Upon hearing Dumbledore's words, the hall first fell silent, then erupted in a buzz of whispered conversations.
The students automatically filtered out the danger Dumbledore mentioned; their minds were filled with participating in the Triwizard Tournament, becoming Hogwarts' Warrior, and gaining priority for choosing a mate within the school.
Students always yearn to be heroes saving the world, often overlooking the risks that come with it.
"I know you all eagerly wish to win the Triwizard Tournament cup for Hogwarts," Dumbledore said loudly, "but the participating schools and the Ministry of Magic agree that there should be an age limit for this year's competitors. Only students who are seventeen years old—or older—will be allowed to apply for consideration."
Dumbledore slightly raised his voice as many protested angrily upon hearing his words.
The Weasley Twins, who had long known this outcome, were unbothered, having already devised a plan.
"However, we believe this measure is crucial because the tournament tasks remain arduous and dangerous, and no matter how many precautions we take, younger students simply cannot handle them. I will personally ensure that no underage student deceives our fair judges to become Hogwarts' Warrior."
His gaze swept over Fred and George, his blue eyes gleaming meaningfully, "So if you're under seventeen, I ask you not to waste your time applying."
Though the two Gryffindor twins from the Weasley family seemed unusually calm, Dumbledore needed no guesses to know what kind of mischief these two rascals would eventually pull off.
"But at the same time," Dumbledore said again with meaningful intent, "we will also exceptionally allow certain outstanding students who don't meet the age requirement to participate in the Triwizard Tournament."
The hall fell into complete silence upon these words.
Excluding the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, everyone else locked their gaze on Harry, who was slowly sipping pumpkin juice.
Underage but outstanding—wasn't that referring to Harry?
The Quidditch match from last year—the one where the Dementor stormed into the field—was still fresh in everyone's memory.
Those billowing blue flames; students of sixth and seventh grade, not to mention the professors, couldn't achieve such a feat.
It was indeed...
If they had some hope when competing with others, then against Harry...
Forget it.
Students from Beauxbatons and people from Durmstrang whispered with those around them, asking who the person everyone's eyes turned towards could be.
But everyone kept their lips sealed, resolved not to speak of Harry's true strength to these despicable outsiders.
Speaking is speaking, and teasing is teasing, but after all, the Triwizard Tournament pertains to the school's honor.
The four houses might usually vie for the House Cup, but at this crucial moment, the Triwizard Tournament cup must not fall into outsider hands.
Even the Slytherins felt this way.
They had long been molded into a different appearance by Vivi.
At this moment, the door suddenly boomed open.
A thunderclap sounded amidst the clouds above the hall, the rolling clouds threatening to erupt.
A blue spell suddenly shot from the entrance, striking the churning clouds, halting the impending turbulence.
"Seems I'm a little late, Albus."
The newcomer limped towards the staff table, the flashing lightning illuminating his face vividly.
The students had never seen such a face before, as if carved from a piece of decaying wood by someone with only a vague concept of what a human face should look like, and not very skilled in using the carving knife.
Every inch of skin on that face seemed scarred; the mouth skewed like a wide gap, and where the nose should curve upward, it was missing.
And the most terrifying aspect of this man was his eyes.
One eye was small, black, and shiny; the other was large, round like a coin, and a vivid bright blue. This blue eye darted around incessantly, up and down, left and right, completely unrelated to the normal eye—it could even flip back, retreating into the man's head, leaving only a glaring white eyeball visible.
"Not late," Dumbledore smiled and said, "Come over, Alastor; I think you should sit at the seat reserved for you at the staff table."
Harry turned toward the staff table, just catching a glimpse of Durmstrang's Headmaster Kakaroff's expression as he looked at Professor Moody.
That expression combined some fear, some disgust, and more vigilance.
Could it be, some grudge between them?
Harry's gossip soul burned brightly.
He didn't know Moody, nor Kakaroff, just purely wanting some gossip.
The hall fell into an eerie silence; no one dared make a sound, given the severe presence of the newly arrived Professor Moody.
Like an old cat staring intently at a group of little mice.
"Allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore cheerfully broke the silence, "Professor Alastor Moody."
Under normal circumstances, a new teacher meeting everyone would be welcomed with applause, but now, apart from Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Harry, no teacher or student clapped.