Hearing Sherlock ask about Barty Crouch Jr. Dumbledore shook his head.
"Unfortunately, so far we haven't had any news about Crouch Junior. Since the Quidditch World Cup finals, he seems to have disappeared. However, as far as I know, Voldemort has indeed left the forests of Albania."
Speaking of this, his expression became increasingly serious. "Now it seems your previous deduction has a very high probability of being true. Voldemort encountered Bertha Jorkins, who was on vacation in Albania, then learned about Crouch Junior from her, and subsequently organized that rescue."
Thinking that Bertha Jorkins had most likely already perished, Dumbledore frowned deeply.
Voldemort hadn't even fully regained his body, yet he had killed another wizard.
His hands were truly soaked in blood!
As long as this Dark Lord wasn't eliminated, Britain's magical and Muggle worlds would not have a day of peace.
"So, what about the Ministry's disposition regarding Crouch Sr.?"
"They're about to announce his early retirement."
Dumbledore sighed. "Cornelius ultimately still doesn't want to make the facts public. His reasoning is that once this matter is made public, it will damage the Ministry's image, especially at this critical moment when the Triwizard Tournament is being held. Also, the matter of Bertha Jorkins is ultimately just our speculation. Even now, many people believe she's just lost her way and will return in another month or so."
"Ridiculous! Absurd!"
Sherlock rebuked angrily. "Concealing this matter is what truly damages the Ministry's image! Making Crouch's crimes public and giving him legal punishment would precisely maintain the Ministry's image! Utter nonsense, putting the cart before the horse, simply incomprehensible!
Even if Jorkins is safe and sound, the fact that Crouch cast a Memory Charm on her is indisputable. Add to that his abuse of power, bringing his son, who should have been imprisoned for life, out of Azkaban, that alone is enough to convict him!"
"You're absolutely right. Crouch himself is willing to admit his crimes and accept punishment, but this time most people in the Ministry think the same way as Fudge. They only hope the Triwizard Tournament can be held smoothly. At this stage, all they need is stability. Fudge even came to see me earlier, hinting that I should help Hogwarts' champions achieve victory."
"That's certainly something he would do."
A mocking smile appeared at the corner of Sherlock's mouth. "I just gave them far too much credit. A Ministry like this has no image left to maintain."
Dumbledore shook his head with a bitter smile.
"Regardless, Crouch Junior, who was rescued by Voldemort, is an unstable factor. I know Voldemort's character all too well. For him to expend such great effort to rescue Crouch Junior, he must have other plans.
So, we absolutely cannot let down our guard. I suspect... they may very likely use this Triwizard Tournament to make their move. Sherlock, this is another reason I hope you can participate."
After saying this, Dumbledore stared intently at Sherlock, hoping he could give a reassuring answer.
"Even if I participate in the Triwizard Tournament, it won't change the situation where the enemy is in the dark and we're in the light—that's the biggest problem right now."
Sherlock's eyes sparkled, as if excited about the coming adventure. "However, we're not without advantages. Voldemort doesn't know that we already know his greatest secret. Sir, you really should thank Professor Slughorn properly. Also, we must make full use of known information and quickly confirm and locate the positions of several Horcruxes. Of course, it would be even better if we could destroy several Horcruxes before he regains his body."
"Since discovering the existence of Horcruxes, I've been working toward that goal. I've already made some progress recently."
Dumbledore paused, then asked, "Has Harry been dreaming about Voldemort lately?"
"No."
"That's good."
Dumbledore breathed a sigh of relief. "Prepare well for this Triwizard Tournament. I believe the Goblet of Fire certainly won't overlook you. Minerva will be very happy."
The conversation with Dumbledore thus ended.
Next, once Harry and the other two returned from Hagrid's, they could register.
Without realizing it, Sherlock had walked to the Entrance Hall.
When he looked toward the Goblet of Fire, his footsteps couldn't help but pause.
What a coincidence!
He saw the Beauxbatons students passing across the grounds toward the front doors, with Madame Maxime following behind her students.
