After hearing Arthur's words, Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
She had been studying Daoist philosophy recently, along with other strands of Eastern culture, and had encountered similar ideas before.
Her cousin's behavior, she concluded, probably fell under the concept she had learned a few days ago—acting with proper justification.
From what she'd read, it meant that no matter what you did, you needed a legitimate reason. If your reasoning stood firm, then even if you did something questionable, people would still end up siding with you.
Thankfully, Arthur had no idea what Hermione was thinking.
If he did, he would absolutely want to take a look at the book she was reading—just to see which genius had explained acting with justification in such a… creative way.
Perhaps the same person had also annotated The Analects.
With the arrival of the two visiting schools, the Hogwarts feast was finally about to begin.
Hogwarts students took their seats one after another, while the students from the other two schools waited outside the Great Hall for their official entrance.
Inside the hall, anticipation ran high. The students craned their necks eagerly, desperate to know why Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had come to Hogwarts in the first place.
Moments later, a familiar figure appeared on the dais.
Albus Dumbledore—absent from Hogwarts for a full year.
A wave of cheers erupted across the Great Hall.
Their headmaster had finally returned.
Dumbledore raised both hands, signaling for quiet, then smiled and spoke.
"Yes, my dear students, I am back. But the ones you should truly be welcoming tonight are not an old man like me, but a group of very special guests."
"I believe many of you have already seen them outside—students from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute will be spending time with us this year. As for the reason, we will come to that shortly."
"Now, please join me in giving a warm welcome to the lovely ladies of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their headmistress—Madame Maxime!"
As Dumbledore finished speaking, the doors of the Great Hall swung open.
The Beauxbatons students entered in perfect formation.
They wore elegant pale-blue silk robes and small round hats, greeting the Hogwarts students with graceful, simple dance steps as they walked forward.
At the head of the procession was Fleur Delacour.
The applause—especially from the boys—was thunderous.
Ron, in particular, stared at Fleur with a dazed, lovestruck expression.
The only ones unmoved were Arthur, Hermione, and Ranni, who remained seated at their table.
Ranni calmly stared at the food before her, silently wondering when the feast would officially begin.
Hermione thought the Beauxbatons girls danced quite well and briefly considered learning it herself—perhaps she could perform it for Arthur someday.
Arthur, meanwhile, glanced at Fleur with mild interest.
Veela blood truly lived up to its reputation. Even though their original forms weren't particularly attractive, when they transformed into human women, each one was stunning.
It was a shame he hadn't attended the Quidditch World Cup—otherwise, he might've tried to acquire a few Veela from the Bulgarian team.
Still, considering his little witch's tendency to get jealous, Arthur quickly dismissed the idea of raising Veela altogether.
Fleur, who possessed one-quarter Veela blood, had an exceptionally sharp intuition.
As she walked forward, she suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of discomfort—as if someone harbored ill intent toward her.
Her gaze swept across the hall, searching for the source.
Then she saw them.
The only three who hadn't stood up.
When Fleur's eyes landed on Arthur, she froze.
It was the first time she had ever seen a boy this handsome.
The cold, expressionless girl beside him, radiating an aura that kept others at bay, was equally striking—but Fleur still found Arthur more captivating.
Partly because she was a girl and naturally preferred looking at handsome men.
And partly because Arthur exuded a subtle charm that irresistibly drew women in.
That charm came from Miquella's bewitching influence—an intangible allure that couldn't be consciously detected.
Unless Arthur deliberately suppressed his presence, it lingered around him like a natural fragrance.
Constantly suppressing it would be akin to staying invisible twenty-four hours a day—something Arthur had no intention of doing.
In a sense, he was a walking embodiment of hormones.
The Beauxbatons students behind Fleur noticed her sudden pause and followed her line of sight.
One by one, they all froze in the same dazed state.
It wasn't until Madame Maxime cleared her throat sharply that they snapped out of it and continued forward.
Dumbledore stepped down from the podium and kissed Madame Maxime's hand.
Due to her towering height, he didn't even need to bend.
Once all the Beauxbatons students were seated, Dumbledore returned to the podium.
"Next, let us welcome our friends from the north—Durmstrang Institute and their headmaster, Igor Karkaroff!"
The Durmstrang delegation marched in, wielding staff-like weapons that struck the floor with metallic clangs, sparks flying with each impact.
The students at the front even flipped and twirled their weapons, putting on an impressive display.
For a moment, Arthur wondered if he'd walked into the wrong movie—this felt less like Harry Potter and more like a Shaolin martial arts film.
Karkaroff entered last, with Viktor Krum at his side.
While the reaction wasn't as explosive as with Beauxbatons, Krum's presence alone kept the atmosphere lively.
Once both visiting schools were seated, Dumbledore continued.
"I know many of you are eager to begin the feast, but please allow me a little more of your time. I have a few announcements to make."
"First—there will be no Quidditch House Cup this year."
The hall erupted into uproar.
Students couldn't understand why one of their few sporting events was being canceled.
"Silence!"
Dumbledore pressed his hands downward, calming the room before continuing.
"The cancellation is directly related to the arrival of our guests."
"Hogwarts has been chosen to host a tournament of great renown—the Triwizard Tournament."
Some students looked confused.
Others leaned forward eagerly.
"For those unfamiliar with it," Dumbledore said, "I'll give a brief explanation."
"The Triwizard Tournament is a series of magical competitions held between three schools. Each school selects one champion."
"These champions must face three extraordinarily dangerous tasks—alone."
"The victor earns eternal glory."
"As for how champions will be selected, we'll discuss that after the feast."
"And now—let the feast begin!"
The moment the words left his mouth, students eagerly dug into their food.
Harry shoved a few bites into his mouth before looking up at Arthur.
"What exactly is the Triwizard Tournament?"
"It was founded over seven hundred years ago," Arthur explained.
"A friendly competition between Europe's three largest magical schools, held once every five years, rotating hosts."
"Friendly," he repeated dryly. "But on an extreme level."
"It tests magical skill, courage, theory, reasoning, and the ability to survive danger."
"Compressing all that into three tasks makes it incredibly lethal. Nearly every tournament saw casualties."
"That's why it was suspended for centuries."
"Even so, the wizarding world never truly gave up on reviving it."
"Now the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Games and Sports believe the time is right."
Arthur honestly couldn't understand the Ministry's confidence.
They couldn't even clean up properly after the Quidditch World Cup.
Where did they get the nerve to revive the Triwizard Tournament?
Did they think the wizarding population had grown too large and needed… thinning?
During the feast, Beauxbatons girls frequently glanced in Arthur's direction.
They didn't approach him, however—maintaining graceful composure as they dined.
Their discipline was clearly strict.
Meanwhile, Durmstrang students had already begun chatting enthusiastically with nearby Hogwarts students.
One particularly amusing detail caught Arthur's attention.
Dumbledore had seated Karkaroff right next to Snape.
Two former Death Eaters sat side by side, trading thinly veiled sarcasm and icy greetings.
Madame Maxime was instructing Hagrid on how to care for Beauxbatons' winged horses.
They were incredibly delicate creatures—apparently, they only drank pure malt whisky.
Magical creatures truly were something else.
Arthur couldn't help wondering—did it count as drunk driving when they pulled carriages after dinner?
Hagrid, utterly captivated by Madame Maxime—who stood a full head taller than him—lost focus.
With a careless motion, he stabbed his fork straight into Professor Flitwick's hand.
Thankfully, his other hand wasn't holding a knife.
Otherwise, Flitwick might've left the feast with more than just a puncture wound.
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