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"Ugh, even if you say that..." Fred shrugged, his tone casual but pointed. "The truth is, you were just super fidgety, and you were stuttering like mad, which made you look pretty weak."
"Don't give me that look," he added as Hermione's eyes narrowed. "If you want to beat your rival, you've got to at least acknowledge her strengths."
"Oh, Merlin's pants, George," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of soup, "you're starting to sound like Dumbledore."
"Shut it, you prat, I'm Fred," Fred shot back, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, that girl's got a lot going for her. She's gorgeous, confident, and most importantly, she's not afraid to make her feelings clear to Harry. That's a lot braver than you've been."
"I—I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione stammered, her face flushing as she realized the thing she'd been trying so hard to hide was apparently crystal clear to everyone around her.
Tonight's sudden exposure caught her completely off guard.
"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Lavender said with an exasperated sigh. "Why can't you just face your own feelings? Do you know how many girls at Hogwarts are jealous that you can waltz into the Headmaster's office whenever you want or have dinner with Harry at the Great Totem?"
"It's not like that!" Hermione snapped, her voice rising. "It was just a barbecue! It wasn't just me—Ron was there! Neville was there!"
"Whatever you say," Lavender replied, undeterred. "But the fact is, you were the only girl there. And we all know you like Harry. You spend so much time buried in the library, Hermione, you don't even hear what people say about you."
"Ha! Why should I care what they think?" Hermione crossed her arms and tilted her chin defiantly.
"Oh, really? Then why were you so nervous just now if you don't care what we think?" Lavender said, barely holding back a smirk. "I don't get what you're hiding. Why can't you just admit you love someone? Take me, for example—I like Ron. I've liked him ever since he saved me last year, so I told him straight up. And guess what? I didn't make the wrong choice, did I, darling?"
"Obviously!" Ron nodded enthusiastically. "I'm Ron Weasley! Of course you didn't choose wrong!"
Hermione... well, she was beyond despair at this point.
She'd completely given up on Ron, who was now utterly lost in the throes of his romance with Lavender.
This man's brain was entirely filled with Lavender!
"Don't sweat the small stuff, Hermione," George said, trying to sound comforting. "Don't forget where you are!"
"...The Great Hall?" Hermione replied, a bit confused.
"Wrong! Hogwarts!" Fred cut in decisively. "Right now, you're not just representing yourself—you're representing all of Hogwarts! And that Fleur? She's representing Beauxbatons! We're not about to let some French witch steal our Headmaster!"
"Exactly!" Lee Jordan nodded vigorously. "When it comes to school pride, you're not fighting alone. We've all got your back!"
"School... pride?" Hermione stammered, caught off guard by how this had escalated to such a grand scale.
Wasn't this a bit much?
"Exactly," George said, looking pleased. "Think about it—what if that woman wins Harry over and convinces him to become Headmaster at Beauxbatons? Or worse, move to France? Or transfer the Earthen Ring to France?"
"No way! That'd be a massive loss for Hogwarts!" Neville blurted out. "A loss for Britain!"
This had to be the most obvious display of Anglo-French rivalry yet.
"But... what can we even do?" Hermione asked, her mind reluctantly accepting this bizarre narrative.
"We need to give you a major makeover," Lavender said, sizing Hermione up with a thoughtful hand on her chin. "At the very least, we need to make you, well, more... womanly. Harry needs to see you as more than just a good friend or a little girl. He needs to see you as someone he could marry."
"M-marry?!" The word hit Hermione like a Bludger, and she could practically feel steam shooting out of her ears. "This early? I mean—we're only in third year!"
Was this really something third-year students should be worrying about?!
Have they even finished their Transfiguration essays?!
"It's not early," Lavender said with a dismissive wave. "Don't you know tons of Hogwarts students get married right after graduation?"
Unlike Hermione, Lavender—who wasn't exactly the studious type and focused her energy on gossip—knew far more about these things.
"Think about it. We're in third year now. If you start dating now, you've only got four years until graduation. What if your first relationship fails? Wouldn't you need time to get to know someone else? Four years isn't enough. And besides, you need a few years to really figure out what someone's like, don't you?"
"Is that... is that right?" Hermione couldn't help but retort. "It's not like we have to get married right after graduation. Do we have to date in school?"
"For most people, maybe not," Lavender said, wagging a finger. "But for you? It's different. How are you going to make sure Harry doesn't meet some other girl who catches his eye in the next four years? How are you going to make sure Fleur doesn't win him over while you're sitting around doing nothing?"
"Yeah, and Harry's not like us," Fred added with a shrug. "He's the Headmaster. That means he's meeting all sorts of women we'd never even cross paths with. You know how many admirers he has. Age isn't exactly a barrier for wizards."
"...Harry just wants to revive the ways of the Shaman," Hermione mumbled after a long pause, though even she didn't sound convinced.
But honestly, she'd read enough books to know that when true love hits, no one can predict what they'll do.
