "Anyway... after your 'treatment,' Director Crouch's mental state has been unstable.
Sometimes he talks to himself in the office, sometimes he loses his temper at subordinates for no reason, and several times during important meetings, he's suddenly spaced out or said inappropriate things.
The Ministry felt he might... well, no longer be suitable for such an important position as Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Minister Fudge simply 'persuaded' him into a retirement-like idle post and replaced him with this Wendell."
After listening, Lynn sighed inwardly: Curing the illness but causing a mistake? Truly, the world is going downhill, and people's hearts are not what they used to be!
At the head table, Dumbledore had already briefly introduced the two Ministry of Magic officials.
Dumbledore gestured for them to take their seats in the reserved spots at the high table, which happened to be arranged next to the Durmstrang Principal, Igor Karkaroff.
Karkaroff's face looked a bit unnatural at this moment. He had discovered there was still an empty seat beside him.
He turned his head toward Snape, who was separated by the empty seat and looked even gloomier than usual. "Severus, this seat next to me... who is it for?"
Snape glanced at Karkaroff. "It is for our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody.
He insisted on a final check of the Castle's perimeter security defenses and believes that crowded occasions are high-risk periods for security threats, so he will be entering a bit late."
Just as he finished speaking—
"Who is looking for me?!"
A voice full of intimidation came from a shadowed corner at the side of the Great Hall!
Immediately afterward, Moody, wearing his old cloak covered in travel dust, walked over to Karkaroff's side.
Gulp.
A clear sound of someone swallowing saliva came from the high table.
The moment Moody appeared, Karkaroff's face turned as pale as paper.
At this moment, only one thought was running through his head: It's over... I have to leave here! Now! Immediately!
Of course, Karkaroff probably wasn't the only one wanting to flee the Great Hall right now.
"Ouch—!!!"
A cry of pain came from the other end of the high table.
Professor Flitwick was clutching one of his hands, his body twitching slightly from the pain.
Beside him, Hagrid was flushed red, looking as if his soul had wandered off. In a daze, his gaze remained firmly locked onto the elegantly seated Madame Maxime.
Clearly, Hagrid had been staring so intently that the fork he was using to cut his steak had unknowingly veered off course and poked straight into the back of Professor Flitwick's hand!
"S-sorry! Flitwick! I didn't mean to! I-I just..." Hagrid hurriedly pulled out the fork, apologizing incoherently. His giant hands wanted to help stop the bleeding, but he didn't dare touch him, and his eyes couldn't help drifting back toward Madame Maxime.
Madame Maxime seemed to notice the huge commotion and the gaze. She turned her head slightly, glanced at Hagrid, and then turned back as if nothing had happened.
The entire high table was in a bit of a chaotic mess for a moment due to Moody's sudden "entrance," Karkaroff's loss of composure, Hagrid's "accident," and Flitwick's injury.
Dumbledore, however, seemed completely oblivious to these small interludes beside him. He unhurriedly cleared his throat. In an instant, all eyes were once again focused on the silver-haired, white-bearded old Principal.
"The moment," Dumbledore's eyes swept over the young faces of the six schools below, "has finally arrived."
The Great Hall became so quiet that a pin drop could be heard; even the sound of breathing seemed intentionally softened.
"Over the past period of time," Dumbledore continued, "Mr. Bagman, as well as Mr. Wendell, have put in tireless efforts to arrange and organize this tournament, which has been interrupted for centuries and is now being expanded into a six-school competition for the first time.
The two of them, along with myself and the Principals of the other five schools, will form the panel of judges for this Triwizard Tournament, providing the most impartial judgment on the performance of the champions throughout the competition."
Warm and sustained applause immediately rang out in the Great Hall.
Ludo Bagman stood up with a beaming smile, waving in all directions, while Arthur Wendell merely gave a slight, expressionless bow, the movement so small it was almost imperceptible.
When the applause died down, the smile on Dumbledore's face faded slightly, and his tone became more formal and solemn:
"I believe everyone present is already aware that many champions will be involved in this tournament. They will be selected from among you, from six great magical schools.
And the one responsible for this selection will be an absolutely impartial selector, unaffected by any human influence—"
He paused briefly to build suspense, then raised his voice:
"It is—the Goblet of Fire!"
As his voice fell, Filch, who had been waiting by the side door, carefully walked to the high table holding a large wooden box that looked ancient and was inlaid with many gems, placing it on the table in front of Dumbledore.
Everyone's eyes were locked firmly on that box.
Dumbledore drew his wand and solemnly tapped the lid of the box three times.
With a soft click, the lid automatically and slowly opened. Dumbledore reached inside and pulled out an object—
It was a roughly carved, somewhat primitive wooden goblet. It looked ordinary in itself, but inside the cup, blue-white flames were currently roaring.
"Those who aspire to be champions," Dumbledore's voice echoed through the Great Hall, "need only throw a slip of parchment with their name and school written on it into these flames. The Goblet of Fire will choose the champions it deems most qualified to represent their respective schools tomorrow night—on Halloween Eve."
He scanned the crowd and added, "Of course, I mean students of sufficient age. For safety reasons, I will later draw an Age Line in the Entrance Hall where the Goblet of Fire will be placed. Anyone under the age of seventeen will be unable to cross this line and put their name into the cup. I suggest not wasting your energy trying to trick it; profound magic is always smarter than we imagine."
Finally, his tone became more serious than ever:
"I must remind you all that the Triwizard Tournament is no child's play. Its history is full of glory, but it is also accompanied by mortal danger.
Once selected by the Goblet of Fire, it is equivalent to forming a binding magical contract with this ancient tournament. This means that once you become a champion, you must see it through to the end, no matter what challenges you face.
Before making a decision, please consider it very carefully."
However, the effect of Dumbledore's final earnest warning was almost zero, because instead of calming down, everyone became even more fanatical, wishing they could shove their slips of parchment into the Goblet of Fire right that very second.