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"Dumbledore!"
The man's voice rang out, rich with enthusiasm, as he strode up the slope.
"How are you, my dear old friend?"
"Excellent, thank you, Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied with his signature twinkle of amusement.
Karkaroff's lips curved into a smile, warm and practiced—but his eyes remained cold, sharp as winter ice.
They flicked around the gathering, restless, calculating.
Then, they landed on Ethan.
For the briefest moment, something flickered in Karkaroff's expression—recognition, wariness, perhaps even fear.
His gaze snapped away as if burned by a hot iron.
Ethan noted the reaction immediately. So, he knows me. But from where?
Dumbledore continued his introductions, moving down the line of Hogwarts professors until he reached Ethan.
"Professor Ethan," Karkaroff said stiffly, extending a hand.
The gesture was smooth, but the slight hesitation did not go unnoticed.
Ethan took his hand, finding Karkaroff's fingers deathly cold.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," he said politely.
"Thank you, Professor Ethan," Karkaroff replied curtly.
The exchange was brief, almost strained. The Durmstrang headmaster withdrew as quickly as he had approached, wasting no time ushering his students into the castle.
A sudden exclamation broke the murmurs of the crowd.
"My God! Viktor Krum!"
Excitement rippled through the Hogwarts students, their chatter growing frenzied as they craned their necks to see.
A boy with a striking hooked nose and thick, furrowed brows walked in measured strides, shoulders squared.
Recognition dawned on Ethan.
'Ah, Viktor Krum—the Quidditch star from the World Cup.'
The name had been tossed around frequently in recent days, but Ethan had little interest in Quidditch or its celebrity players.
As the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang entered Hogwarts, the Great Hall buzzed with energy.
The visitors had taken seats among the Hogwarts houses, deep in conversation with their British counterparts.
At the staff table, a few extra chairs had been added. Slughorn sat among the visiting heads, laughing heartily with Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, his face flushed from the conversation—or perhaps wine.
Ethan's gaze shifted. Across the hall, a small cluster of Ministry officials stood apart from the crowd.
Ludo Bagman was among them, his round face animated as he spoke.
Beside him, a tall, broad-shouldered man with short-cropped gray-white hair stood with an air of severe authority.
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly.
Delix.
Once an Auror and a close associate of Fudge, Delix had been appointed Acting Director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation after Barty Crouch's fall from grace.
Given that his department was responsible for organizing the Triwizard Tournament, his presence at Hogwarts today made perfect sense.
Ethan approached the two men.
Bagman, mid-sentence, suddenly faltered. His ruddy complexion paled, and his usually jovial expression turned tight.
Delix, too, stiffened ever so slightly.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. Strange. He expected such a reaction from Bagman—after all, the man owed him a substantial debt.
But Delix? That was unexpected.
Something was off.
And Ethan intended to find out what.
In truth ever since whispers of the Butcher of Knockturn Alley began circulating and his role in Ministry arrests became widely known, more and more people had started to fear him.
Tonks, ever loyal, had insisted to anyone who would listen that Ethan was, in fact, a gentle and friendly, kind and sincere man.
But her words did little to change public perception.
No matter how many times Ethan tried to understand it, the truth remained: people feared him.
And he had no idea why.
"Professor Ethan!" Ludo Bagman greeted him in a dry, uneasy tone. His eyes darted around as if searching for an escape route.
"Hello, Ethan," Delix added, his voice carefully measured, his composure forced.
Ethan acknowledged both men with polite nods. The tension in the air was almost tangible.
For a brief moment, conversation trickled between them—superficial pleasantries, nothing of substance.
Ludo, shifting uncomfortably, seemed to relax only after realizing Ethan wouldn't press him about his unpaid debt.
Even Delix's rigid stance eased ever so slightly.
But something still nagged at Ethan.
Before he could dwell on it further, the moment passed. The welcome feast was about to begin.
Dumbledore stood, his presence instantly commanding the attention of the entire hall. A hushed excitement settled over the students, their eyes fixed on him.
"The time has finally come," Dumbledore announced, his eyes twinkling as he looked upon the eager young faces before him.
"The Triwizard Tournament is about to begin. But before we bring out the Goblet of Fire, I have a few words of introduction."
He turned toward the Ministry officials.
"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Delix have worked tirelessly over the past few months to organize this event."
At the mention of their names, both men stood. A round of applause followed though Ethan noticed the peculiar expression on Ludo's face—somewhere between nostalgia and regret.
It took Ethan only a moment to understand why.
Once upon a time, Ludo Bagman had been a celebrated Beater, a Quidditch star adored by thousands.
But time and circumstances had stolen his glory.
And now, as he stood before a hall of students cheering his name, he wasn't the sports hero anymore—just a bureaucrat clinging to remnants of his past.
Dumbledore continued, "These gentlemen, along with myself, Headmaster Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime, will be judges for the tournament."
At the word Champion, a ripple of excitement spread through the students. Eyes sparkled with ambition and curiosity.
Every eligible student sat up straighter, anticipation thick in the air.
Dumbledore smiled knowingly at their reaction.
"Mr. Filch, please bring the box forward."
From the shadows of the Great Hall, Argus Filch emerged, clutching a large wooden chest inlaid with gemstones.
The box looked ancient, its surface worn by time and history.
All eyes followed it as Filch set it on the platform before Dumbledore.
"The specific tasks of this year's tournament have been carefully reviewed by Mr. Delix and Mr. Bagman," Dumbledore explained, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall.
"They have made extensive preparations for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, designed to test the Champions in various ways—magical ability, courage, reasoning, and, of course, their capacity to face danger."
Silence fell over the hall, thick with anticipation.
"You already know that only three champions will be chosen," Dumbledore continued, his gaze sweeping across the eager faces before him.
"One for each participating school. Their performances will be judged, and at the end of all three tasks, the champion with the highest score will claim victory and be awarded the Triwizard Cup."
A breathless pause followed his words.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he glanced at the box.
"And now… the impartial selector—the Goblet of Fire."