"Harry Potter?" The silver-haired witch quickly regained her composure and smiled politely. "You're even more impressive than the rumors say. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Fleur Delacour. You may call me—"
"I'm not interested in what you're called," Harry interrupted her, his voice calm. "And right now, self-introductions shouldn't be your priority."
Fleur paused, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.
Her charm wasn't working? Was this boy really this straightforward?
She had assumed that this was just the British way of being coy and reserved—after all, her grandmother always said the British were a bit stiff.
"And what should my priority be?" Fleur asked playfully, tilting her head slightly. "Should we exchange cheek kisses, then?"
"An apology," Harry replied bluntly.
Fleur blinked, clearly caught off guard. For a moment, she appeared genuinely surprised.
"An apology?" Harry repeated, his tone unwavering. A faint ripple of magic emanated from his eyes as he gently waved a hand.
Axii Sigil.
Fleur's expression grew hazy for a moment before she turned to Ron, bending slightly in a polite bow. "I'm sorry, monsieur. I shouldn't have—"
She suddenly snapped back to clarity and gasped. "A wandless, wordless charm? And at this level of precision?"
Harry didn't respond.
Fleur let out a delighted laugh and, without waiting for an invitation, strode to the other side of the table. She gracefully persuaded two nearby Gryffindor students to make space for her with nothing more than a charming smile. She then sat directly across from Harry. "You're quite fascinating, Potter," she said.
"Now, can we formally get acquainted?"
Hermione's voice was sharp, cutting into the exchange: "Are all Beauxbatons students this forward?"
"French women are known for their directness," Fleur replied smoothly, sparing Hermione a glance. "And, as it happens, I'm likely to be Beauxbatons' champion. Surely you, Potter, will be Hogwarts' champion?"
"Nothing has been decided yet," Harry said coldly.
Fleur leaned forward slightly, her gaze intent. "You don't have confidence in yourself?"
Hermione cut in before Harry could respond: "Harry recognizes the strengths in others and doesn't resort to flaunting himself like some strutting peacock, spreading charms everywhere."
"And why shouldn't I flaunt it?" Fleur countered with a sly smile, twisting a strand of her silver hair around her finger. "After all, charm, when wielded well, can be utterly irresistible. By the way, Miss—?"
"Granger." Hermione's voice was frosty.
Fleur sighed, her tone tinged with mock disappointment. "Only a surname? I was hoping to call you by your first name."
Ron, seemingly entranced, blurted, "I'm Ron Weasley! You can call me Ron."
"Or Little Ronnie," Fred chimed in mischievously.
"George!" Ron snapped, glaring at him.
"That's Fred," Harry corrected helpfully.
Fleur chuckled softly, covering her mouth. "You lot are delightful. May I befriend you all?" Though she said "you all," her eyes were fixed squarely on Harry.
Hermione bristled, ready to retort.
Harry silenced them all by tapping the table lightly. "I'd suggest you stop talking now. Dumbledore is about to speak."
Up at the staff table, Madame Maxime and Karkaroff were already seated, with the latter sitting next to Snape. Only Dumbledore remained standing.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Dumbledore began, his smile warm.
Nearly Headless Nick floated higher into the air, showing off his almost-detached head as he always did during such occasions.
"Oh, and our ghosts, of course," Dumbledore added with a chuckle. "And a special welcome to our esteemed guests who've traveled far to join us!"
"Let's not delay dinner with too much talking. Enjoy!" he concluded cheerfully, taking his seat.
Food appeared instantly on the plates—some dishes familiar, others exotic, likely prepared to cater to the visiting schools' tastes.
Fleur blinked in surprise. "Does Dumbledore always keep his speeches this brief?"
Ron, already digging in, nodded. "Yeah, he prefers to get to the point when food's involved."
Fleur hesitated with her utensils, feeling as though she had missed a golden opportunity to steer the conversation back in her favor. The momentum had slipped from her grasp.
Hermione, sensing Fleur's frustration, hummed a cheerful tune—a song she had recently learned from the Sorting Hat—earning herself a glare from the French witch.
Despite Fleur's initial dominance in the conversation, it was clear she had lost this round.
"Harry," Fleur suddenly asked, her tone deliberately casual, "I heard you cut off a professor's arm last year?"
"Call me Potter," Harry corrected her, his voice flat. "And does Beauxbatons thrive on baseless rumors?"
"That professor over there does seem to be missing an arm," Fleur said, glancing at Snape.
Snape, ever observant, caught her gaze immediately. His sharp eyes narrowed, brimming with menace.
Fleur shivered slightly. "Your professor is... intense."
"You should be glad you're not a Hogwarts student," Hermione muttered with a smirk.
Fleur tilted her head. "Why's that?"
"Because Professor Snape is a brilliant potioneer," Hermione said, her voice adopting Harry's signature detached tone. "And you're exactly the type of person he'd love to tear apart in his classroom."
The tension between the two girls was palpable. Even the nearby Gryffindors began to take notice.
The verbal sparring between Hermione and Fleur lasted the entire meal. Despite Fleur's natural charm and confidence, Hermione's sharp wit and cutting retorts gave her the upper hand.
Neville, watching from the sidelines, could only shake his head in sympathy for Fleur. Why would anyone think they could out-snark a Gryffindor lioness?
The meal lasted over an hour. Once dessert was cleared away, Dumbledore stood again, drawing everyone's attention.
"Now that we're all well-fed and content, it's time for the moment we've all been waiting for!" he said, his tone light with excitement.
"The Triwizard Tournament is finally upon us! But before we dive into the details, I must first introduce two distinguished guests from the Ministry of Magic."
He gestured to the first guest, who stood up immediately. "This is Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. His efforts have been instrumental in reviving this historic event."
Bagman greeted the students with enthusiasm, his cheerful demeanor infectious.
Dumbledore then gestured toward the second guest, a squat woman dressed in an offensively pink outfit. "And this," he continued, "is Dolores Umbridge—"
"Senior Undersecretary to the Minister," Umbridge interrupted in a shrill voice, standing abruptly.
Dumbledore paused, his eyes briefly flickering toward her. "Indeed. She will serve as a Ministry-appointed judge for the tournament, alongside myself, Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, and Ludo Bagman."
With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore caused the area in front of the staff table to clear, revealing an empty space. Another flick of his wand brought forth a gilded wooden chest, encrusted with jewels.
"This," Dumbledore said as he tapped the chest three times with his wand, "contains the object that will select our champions."
The chest creaked open, revealing a rough-hewn wooden goblet. Inside, blue-white flames flickered and danced.
"This is the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore announced. "Over the next twenty-four hours, any student who wishes to compete may submit their name into the goblet. Tomorrow night, the goblet will choose the champions."
He raised his wand again, casting a spell that created a glowing white line around the goblet. "Remember, only those seventeen and older can submit their names. This line will prevent anyone younger from cheating—though exceptions have been made for those given special permission by their professors."
Krum was the first to approach, confidently placing his name into the goblet. Fleur followed soon after, striding to the goblet and dropping her name inside without hesitation.
Finally, McGonagall stepped forward, clutching three pieces of parchment. She carefully placed them into the goblet—names that everyone knew without needing to look.
George Weasley.
Fred Weasley.
Harry Potter.
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Powerstones?
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