 who had laughed during Dumbledore's speech.
She had finally removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell
almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.
Ron went purple. He stared up at her, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came
out except a faint gurgling noise.
"Yeah, have it," said Harry, pushing the dish toward the girl.
"You 'ave finished wiz it?"
"Yeah," Ron said breathlessly. "Yeah, it was excellent."
The girl picked up the dish and carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Ron
was still goggling at the girl as though he had never seen one before. Harry started
to laugh. The sound seemed to jog Ron back to his senses.
"She's a veela!" he said hoarsely to Harry.
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"Of course she isn't!" said Hermione tartly. "I don't see anyone else gaping at her
like an idiot!"
But she wasn't entirely right about that. As the girl crossed the Hall, many boys'
heads turned, and some of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless,
just like Ron.
"I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl!" said Ron, leaning sideways so he could
keep a clear view of her. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"
"They make them okay at Hogwarts," said Harry without thinking. Cho happened
to be sitting only a few places away from the girl with the silvery hair.
"When you've both put your eyes back in," said Hermione briskly, "you'll be able
to see who's just arrived."
She was pointing up at the staff table. The two remaining empty seats had just
been filled. Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff's other side,
while Mr. Crouch, Percy's boss, was next to Madame Maxime.
"What are they doing here?" said Harry in surprise.
"They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" said Hermione. "I
suppose they wanted to be here to see it start."
When the second course arrived they noticed a number of unfamiliar desserts too.
Ron examined an odd sort of pale blancmange closely, then moved it carefully a
few inches to his right, so that it would be clearly visible from the Ravenclaw
table. The girl who looked like a veela appeared to have eaten enough, however,
and did not come over to get it.
Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A
pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now. Harry felt a slight thrill of
excitement, wondering what was coming. Several seats down from them, Fred and
George were leaning forward, staring at Dumbledore with great concentration.
"The moment has come," said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned
faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few
words of explanation before we bring in the casket --"
"The what?" Harry muttered.
Ron shrugged.
"- just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me
introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the
Department of International Magical Cooperation" - there was a smattering of
polite applause - "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical
Games and Sports."
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There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps
because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more
likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did
not smile or wave when his name was announced. Remembering him in his neat
suit at the Quidditch World Cup, Harry thought he looked strange in wizard's
robes. His toothbrush mustache and severe parting looked very odd next to
Dumbledore's long white hair and beard.
"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on
the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "and
they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the
panel that will judge the champions' efforts."
At the mention of the word "champions," the attentiveness of the listening students
seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he
smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."
Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached
Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked
extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students;
Dennis Creevey actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny,
his head hardly rose above anyone else's.
"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been
examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," said Dumbledore as Filch placed the
chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary
arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the
school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways.. their
magical prowess - their daring - their powers of deduction - and, of course, their
ability to cope with danger."
At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed
to be breathing.
"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on
calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how
well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest
total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by
an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the
casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out
a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had
it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.
Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it
would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.
"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and
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school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said
Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their
names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of
the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be
placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those
wishing to compete.
"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "I
will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in
the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.
"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this
tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by
the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end.
The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract.
There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be
very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop
your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."
"An Age Line!" Fred Weasley said, his eyes glinting, as they all made their way
across the Hall to the doors into the entrance hall. "Well, that should be fooled by
an Aging Potion, shouldn't it? And once your name's in that goblet, you're
laughing - it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not!"
"But I don't think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance," said Hermione,
"we just haven't learned enough. . ."
"Speak for yourself," said George shortly. "You'll try and get in, won't you,
Harry?"
Harry thought briefly of Dumbledore's insistence that nobody under seventeen
should submit their name, but then the wonderful picture of himself winning the
Triwizard Tournament filled his mind again. .. . He wondered how angry
Dumbledore would be if someone younger than seventeen did find a way to get
over the Age Line.
"Where is he?" said Ron, who wasn't listening to a word of this conversation, but
looking through the crowd to see what had become of Krum. "Dumbledore didn't
say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?"
But this query was answered almost instantly; they were level with the Slytherin
table now, and Karkaroff had just bustled up to his students.
"Back to the ship, then," he was saying. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat
enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"
Harry saw Krum shake his head as he pulled his furs back on. "Professor, Ivood
like some vine," said one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully.
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"I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff," snapped Karkaroff, his warmly paternal air
vanishing in an instant. "I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your
robes again, disgusting boy -"
Karkaroff turned and led his students toward the doors, reaching them at exactly
the same moment as Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry stopped to let him walk
through first.
"Thank you," said Karkaroff carelessly, glancing at him. And then Karkaroff
froze. He turned his head back to Harry and stared at him as though he couldn't
believe his eyes. Behind their headmaster, the students from Durmstrang came to a
halt too. Karkaroff's eyes moved slowly up Harry's face and fixed upon his scar.
The Durmstrang students were staring curiously at Harry too. Out of the corner of
his eye, Harry saw comprehension dawn on a few of their faces. The boy with
food all down his front nudged the girl next to him and pointed openly at Harry's
forehead.
"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," said a growling voice from behind them.
Professor Karkaroff spun around. Mad-Eye Moody was standing there, leaning
heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang
headmaster.
The color drained from Karkaroff's face as Ha