The Great Hall glowed warmly under floating candles, long shadows rippling over the enchanted ceiling. Dishes of roasted lamb, glazed carrots, and golden pies lined the tables, filling the air with scents of spice and gravy. Yet it wasn't food that drew the students' attention that night—it was another night for the students to talk and speculate about the Triwizard Tournament.
The excitement had been brewing since Dumbledore's announcement. Now, during dinner, it spilled from every corner of the hall in half-shouted boasts and hurried whispers.
At the Slytherin table, Eira helped herself to potatoes, quietly listening as voices around her rose with heated speculation. Tracey Davis leaned in, smirking.
"I say Marcus Flint would've been perfect if he weren't gone already," Tracey declared. "He was dumb as a troll, but at least he looked terrifying."
Daphne Greengrass sniffed. "Champions are supposed to have brains, Tracey. I wouldn't be surprised if it's someone from Ravenclaw. Or…" her eyes slid toward Eira, "maybe someone with a reputation already."
Eira arched a brow. "Well unfortunately I won't be able to participate, since professor Dumbledore said only those who are 17 or older can participate."
Tracey nudged her with a grin. "See? That's exactly what someone who is entering would say who knows maybe you find a way to participate, maybe by donating to the school Dumbledore would allow you."
Further down the table, Draco Malfoy's voice rang out above the chatter. He sat surrounded by his usual entourage, Pansy at his side, Crabbe and Goyle looming like shadows.
"Durmstrang will outshine the lot of us," Draco was saying smugly. "They don't coddle their students. They teach the real Dark Arts there. Imagine—Viktor Krum himself is a student. The best Seeker in the world, still in school!"
Crabbe made a noise somewhere between a grunt and applause.
"Father says Durmstrang values strength," Draco continued, loud enough for half the table to hear. "Not like this place, prattling on about rules and restrictions. I wouldn't be surprised if their champion wipes the floor with Hogwarts'."
Pansy simpered. "Of course, Draco, but you'd make a fine champion yourself."
Draco smirked. "Naturally."
Across the hall at the Gryffindor table, Fred and George Weasley were in the middle of a hushed but animated conversation, their faces lit with mischief.
"They've got to let the older students put their names forward somehow," Fred said firmly, spearing a sausage. "Maybe you write it down on a slip and hand it in."
George shook his head. "Nah, too easy. I bet it'll be something secret, like a hidden test, or a magical object you've got to find before anyone else."
Lee Jordan leaned across the table eagerly. "Or maybe they'll call everyone to the front and judge us one by one—see who's strongest, fastest, cleverest."
Fred grinned. "What, like a talent show? I could juggle doxy eggs while George here sings the school anthem."
George snorted. "Please, I'd sooner duel Dumbledore himself. Bet that'd impress them more."
Lee leaned closer, lowering his voice. "What if it's something insane—like wrestling a dragon to prove you're brave enough?"
George's eyes lit up. "Dragons, trolls, or—Merlin forbid—Mum on a bad day. I'd rather take the dragon."
Fred raised his goblet in mock solemnity. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. Mark my words—Weasleys are born champions."
"We split the prize money three ways," George finished smoothly. "Fair's fair."
Further down the table, Ron was bent close to Harry, eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Can you imagine, Harry? Us—champions of Hogwarts? Glory, riches, eternal fame. They'd write about us in the Daily Prophet! We'd be legends!"
Harry, however, wasn't listening. His gaze had drifted to the Ravenclaw table, where Cho Chang was laughing at something a boy beside her said. Harry's ears burned faintly pink.
"Harry?" Ron demanded.
"Mm?" Harry blinked, trying to appear innocent.
Ron groaned. "You weren't even listening! Honestly."
At the other end of the table, Parvati Patil, sitting close enough to notice, nudged Hermione playfully.
"Look at Harry," Parvati whispered. "He's staring again. Cho Chang, of course. Thinks he's subtle, doesn't he?"
