Percy's rescue plan didn't work, because soon Fleur went with her companions to sign up at the Goblet of Fire. The wooden cup, burning with blue flames, swallowed the slips of paper bearing names and schools.
The students watched it with pounding hearts, whispering among themselves about who Hogwarts' champions would be.
Overall, most people's guesses circled the same few names—after all, everyone could see who excelled in class and earned the professors' favor.
From Gryffindor: Percy Weasley, Fred and George, even Hermione Granger. From Hufflepuff: Cedric Diggory. From Ravenclaw: Penelope Clearwater, Cho Chang. From Slytherin… Draco Malfoy.
These were basically the prefects from every year, the male and female student body presidents, and the shaman apprentices. They'd earned those positions through sheer excellence and the professors' approval. As for Draco—
No joke. These days, Draco had a certain commanding presence in Slytherin. The bullied first-year was gone; now he was ruthlessly settling scores with the upperclassmen who'd tormented him.
As an Enhancement shaman, Draco excelled in close combat and, under Harry's guidance, trained his body comprehensively. The result? Razor-sharp senses and lightning-fast reflexes.
Even when those upperclassmen ambushed him mid-revenge, their curses were child's play. A few dodges, and Draco evaded them all—then came the merciless beatdown.
The kid seemed to have awakened to some bizarre creed: boy or girl, anyone in his way got pummeled.
Add the Malfoy family's prestige and the protection of family friend Snape, and by this year, Draco strutted through Slytherin unchallenged—no one dared mock him to his face, hide his things, or harass him anymore.
The tables had turned completely. Wherever Draco went now, a cluster of Slytherin students trailed him. Not just Goyle and Crabbe—these little snakes were experts at latching onto power, and right now, Slytherin's power was Draco Malfoy.
"Professor McGonagall signed yours too?" Before the banquet began, Harry asked his friends.
"Er, Professor McGonagall and Remus signed mine, so I didn't bother Professor Flitwick," Hermione said hesitantly. "But honestly, I think McGonagall was just encouraging me to try. She didn't seem to think I'd actually be chosen."
"You're only a third-year," Harry consoled. "I'm already shocked she signed it." He turned to Ron and Neville. "What about you two?"
"Hah, no."
"Me neither."
The pair were refreshingly straightforward.
"Professor McGonagall chewed us out and told us to study hard instead of daydreaming," Ron sighed deeply. "Damn it, I've dreamed of being a champion."
"Oh, I'm glad she said no," Neville said, looking a bit pale. "In hindsight, I never should've asked. My magic's… not exactly presentable."
"Don't say that, Neville. You've got to be brave and try, you know?" Ron laughed. "Think about Hagrid—he's bravely pursuing love!"
"Pursuing love?" Harry echoed in surprise. "He's started already?"
"Huh? You knew?" Neville stared blankly. "Hey, that's not cool, man. You didn't tell us."
"It's not that. I just thought they were well-matched in height, at least," Harry shook his head. "And yesterday, when Madame Maxime arrived, Hagrid was pretty lively."
"Yeah, lively," Hermione said, stifling a laugh. "We spent the afternoon at his place. You have no idea how… interesting he looked getting ready. He combed his hair, put on new clothes, even sprayed cologne."
"Spot on," Ron nodded vigorously. "If only those Blast-Ended Skrewts weren't there. They look terrifying."
The new magical creatures had already shown their aggressive side. Ron was already worrying about Hagrid's fingers.
"Hmm… I think he might need some advice," Harry mused. "Madame Maxime is a romantic Frenchwoman. Hagrid has a lot to learn about grooming."
"Exactly. I think he overdid the cologne," Hermione agreed.
She glanced at Harry, her cheeks flushing slightly—not too noticeably.
Even Hagrid was…
"Come on, the banquet's starting," Harry said, missing it entirely as he led the way into the Great Hall.
Like last night, it was a feast. The tables groaned under sumptuous dishes. The only difference: hardly anyone focused on eating. Anxious faces, fidgeting bodies—everyone wanted to finish their plates and learn who the champions would be.
The professors were excited too. This Triwizard Tournament was unlike any before—they weren't just spectators; they could be champions. They buzzed with anticipation. Oddly, even Barty Crouch looked eager.
That clashed with the stiff, bored persona Harry expected from him.
"Quiet!" Harry had to amplify his voice with a charm to cut through the students' chatter. "The Goblet is about to decide. When your name is called, walk past the staff table and enter the room to my left. There, you'll be briefed on the rules."
The Goblet's blue flames suddenly turned red. Sparks crackled and shot out. A tongue of fire leaped upward, carrying a charred piece of parchment. Harry caught it.
"Durmstrang's champion: Viktor Krum!"