After everyone had entered the Hall, she instructed them to form a line.
Those who had originally been gathered around the Goblet of Fire immediately stepped back to let them through, watching eagerly.
The Beauxbatons students approached one by one, in orderly fashion, dropping their slips of parchment into the blue-white flames.
As before, each time a name was thrown into the fire, the flames rapidly turned red and shot out sparks.
When the girl from the feast who had removed her scarf, revealing pale golden hair and sapphire-blue eyes, looking very much like a Veela, walked elegantly toward the Goblet of Fire, the surrounding buzz noticeably lowered.
This time not only Hogwarts students, but many Durmstrang boys also followed her with their gazes, with appreciation or stunned expressions.
She herself remained calm, with a hint of the restraint typical of Beauxbatons students, and even a subtle sense of distance.
As if she had long been accustomed to this feeling of being watched.
People always said the British looked down on the French, but when had the French ever looked up to the British?
So, the relationship between France's Beauxbatons and Britain's Hogwarts was very delicate.
Neither side acknowledged that the other was Europe's strongest magical school. As for Durmstrang? Sorry, just a bunch of Nordic barbarians—go play somewhere else!
In the view of Beauxbatons students, the only thing Hogwarts had going for it was Dumbledore, the publicly acknowledged greatest wizard in the world, as Headmaster. Otherwise, just based on the black hole that was the Defense Against the Dark Arts course, they wouldn't be any match at all.
However, just as the girl threw her name into the flames and turned to leave, an unexpected voice suddenly sounded beside her ear.
"Hello, Miss Delacour."
Fleur Delacour's movements froze for subtle half-second.
The parchment with her name on it steadily fell into the flames. The blue flames instantly turned a passionate red, bursting with sparks—the procedure was complete.
But her gaze didn't immediately move away like the others' after they'd submitted their slips. Instead, slowly and extremely unnaturally, she raised her eyelids to look at the person speaking.
The young man's appearance and air were enough to draw attention at first sight.
He was tall and thin for his age, with an angular face.
Grey eyes, a long aquiline nose, and a square, prominent jaw—all of which gave him an alert and decisive appearance.
When had he come over?!
As she sized up Sherlock, Sherlock was also carefully observing her.
In the depths of those sapphire-blue eyes, Sherlock caught a flash of surprise.
This was immediately followed by deeper vigilance and a suppressed struggle to maintain composure.
Sherlock immediately understood.
His previous deduction had indeed been correct.
The other party recognized him.
It seemed his sudden approach and attempt at conversation had made her disguise far less effective than it had been at yesterday's feast.
"You—who are you?"
Fleur quickly produced what she considered an appropriate reaction to being identified by a stranger, asking warily, "How do you know my name?"
"Wasn't it written clearly on the parchment you threw into the Goblet of Fire? [Fleur Delacour—Beauxbatons]. Or are you saying you're registering on behalf of someone else?"
Watching Sherlock casually state the answer, Fleur couldn't help but breathe a secret sigh of relief.
Thank goodness.
She'd almost thought she'd been recognized.
She was being too sensitive. The last time she saw Sherlock, he was only four or five years old, it would be normal for him not to remember her.
Normally speaking, most people could only remember one or two deeply impressive things from their early childhood, sometimes not even complete events, but just a frame or two, or even just a sentence or two.
If that was the case, then why was he seeking her out?
As if seeing through Fleur's thoughts, Sherlock smiled slightly. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, an ordinary student at Hogwarts. Miss Delacour, I'm looking for you because..."
"Because I'm hungry."
In Hagrid's hut, Ron couldn't help but whisper to his two companions. "When are we going back to the castle?"
In fact, Hagrid had invited the three of them to lunch together, but that meal was really...
How to put it?
According to Hagrid himself, the pot of stuff he made was beef stew.
However, Hermione had found a large claw in her portion.
━━∑(￣□￣*|||━━
After that, none of the three had any appetite left.