Hermione glanced up, her expression caught between fond exasperation and resignation. Indeed, Harry was staring, oblivious to Ron's monologue.
But her gaze shifted further along the table, to Cho herself. The Ravenclaw girl was leaning close to a tall boy with black hair and sharp blue eyes—Isaac, the transfer from Ilvermorny who had arrived only the night before. Cho laughed brightly at something he said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
Lavender Brown, catching Hermione's look, smirked. "What's this? Don't tell me you've got a crush on Isaac too."
Hermione shook her head and buried herself in her pumpkin juice. "Honestly, you two are ridiculous."
Parvati nudged Lavender with a wicked grin. "Honestly, Hermione, what about Harry? You've spent almost every waking hour with him for three years. Don't tell me you've never thought about it."
Hermione blinked, nearly choking on her juice. "Harry? He's like my brother!"
"Oh, then Ron?" Lavender cut in slyly. "You've argued with him enough to sound like an old married couple already."
Hermione groaned. "Ron is also like a brother. Both of them are. I couldn't imagine—"
"Mm-hmm," Parvati interrupted, smirking. "So no Harry, no Ron. Then who does clever little Hermione like?"
Lavender gasped in delight. "Ohhh, I see. Not Harry. Not Ron. Isaac."
Hermione's head snapped up. "What? No! I don't even know him."
"But you've been glancing at him since yesterday," Parvati pressed, grinning.
Hermione's cheeks pinked. "I was curious. He's new. That's all."
"Curious," Lavender sing-songed. "Curious about his eyes, maybe?"
"And his accent," Parvati added with a giggle. "Ilvermorny boys are exotic, after all."
The girls exchanged a look, then leaned closer with mock-seriousness. "But really, Hermione," Lavender said, "what happened to you? Suddenly developing a crush on a boy?"
Parvati nodded dramatically. "We've never seen you like this. You're behaving out of character."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "And what kind of character do you think I am?"
Lavender tilted her head innocently. "I don't know… bookish. Nerdy. Always your head in the books."
Parvati chimed in with a grin. "Never thinking about boys or anything else."
Hermione's reply was sharp. "Just because I value my education doesn't mean I'm incapable of noticing people."
Both girls burst into giggles, leaning into each other. "Oh, we've hit a nerve!" Lavender whispered gleefully.
Parvati wagged a finger at Hermione. "Admit it—you like him."
Hermione's glare snapped between the two of them, her cheeks flushed. "Uh—for Merlin's sake! It hasn't even been two days since he—since he transferred to this school, and you're already—already talking like I've got a crush on him or something." Her words tumbled out fast, sharp with irritation. "I'm not like you girls who go weak at the knees and fall for some boy just because he's a pretty face."
Lavender and Parvati exchanged an all-too-knowing look, identical smirks spreading across their faces.
"Oh, sure, sure, sure," they chimed together, their voices sing-song as they leaned in, giggling.
Their laughter only grew louder, and Hermione buried herself in her pumpkin juice, muttering darkly under her breath as the teasing continued.
Back at the Slytherin table, Tracey caught the drift of Draco's loud boasting and whispered to Eira, "He's acting like Durmstrang already sent him a personal invitation."
Eira smiled faintly, carving her roast chicken. "If they had, I doubt he'd stop talking long enough to accept it."
Tracey stifled a laugh, earning a glare from Pansy across the table.
Around them, the hum of voices rose higher—names thrown like dice, students arguing which house deserved to be represented, who was strong enough, smart enough, daring enough.
"Gryffindor, obviously," Seamus Finnigan's voice carried across from his table.
"Nonsense, it'll be Ravenclaw," Terry Boot shot back.
"Please," a Hufflepuff girl said with surprising force. "We're overdue for recognition. Don't underestimate us."
Arguments flared, laughter rippled, and speculation churned through the hall like wildfire. Plates refilled themselves, goblets sparkled with pumpkin juice and butterbeer, but few paid attention to the food.