Matthew smiled as he took a bite from his cassoulet, smiling lightly as he remembered when France used to make this when he was a small colony.

He glanced at Hannah and Ernest, who were looking at him. "Something wrong?" Ernest coughed and looked away. Hannah chuckled. "You really like this dish, huh?" He nodded with a shy smile. "Y-Yeah. My papa used to make it a lot." Her eyebrows rose slightly.

"You're French? I thought you were Canadian?" "I am, but I was raised by my French father, who often made French dishes." Matthew chuckled and ate the last bit as Hannah ate her bouillabaisse she got from the Ravenclaw table.

When everyone was done, Dumbledore got up again. There was a pleasant kind of tension, and Alfred felt a little excited (not in that way, if you catch what I'm throwing) while he was wondering what was gonna happen. Yeah, Iggy told him about this, but it was still pretty cool to be part of this. Especially with Harry freakin Potter next to him! Oh, Dumbiechore was gonna talk again.

"The moment has arrived," Dumbledore looked at the sea of focused students, and the Weasley twins who were staring at him with absolute concentration. "that The Triwizard Tournament is about to start! I'd like to give a small explanation before we bring the chest in-"

"The what?" Harry whispered. Ron and Alfred shrugged.

"To make clear how the procedure will go this year. But first. Let me introduce, for those who don't know him yet, the gentleman known as Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department for International Magical Coöperation, and the gentleman Ludovic Bagman, Head of the Department for Magical Sports and Recreation."

While there was a minimum and polite amount of applause for Crouch, Bagman got a way louder applause, maybe because of his fame as a Beater, or maybe because of the fact that he made a better impression. He thanked the students for their applause, but Crouch didn't smile or wave when his name was called. Harry thought he looked weird in wizarding robes as he remembered the man who showed up to the grassy and dirty field at the Quidditch World Championship in a suit a banker would be proud of. His small mustache and straight part in his hair didn't match at all with the long, silvery-grey beard and hair of Dumbledore.

America zoned out during the explanation and instead looked at Canada, who seemed equally... focused. He made eye-contact, and made a few funny faces. Which earned him a smack upside the head from Hermione.

"The chest, please, Mr. Filch." Dumbledore smiled.

Filch, who was standing in a unnoticed in a corner, walked up to Dumbledore with a big chest heavily decorated with gems and gold. The Headmaster motioned his hand down and slowly the chest seemingly melted away. Inside was an old... cup.

"Whoever wants to try to enter the tournament, has to write his or her name and school on this piece of parchment and put it in the Goblet. Apsiring champions have twenty-four hours to enter their names. The Goblet will be in the hall. Remember, this isn't some kind of light-hearted joke. Whoever is chosen to be the champion, signs a magical contract. You can't change your mind once you get chosen, and you have to be one-hundred percent sure you want this. For now, it seems like it's bedtime. Good night, everybody!"

Later that night, England sat in a dark corner of the Hall to keep an eye on the Goblet. He heard a door creak open, and a figure walked into the Hall. "What are you doing here? Go back to bed, there is an curfew for students here."

"Oh, but I'm not a student."

There was a red flash, a thud, and darkness.