After staying a while longer, when they saw Hagrid begin using coarse yellow yarn and a large bone needle to mend a quilt, Ron could no longer sit still.
Harry and Hermione also wanted to return quickly.
Harry wanted to discuss with Sherlock whether they should participate in the Triwizard Tournament or not.
His heart was very conflicted.
These past two days, Sirius had written him a letter telling him he absolutely must participate in the Triwizard Tournament, and said his godfather would provide strategies when the time came.
Deep in Harry's own heart, the adventurous factor in his character was also restless, wanting to participate in the competition.
But he was also worried that Sherlock would be selected as a champion while he wasn't.
That still wasn't the worst case.
Even worse would be if Sherlock didn't participate in the Triwizard Tournament or wasn't chosen by the Goblet of Fire, but he himself was chosen, that would be the most troublesome situation.
So, after thinking it over, he decided to use the old method.
When in doubt, ask Sherlock.
As for Hermione, she was somewhat irritated that Hagrid had flatly refused to join S.P.E.W.
By now, she had mournfully discovered that in all of vast Hogwarts, she couldn't find a single person to support her.
Even Luna, called the "Loony Girl," thought she was doing something incomprehensible.
"Why would you want to give them freedom? They're happy right now! Hermione, by fighting for their freedom, you're actually depriving them of their happiness!"
Luna, you're using my own rhetorical tactics against me!
Hermione felt very tired. Combined with that disastrous lunch, she also wanted to return quickly.
And to ask whether Sherlock was going to participate in the Triwizard Tournament—if he was, then naturally she would fully support him.
The three naturally were of one mind. However, when they said they were leaving, Hagrid stopped them.
"I'll go with you," Hagrid said, putting aside what he was mending. "Wait for me a moment."
Hagrid stood up and walked to the chest of drawers beside the bed, beginning to search for something inside.
At first, the three didn't pay much attention, until a particularly unpleasant smell entered their nostrils.
Ron couldn't help but start coughing. "Cough cough... Hagrid, cough cough... what is that?"
"Hmm?" Hagrid turned around, holding a large bottle in his hand, asking somewhat puzzled, "Don't you like it? The book said it was very popular?"
"Is it aftershave lotion?" Even Hermione was about to suffocate, but still struggled to ask this question.
"Well—it's cologne," Hagrid said, his face flushed bright red, his voice hoarse. "Sorry, I probably put on too much. I'll wash it off, wait a bit longer..."
He walked out of the hut with heavy footsteps and desperately washed his face in the bucket outside the window.
"Cologne?" Hermione asked in amazement. "Hagrid?"
She really couldn't connect these two things together.
"And that suit and hair, what on earth is going on?"
Harry was equally bewildered.
Hagrid was emanating a strange atmosphere all over today.
"Shh, look quickly!"
Ron suddenly pointed outside the window.
The three looked up and were stunned like wooden chickens.
Hagrid, having finished washing his face, straightened up and strode forward.
His target was clearly Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students who had just come from the direction of the castle.
Due to the distance being quite far, the three couldn't hear clearly what they were saying.
But!
They saw very clearly that when Hagrid was talking with Madame Maxime, his face was even redder than before, practically the same color as Ron's hair.
Not only that, the expression he wore while looking at Madame Maxime was entranced and infatuated, his eyes seeming to be covered with a layer of mist.
Even if you killed the three of them, they never would have imagined they could see such an expression on Hagrid's face.
Hermione said in surprise, "Wait, didn't he say he was going back to the castle with us?"
Hagrid seemed to have completely forgotten about the three of them, not even glancing back at his hut once, and walked away with heavy footsteps alongside Madame Maxime.
The Beauxbatons students followed behind, having to jog to keep up with their large strides.
"Bloody hell!"
Ron said with an expression of disbelief. "He—he's fallen in love with her!"
Harry: ...(╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻
None of the three had ever imagined that Hagrid's slicking back his hair and putting on a handsome suit would be for Madame Maxime.
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