In the depths of the midnight hour, the fierce winds whistled their haunting melody across the Hogwarts grounds, their ghostly sound intertwining with the thunderous crashes of relentless waves against the cliffs below. The combination created an almost supernatural seaside symphony that echoed through the castle's stone corridors.
The massive oak doors of the castle stood majestically open for the momentous Triwizard Tournament champion selection. The bitter October wind, carrying with it the crisp scent of autumn leaves and salt spray, poured through the entrance like an invisible flood, its haunting sound was like of a banshee's sorrowful wail as it swept through the entrance hall.
The entrance hall was illuminated as bright as a summer's day by the combined radiance of four massive bronze torches and the Goblet of Fire placed on the high platform.
From the Hufflepuff basement corridor, Cedric and his loyal band of house-mates emerged like thieves in the night, their excitement barely contained behind nervous grins and stifled laughter. Cedric's mates clustered around him, their eyes darting watchfully about the hall. After carefully ensuring they were alone in the vast space, they approached the Goblet with growing excitement.
The silvery Age Line encircling the magical artifact was gleaming like moonlight on water. Cedric crossed the boundary nervously and, in one fluid motion, tossed his carefully prepared parchment bearing his name and house into the dancing flames. The group held their collective breath, watching as the blue-white fire consumed his offering, accepting his bid for glory. Once they re-confirmed the goblet hadn't rejected and thrown out Cedric's entry, the group celebrated briefly before sneaking away.
Throughout the long night, this scene had repeated itself countless times, each potential champion approaching the Goblet with their own mixture of determination, fear, and hope.
In the comfortable dimness of his office, Bryan lounged on his leather sofa, holding a steaming cup of fragrant tea that sent white vapor curling through the air and said casually, "Diggory has impressively solid fundamentals and remarkable dedication. His performance in my physical education classes also consistently stands out. I believe he has a good chance of becoming Hogwarts' champion—"
Dumbledore carefully picked cookie crumbs from his long beard. The evidence of his single-handed annihilation of Bryan's carefully selected box of mild-flavored pastries lay scattered before him like the aftermath of a particularly pleasant battle. His blue eyes twinkled with warmth as he said, "Pomona will certainly be delighted—"
He paused thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "I've always believed that Hufflepuffs deserve recognition for their kindness, loyalty, diligence, and their enduring commitment to what is right and just."
Bryan nodded slightly in agreement, his thoughts turning to the rich history of Hufflepuff House.
After the other three Hogwarts founders had passed away one after another, Helga Hufflepuff became the school's first headmistress. In those dark and dangerous times, when the magical community lived under constant threat of persecution, she had stood alone as guardian of the school. Her dedication had been so complete that she had nearly exhausted both her personal wealth and her family's fortune in her determination to keep Hogwarts' doors open to all who sought magical education.
Moreover, Bryan thought of the lesser-known but equally significant fact that it was Helga Hufflepuff who had first brought the house-elves to Hogwarts at a time when such an action was considered radical. In an era when Muggle-born students were regarded as little more than dust beneath pure-bloods feet, Helga's compassionate act spoke volumes about her character.
Bryan had often pondered whether her decision had been influenced by the horrifying things she must have heard from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw about the house-elves' conditions in the secret chambers beneath Azkaban.
As the night wore on, more students crept into the entrance hall like shadows, each approaching the Goblet with their own dreams of glory. Bryan, watching from his vantage point, estimated that approximately a quarter of Hogwarts' eligible students of Age had already submitted their names tonight.
Outside, the moon hung like a blurred pearl behind thick clouds, its position shifting gradually across the vast expanse of the night sky. In the Student Safety Office, Bryan and Dumbledore sat in silence, each immersed in their respective books, their minds swimming in oceans of magical knowledge.
Tick—
The sudden, sharp tick of the clock announcing one o'clock shattered the quiet meditation. Through the continuous ghostly howls of the wind and the surrounding darkness, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hall. Bryan carefully marked his place in his spellbook and turned his attention to the unfolding scene.
The Durmstrang group emerged from the shadows into the Goblet's light, their thick fur cloaks wrapped tightly against the chill. Within their group, Viktor Krum's usually strong figure looked notably thin, as his body seemed a little hunched against some unseen discomfort. Dark circles shaded his eyes, prominent against his tanned complexion, and his characteristic thick black eyebrows drooped with evident exhaustion.
"How are you holding up, Viktor? Can you hold on?" Karkaroff's voice carried an unusual note of genuine concern, his typically stern demeanor softened by worry for his star student. The rest of the group showed varying degrees of fatigue, but none appeared as affected as Krum.
In response to Karkaroff's concern, Viktor could only manage a weary shake of his head before being overwhelmed by a forceful need to blow his nose, and that sound echoed in the vast space.
