Dumbledore's words fell like a giant boulder thrown into a calm lake.
The entire Great Hall was dead silent for a moment, then it erupted.
"The Triwizard Tournament!"
"Merlin's lace stockings! Did I hear that right?"
"We'll get to see the champions' duel with our own eyes!"
The waves of excitement almost lifted the enchanted ceiling; students whispered to one another, their eyes sparkling with a thirst for glory and adventure.
Countless people had already begun to fantasize about being chosen by the goblet of fire and winning eternal glory for Hogwarts.
The fanatical atmosphere rolled through the Great Hall like boiling water, but Lia felt uneasy.
Her [Danger Intuition] had not subsided with the retreat of the Death Eaters; now, as the words "Triwizard Tournament" echoed repeatedly in her ears, that needle-like stinging sensation didn't weaken, but instead became more persistent and clear.
This fanatical, blind excitement was a danger in itself.
Her cat tail tightened subconsciously, wrapping firmly around Hermione's waist.
Lia pressed her cheek against Hermione's arm, drawing in the comforting warmth and scent, trying to block out the noise from the outside world.
Hermione noticed her unease and reached out to squeeze Lia's hand.
"What's wrong?" Hermione's voice was very low, audible only to the two of them.
Lia shook her head without speaking, only wrapping herself tighter around Hermione.
Just then, Dumbledore raised his hand again, and the clamor in the Great Hall gradually subsided.
"Our guests will be arriving shortly," he announced pleasantly. "Please welcome, with your warmest applause, the distinguished ladies from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their Principal, Madame Maxime!"
As soon as he finished speaking, the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall were pushed open.
Everyone instinctively turned to look.
But nothing happened.
After a few seconds of silence, a younger Gryffindor student couldn't help but look out the window.
"Look at the sky!" he exclaimed.
Everyone rushed to the windows, looking up at the night sky.
A massive carriage, emitting a soft blue light, was descending from the pitch-black night. Pulling the carriage was a group of giant winged horses with snow-white wings.
The carriage landed smoothly on the lawn at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The door opened, and a very tall woman stepped out first, followed by a dozen or so teenagers dressed in blue silk robes.
A moment later, the doors to the Great Hall opened again.
Madame Maxime led her students inside. She was tall, almost matching Hagrid, but her posture was incredibly elegant. The students behind her were each exquisitely featured and light-footed, carrying an innate air of arrogance.
A series of gasps rang out in the Great Hall.
Especially as a few girls in the group walked by, the air seemed to be filled with a peculiar, cloying fragrance.
Fleur Delacour walked at the front of the line, her silvery-gold hair flowing under the candlelight, her blue eyes scanning the room with a faint smile playing on her lips.
In that instant, the eyes of most of the boys in the Great Hall went blank.
Ron's mouth was half-open, drool nearly escaping, as he stared unblinkingly at the Beauxbatons girls, looking as if his soul had been snatched away.
Seamus Finnigan tried to stand up to bow to them but was tripped by a chair leg and fell flat on his back.
Every male creature in the Great Hall had fallen into a state of idiocy.
Except for a few.
Harry felt a wave of dizziness, but he quickly shook his head and forced himself to look away.
But in Hermione's arms, Lia's little nose wrinkled in disgust.
The magic radiating from those Beauxbatons girls appeared as a sickeningly sweet, fake pink halo.
That fluctuation of magic, which others perceived as a wonderful fragrance, smelled to her like expired, low-quality perfume mixed with the scent of rotting fruit.
A "stink."
Lia simply leaned over and stuffed her head into Hermione's robes, blocking out the external scent.
Hermione looked at the pathetic, foolish state of the boys around her, then down at Lia in her arms, who had a "nearly choked to death by the smell" look on her face, and the corners of her mouth curled up uncontrollably.
She reached out her finger and deliberately gave the tip of Lia's furry cat ears a gentle squeeze.
"Ee!"
Lia's body shrank back as she let out a cry of protest.
This crisp cry was like a bucket of cold water poured over the heads of Harry and Ron nearby.
Ron jolted, suddenly coming to his senses, and found himself still crane-necked; his cheeks instantly burned red all the way to his ears.
Harry also coughed awkwardly and hurried to lower his head, pretending to study the patterns on his plate.
Dumbledore warmly invited the Beauxbatons students to sit at the Ravenclaw table, then announced loudly again:
"Now, let us also give a warm welcome to our friends from the north—the students of Durmstrang Institute and their Principal, Igor Karkaroff!"
This time, the commotion came from the direction of the lake.
A massive black ship slowly rose from beneath the dark surface of the lake, its sails flapping in the night wind, and the lanterns hanging from the gunwales emitted a dim light.
The ship docked, and a group of sturdy figures dressed in heavy fur cloaks stepped off the deck, their steps heavy and synchronized, carrying a cold, iron-blooded aura of slaughter.
As they entered the Great Hall, the temperature in the entire hall seemed to drop several degrees.
Leading them was Igor Karkaroff, who had a goatee and wore a hypocritical smile.
The students following him all had cold, hard expressions and tall builds. One of them immediately drew the attention of the entire room.
Viktor Krum.
The legendary Seeker for the Bulgarian National Team.
He had a hooked nose and a somber expression, and he walked with a bit of a splayed gait, but no one dared to underestimate him.
His presence even overshadowed his equally notorious Principal.
Krum's gaze swept coldly across the room, completely indifferent to the looks of admiration and awe.
His gaze swept past the staff table, then through the crowd of screaming girls, and finally paused for a moment at the corner of the Gryffindor table.
There, a silver figure was quietly nestled in the arms of a brown-haired girl.
She didn't look at them like the others did, but instead focused on the girl holding her, as if the rest of the world had nothing to do with her.
That sense of tranquility, so out of place with the surrounding frenzy, caused Krum's gaze to linger for an extra second.
"What do you think?" Hermione noticed Krum's gaze; she lowered her head and asked in a whisper in Lia's ear.
Lia followed Hermione's gaze to the tall, tough-looking Bulgarian Seeker.
She tilted her head, her small nostrils twitching slightly.
A few seconds later, she leaned into Hermione's ear and replied in an even softer voice, like a cat acting spoiled:
"He smells... like a cold, hard stone."
Pausing, Lia added her own evaluation.
"Not tasty."
Hermione was thoroughly amused by Lia's strange metaphor, her chest vibrating slightly with laughter.
A stone? Cold and hard? Not tasty?
This was probably the most outrageous, yet most fitting, evaluation of Viktor Krum in the world.
She dotedly rubbed the top of Lia's head, pressing her small head into the crook of her neck.
"Exactly, what's so good about a stone."
[I saw a startlingly appropriate saying: if you turn a man's head 180°, he satisfies the requirement of having a hole in the front and a tail in the back, and the tail is very sensitive; he's a perfect Cat-girl]
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