Harry would surely be the same!
Harry, of course, was oblivious to the plotting at the Gryffindor table. He was too busy at the head table, entertaining the distinguished guests who'd traveled far to attend. His gaze occasionally flicked toward his friends below, noting their serious expressions.
Probably discussing what events might be in the new Triwizard Tournament, he guessed.
"Welcome, though you're a bit late," Harry said, standing to greet the newcomers.
"Sorry, Headmaster Potter," said the man trailing behind the group's leader, quickly stepping forward to explain. "You know how it is—organizing so many dangerous events and hosting all these visitors puts a lot of pressure on the Ministry."
"I understand," Harry said with a slight nod. "Though I must say, I didn't expect to see you back in office, Mr. Crouch. Scrimgeour must be a generous man."
"I'll admit I've made mistakes, and my son was undeniably a vile Death Eater," Crouch said, his voice hoarse. "But that doesn't make me a villain. My entire life has been dedicated to fighting evil. I have no regrets, Headmaster Potter."
"I respect that," Harry said, shaking Crouch's hand. "Please, take your seats over there."
How to put it? Despite Crouch throwing Sirius into Azkaban without a trial and letting him suffer for years, Harry didn't actually hold a grudge.
In fact, he kind of admired Crouch.
The man was devoted to justice, spending his life combating crime and evil. Even during Voldemort's reign of terror, when the Dark Lord was at his peak, Crouch never backed down. Despite his high rank, he led Aurors into battle on the front lines.
Sure, it was unfair to Sirius, but when Voldemort fell, so many Death Eaters claimed they'd been under the Imperius Curse to escape justice. Crouch's hardline stance—trial for anyone with a criminal record or evidence—wasn't entirely wrong. Only ruthless measures could stand against an inhuman monster like Voldemort and his Death Eaters. And, well, Sirius hadn't exactly spoken up for himself back then.
Crouch's biggest stain was probably his Death Eater son, which cost him his position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and any chance of becoming Minister for Magic. He'd been demoted to Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. When the truth about Sirius's case came out twelve years later, Crouch lost even that post. But now, it seemed, Scrimgeour had reinstated him.
"Before we dive into the rules of the Triwizard Tournament, allow me to introduce two special guests, as most of you don't know them," Harry announced loudly. "This is Mr. Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."
A smattering of polite applause echoed through the Great Hall.
The students knew Crouch, of course. His name had been all over the papers last year, thanks to Rita Skeeter practically dissecting his life.
Suffice to say, most students—because of the Sirius case—weren't exactly fans.
"And beside him is Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
The applause for Bagman was noticeably louder. Before taking his current role, Bagman had been a well-known Beater, and he waved cheerfully to the crowd.
"By all accounts, we should also have a Muggle representative at this table, but since many details are still being finalized, this is our group for now," Harry continued.
"For the past few months, Mr. Bagman, Mr. Crouch, and their teams have worked tirelessly to organize the new Triwizard Tournament."
"You may have noticed the massive structure being built near the base of the mountains, far from the castle. That's the result of their hard work."
"Thus, I'm honored to announce that Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman, along with myself, Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, and two Muggle Prime Ministers who aren't here today, will form the judging panel to evaluate the champions' performances."
The word "champions" seemed to electrify the students, who listened with renewed focus.
"Filch? Please bring up the box."
"Yes, Headmaster."
Filch, ever-prepared, respectfully carried up a large, jewel-encrusted wooden box. The thing was practically an antique in its own right.
"The specific tasks for this year's champions have been thoroughly reviewed by the three headmasters, Mr. Crouch, and Mr. Bagman. Whether you're a student champion or a professor champion, you'll face challenges tailored to your skill level. But I must remind you—these tasks are not guaranteed to be safe. You could still face death."
"Or actually die, in which case all we can do is close our eyes and mourn for you."
"So, take this seriously and choose wisely."
"There will be three tasks, spread across different points in the school year. Hogwarts students, remember: you need two signatures to enter. This is not a joke. Break that rule, and I'll expel you on the spot."
Harry's calm but firm words silenced the hall. Unlike Dumbledore, who'd never threaten expulsion, Harry's approach was different.
And it worked. The threat was enough to quell the reckless impulses of any students itching to bend the rules.
"Let's continue with the rules. Both the student and professor groups will face three tasks, but the tasks for each group are completely different. The student tasks will take place first, followed by the professor tasks."
"These tasks will test the champions in different ways—courage, intelligence, adaptability, and the ability to overcome danger."
"Each school will have six champions: three chosen from students and three from professors. The judging panel will score each champion based on their performance in each task. At the end of the three tasks, the school with the highest total score will win the Triwizard Cup."
"One key difference from past tournaments: while the school with the highest total score wins the Triwizard Cup, the individual champion with the highest personal score will also receive a trophy of their own."
"So never give up, even if your teammates aren't performing well."