"When we return to the ship, you can take some Sleeping Draught to ease your discomfort, Viktor," Karkaroff said, his voice carrying both concern and barely concealed frustration. His long, silver-streaked goatee quivered slightly as he spoke, revealing his agitation. "Beyond that, you must find the strength to endure—"
He paused, dark eyes scanning Krum's face. "While I anticipated some difficulties, I hadn't expected England's relatively mild climate to affect you quite so severely. Our winters at Durmstrang are far more brutal, after all—"
From the group of students behind Karkaroff, a scrawny boy with long ears and nervous hands stepped forward hesitantly. Poliakoff, whose small body seemed even smaller beneath his heavy fur cloak, gave his suggestion with the timidity of one well-acquainted with his headmaster's volatile temper.
"Perhaps, Headmaster Karkaroff, we could take Viktor to the hospital?" His voice quavered slightly in the vast space. "Surely Hogwarts must have medical facilities for their students?"
Karkaroff's caring expression vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of fury that twisted his facial features into something almost inhuman. He whirled around with such force that his silver furs created a whooshing sound in the quiet hall, fixing the boy with a glare that could have frozen flame.
"Hospital!" He spat, the word dripping with contempt and paranoid suspicion. His yellowed teeth flashed in the torchlight as he lurched on the now-trembling student. "So, you would hand Viktor over to them? Give Hogwarts the perfect opportunity to poison or sabotage our champion? Keep your foolish thoughts to yourself, you troublesome little boy, before they cause irreparable damage!"
The force of Karkaroff's outburst reverberated through the entrance hall. Poliakoff seemed to shrink further into himself with each repetition, his face showing regret and embarrassment.
Viktor, perhaps trying to resolve the tense situation, tried to move past Karkaroff's protective posture toward the Goblet of Fire. Despite his illness, he maintained the powerful grace that had made him famous on the Quidditch pitch, though his movements were notably slower than usual. Another tremendous sneeze wracked his body but he pressed forward determinedly, clutching his entry parchment in one large hand.
"Wait, Viktor!" Karkaroff's sharp command came. His entire behavior had shifted to one of alertness, dark eyes narrowing as they fixed upon the ancient artifact before them. He quickly positioned himself between Viktor and the Goblet, and he drew his wand. The wandtip ignited with a soft glow as he began a meticulous inspection of the area within the Age Line.
The gathered Durmstrang students watched this display with a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness, their eyes darting between their headmaster's suspicious roaming and Krum's confused expression.
Viktor's thick eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown, creating deep furrows in his forehead as he observed Karkaroff's increasingly elaborate examination.
Karkaroff waved his wand in the air as he circled the platform. Each tap of his wand against the Goblet's surface produced subtle variations in the magical flames, which he studied with the intensity of a scholar examining an ancient text.
"What exactly are you looking for, Professor?" Viktor's usually gruff voice was made even hoarser by his illness.
"We must have the greatest caution, Viktor—" Karkaroff replied distractedly, his attention never wavering from his magical investigation. The flames of the Goblet cast strange shadows across his angular face, deepening the lines of paranoia etched there.
"When you have lived as long as I have, seen what I have seen, you learn that appearances can be desperately deceiving. We are dealing with the most cunning wizard of our century, a master of deception who hides his true nature behind a carefully constructed mask of benevolence and virtue." His voice dropped to a whisper, though it carried clearly to his students. "There is every possibility that this goblet has been enchanted to discriminate against and filter out the finest students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons!"
"You mean Mr. Watson?" Krum asked incredulously. "But he seems so... straightforward and direct, He doesn't seem like someone who would do such things. "
Karkaroff's laugh was sharp and unpleasant.
"I'm talking about Albus Dumbledore—" His yellowed teeth gleamed in the magical light as his lips curled into a knowing sneer. "Your naive perception of Dumbledore's character reveals your youth, Viktor. One does not become the greatest wizard of our time through simple righteousness and good intentions. When it comes to schemes and plots, even the Dark Lord—"
Karkaroff caught himself abruptly, the words disappearing in his throat as his head snapped around, with his dark eyes darting to every shadow in the vast hall and his hand instinctively rose to his left forearm. Only after a thorough scan of their surroundings did he allow himself to relax slightly.
"As for Bryan Watson—" Karkaroff continued, finally stepping back from the Goblet with obvious reluctance. He turned to face Krum fully, his expression turning serious. "I understand your admiration for his magical abilities, Viktor, but don't forget what I told you about Watson—how he outmaneuvered both us and Beauxbatons to make Hogwarts the host school for the Triwizard Tournament. His methods are no less cunning than Dumbledore's, perhaps even more aggressive."
His gaze swept the entrance hall once more, taking in the cold stone walls and ancient tapestries with unveiled contempt. The torchlight caught the silver in his hair and beard, making him appear momentarily older, and creepier.
"In any case, we must be extremely careful... I even suspect that if Hogwarts doesn't win the tournament in the end, Watson might directly sabotage you and the Beauxbatons champion. After all," his voice dropped to a whisper, "those who appear most straightforward often harbor the deepest capacity for treachery."
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