( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓 ) — we are the champions

There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air; the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were to arrive. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrivals.

Snape was Merlin knows where, so the responsibility in sorting out the Slytherins fell onto Evangeline.

''Bulstrode, straighten your hat,'' the brunette advised. ''Miss Parkinson, you may want to take that . . . thing out of your hair before the groundskeeper mistakes you for a Blast-Ended Skrewt.''

Pansy Parkinson scowled, removing the pure brass witches' hat from the top of her head.

''Follow me, please. First-years in front . . . no pushing . . . ''

They filed down the front steps and lined up before the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Everyone was scanning the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving — everything was still, silent and quite as usual.

Dumbledore called out from the back row, where Evangeline was standing among the other teachers. ''Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegations from Beauxbatons approaches!''

''Where?'' Wondered many students eagerly, all looking in different directions.

''There!''

Something large was hurtling across the deep blue sky towards the castle, growing bigger as it approached. As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw a colossal, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage soaring towards them. It was being pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, each the size of an elephant.

The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed —then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year's foot, the horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.

Evangeline just had time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars)before it opened.  

A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps, before springing back respectfully. Then, the brunette saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage — a shoe the size of a child's sled —followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman she had ever seen in her life. The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained, emitting gasps from a few people.

The Rosier girl had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in her life, and that was Hagrid; she doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. As the woman stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead,broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore,though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.

''My dear Madam Maxime,'' he greeted. ''Welcome to Hogwarts.''

''Dumbly-dorr," said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?''

''In excellent form, I thank you," said Dumbledore. 

''My pupils," Madame Maxime introduced, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her. 

A dozen boys and girls,all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind the giant. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks — a few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads, staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.

'''As Karkaroff arrived yet?" She asked. 

''He should be here any moment,'' Dumbledore assured. ''Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?''

''Warm up, I think,'' she decided. ''But ze 'orses —''

''Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," Dumbledore informed. ''The moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other — er — charges.''

''My steeds require — er — forceful 'andling," Madame Maxime told Dumbledore, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. ''Zey ar every strong . . .''

Dumbledore smiled. ''I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job.''

''Very well,'' she replied, bowing slightly. ''Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?''

''It will be attended to.''

''Come,'' Madam Maxime said imperiously to the Beauxbatons students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow the French to pass up the stone steps.

Everyone stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive; most people were gazing hopefully at the sky. For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime's huge horses snorting and stamping. But then —

A loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward them from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a river bed . . .

''The lake!'' Lee Jordan yelled. ''Look at the lake!''

From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water — except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all.Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks — and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor . . .

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later,they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them, Harry noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle . . . yet, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, he saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy,matted fur. 

The man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair. ''Dumbledore!'' He called heartily as he walked up the slope. ''How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?''

''Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff.''

Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short,and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.

''Dear old Hogwarts,'' he sighed, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and Evangeline noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. ''How good it is to be here, how good . . . Viktor, come along, into the warmth . . . you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold . . .''

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, the brunette caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows, belonging to the one and only Viktor Krum.

A couple minutes later, the Hogwarts students headed for the Great Hall, squabbling over who would get an autograph from the Quidditch player first. 

Viktor and his fellow Durmstrang students had settled themselves at the Slytherin table, whilst the students from Beauxbatons had chosen to sit at the Ravenclaw table, looking around the room with glum expressions on their faces.

The staff entered shortly after, filing up to the top table and taking their seats.  Last in line were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. When their headmistress appeared, the pupils from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet, resulting in a few of the Hogwarts students laughing. The Beauxbatons party appeared quite unembarrassed, however, and did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side. Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall.

''Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and — most particularly — guests,'' Dumbledore beamed around at the foreign students. ''I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.''

One of the Beauxbatons girls, still clutching a muffler around her head, gave what was unmistakably a derisive laugh. Out of the corner of her eye, Evangeline noticed Hermione bristle and whisper furiously to Ron and Harry.

''The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!''

He sat down, and Karkaroff from beside the Rosier girl, leaned forward at once and engaged the headmaster in conversation. 

The plates in front of them filled with food as usual. The house elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them, including several that were definitely from France and Bulgaria. 

Before Evangeline could blink, Ludo Bagman was sitting on the other side of her, while Bartemius Crouch was next to Madam Maxime.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. ''The moment has come; the Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in a casket, 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.''

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. Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced; 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, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madam Maxime on the panel that will judge the champion's efforts. 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 old wooden chest encrusted with jewels.

''The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman, 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 tasks and the champion with the highest total after the third task will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.''

Dumbledore took out his wand at tapped it on top of the casket, triggering the lid to lift up slowly. He reached inside it 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.

''Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. 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, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once is 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.''

Clouds of live bats fluttered around the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, accompanied by leering lit pumpkins in every corner. Like everyone else in the room, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Evangeline simply wanted the feast to be over, and to hear who had been selected as champions.

At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone, Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students, but Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested — almost bored. 

''Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,'' Dumbledore announced. ''I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber,'' — he indicated a door behind the teachers — ''where they will be receiving their first instructions.''

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting . . . a few people kept checking their watches . . .

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again as sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it — the whole room gasped. 

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to cobalt. ''The champion for Durmstrang,'' he read, in a strong, clear voice. ''Viktor Krum.''

''No surprises there!'' Evangeline heard Ron yell as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Viktor rose from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

''Bravo, Viktor!'' Karkaroff boomed, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. ''Knew you had it in you!''

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

''The champion for Beauxbatons . . . Fleur Delacour!''

When Fleur too had vanished into the side chamber,silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. And, the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment. 

''The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!''

Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

''Excellent!'' Dumbledore chuckled. ''Well, we now have our three champions.  I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—''

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him; the fire in the goblet had just turned red again and sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which he stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at him. And then the headmaster cleared his throat and read out —

''Harry Potter.''