Cheers erupted from all four House tables. Krum's selection was no surprise, and as a Quidditch star, he had plenty of fans at Hogwarts.
"Durmstrang's champion: Maria Miller!"
The cheers were quieter this time, though Durmstrang's own students clapped enthusiastically.
"Durmstrang's champion: Wolfgang Fischer!"
The named student grinned uncontrollably, weaving through the crowd amid applause to the side room.
The Goblet seemed to select by school, finishing one entirely before moving to the next.
First, Durmstrang's three student champions. Then three professor champions.
Michael Weber, Durmstrang's Transfiguration professor.
Leon Marx, Durmstrang's Dueling and Martial Magic professor.
Anna Thomas, Durmstrang's Dark Arts professor.
The last one was particularly formidable—especially for schools like Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, which banned Dark Arts teaching. A professor specializing in it was always cause for wariness.
"Durmstrang's six champions are chosen," Harry said briefly, catching another parchment from the Goblet. "Good. Beauxbatons' champion: Fleur Delacour!"
Fleur's applause outstripped even Krum's—perhaps the perk of being a beautiful witch. It crossed schools and Houses. The catch? The loudest cheers came from the men. The women… well, they mostly sneered.
Even Beauxbatons' own students.
It was almost poignant.
"Beauxbatons' second champion: Alain Dehaka."
"Beauxbatons' champion: Isabella Lando."
Following the three student champions came three professors.
Jacques Jean Albert, Beauxbatons' Alchemy professor. Alchemy, like Potions, wasn't a direct-combat subject, so his early selection as champion was surprising.
Then again, think of Snape—maybe not so surprising.
Louise Yu Madin, Beauxbatons' Charms professor.
Henry Albert, Beauxbatons' Care of Magical Creatures professor.
Once Beauxbatons' final champion entered the room, Hogwarts students collectively held their breath. The other schools were done; now it was their turn.
Who would it be?
Crackle!
Harry caught the flying slip.
"Hogwarts' champion—Cedric Diggory!!"
Hufflepuff's table erupted in a rare, deafening roar. For the badgers—used to staying low-key and out of the spotlight—a champion from their House was unprecedented.
Harry saw Professor Sprout grinning ear to ear. Usually, the other three Houses fought for glory, but this time, Hufflepuff had its moment.
Clearly, Hufflepuffs didn't love peace and modesty—they'd just never had the chance before.
Cedric trembled with excitement, sprinting from the Hufflepuff table to the staff dais. He bowed deeply to Harry, then hurried to the side room.
Applause and cheers continued, but the Goblet spat out the next slip.
"Hogwarts' second champion—Draco Malfoy!!"
Even Harry was taken aback. Draco himself seemed stunned, staring blankly at Harry until Goyle shook him awake. Then, face alight with thrill, he left the Slytherin table.
Slytherin gave their king thunderous applause. The usually aloof snakes couldn't stay cool now—many shouted and cheered.
Draco Malfoy's transformation over three years had dropped jaws across the school. And in this charged moment, the other three Houses clapped too—just less enthusiastically.
Even Gryffindor—even Gryffindor!!
"Thank you! Mentor, thank you!!"
Barely containing his excitement, Draco reached the head table, bowed deeply like Cedric, and shouted his gratitude.
"Ahem, get in there," Harry said with a helpless smile. Draco's dramatics made it seem like Harry had rigged the list.
Just then, the Goblet ejected another parchment. This time, Harry froze upon reading it.
It wasn't his name, of course.
"Hogwarts' final student champion—Hermione Granger!"
Harry shouted the name, and Gryffindor lost its mind.
Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes glistening with tears. Ron pounded her shoulder, bellowing something incoherent.
Cedric had set a precedent; amid the deafening cheers, Hermione jogged to Harry. No bow—she just waved—then dashed into the room.
It was Hogwarts' home turf. The elite contingents from the other schools couldn't match the volume. The roar threatened to lift the Great Hall's ceiling.
Dumbledore watched with a beaming smile. He loved this.
The only ones looking less than thrilled? Ravenclaw. Of the four Houses, theirs alone had no champion.
The proud eagles now resembled plucked chickens—clapping mechanically, faces bitter. Many slumped against neighbors, souls seemingly drained.
The other three Houses didn't care. They wanted to dance in celebration.
Hey, we're sending three champions to the Triwizard Tournament. Guess which House got left out?
You~ It's you~~~
"Quiet, a little quieter!" Catching the next parchment, Harry fired deafening fireworks from his wand to tamp down the cheers.
"Now for the professor champions—naturally, our Transfiguration professor! Professor McGonagall!!"
Professor McGonagall deserved universal applause. No one could question the stern, fair, and dutiful old witch.