"Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and ghosts. And tonight, a special welcome… to our guests. I welcome you with all my heart to Hogwarts. I hope, and am certain, that your stay at our school will be comfortable and enjoyable. Now, please, drink, eat, and make yourselves at home!"
With a brief welcome for the foreign guests who had come for the Triwizard Tournament, Dumbledore gave his wand a single flourish.
Instantly, the golden plates on each of the House tables filled with food, much of which was unfamiliar. It was a spread of foreign cuisine, prepared for the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.
"Hey, hey, Mirabel! Krum is sitting at the Slytherin table, what should I do?! Should I go talk to him?!"
"I couldn't care less. I'm busy right now," Mirabel answered, showing not an ounce of the interest that animated Edith's excited voice as she stared at the Durmstrang Quidditch star, Viktor Krum.
For her, the most important thing at that moment wasn't some drab man named Krum, but savoring the many foreign dishes laid out before her. Fawning over Krum was a job she could leave to Malfoy. A glance over showed that Malfoy had already positioned himself across from Krum, gesturing wildly as he tried to capture his attention.
"Wow! So you caught the Snitch because you knew you couldn't win the match otherwise?"
"Yes. I… I wanted to end it, on my own terms. Besides, if the point difference becomes too large, it affects the overall standings. When I determine we will lose, I end it quickly, keeping the gap as small as possible. We Seekers sometimes have to choose… that 'way of losing.'"
"Yes, that's absolutely right! Yes!"
He must not have been used to English. Krum's words were tinged with a unique accent and were a little hard to understand. It sounded as though he pronounced his I's like 'v's. Considering he was from another country, he was actually speaking quite well. While Headmaster Karkaroff and Deputy Headmistress Mavis spoke fluently, they were both originally from Britain. It was only natural they could speak it.
"By the way, Mirabel… is that good?"
"It is. You should try something yourself."
As she spoke, Mirabel extended her fork toward a dish in front of her. It was a roast of fatty salmon slathered in butter, with herbs for color. The aroma of butter and herbs was irresistibly stimulating.
"Alright, then…"
Edith nodded thoughtfully and pulled a nearby gratin toward herself. As one of the most world-famous French dishes, she must have figured it was a safe bet. She speared a piece of macaroni with her fork, lifting it to her mouth, coated in a creamy white sauce.
"Mmm, this is delicious."
"Indeed. But seeing our food lined up next to French cuisine fills me with despair at how limited our country's repertoire is. What's worse, even British food tastes better when it's made by foreigners."
"Huh?"
"I once ate fish and chips made by a Japanese person, and it was like a completely different dish. We can't even bring out the full flavor of our own cooking."
The notion that "British food is terrible" was a globally shared perception; even the British themselves admitted it. Not only was the seasoning poor, but the cooking itself was crude. Vegetables were boiled until they lost all texture, and it was common practice to fry ingredients until they turned black in the oil. The reason was said to be the British preference for cooking methods that heat ingredients until their original flavor is gone—a practice disliked by other nationalities. But that didn't mean it actually suited the British palate, either. They possessed the common sense to recognize that food made by the Japanese, Italians, or French simply tasted better. This only served to highlight the grim reality, leading to a sort of self-deprecation.
Of course, even among British dishes, there were delicious exceptions and things to be proud of. Moreover, the house-elves at Hogwarts were all first-rate cooks, and their food was certainly better than what you'd find in most restaurants. But the foundation itself was overwhelmingly inferior to that of other countries.
After the dishes from the welcoming feast had vanished and dessert was finished, Dumbledore rose to his feet once more. It was time for the main event. Every student leaned forward, and a pleasant tension filled the Great Hall. Dumbledore smiled calmly at the sea of focused eyes and spoke in a clear, carrying voice.
"The time has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to begin. Before I have the 'casket' brought out, allow me to explain a few points."
Dumbledore's explanation was a brief supplement on the tournament's proceedings.
First, the judges would be the three headmasters—Dumbledore, Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime—along with the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Bartemius Crouch, and the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman.
Second, there would be three champions, one chosen from each school.
Third, the champions would be tested over the course of the year on every front by three tasks. Their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deduction, and their ability to cope with danger. The one judged to have the highest overall score would win the glory of one thousand Galleons.
Fourth, the champions would be selected by an impartial judge: the Goblet of Fire.
Anyone wishing to submit themselves as a candidate must do so within the next twenty-four hours.
And fifth, no one should enter their name lightly. Once a champion was chosen by the Goblet, they would be bound by a magical contract and obligated to compete for the entire year. Changing one's mind halfway through would not be permitted. Only those with the sincere will to compete must participate.
With that, the welcoming feast concluded. Edith had been wondering where the Durmstrang students would be staying, but it seemed they would simply return to their ship. Karkaroff hurried his students along, smiling at Krum like a doting father. It was clear the headmaster had a favorite. Just as Dumbledore favored Harry, he favored Krum.
Mirabel was about to pass by with the other Slytherins when she happened to catch the eye of Mavis, who was standing next to Karkaroff.
"Ah, Mirabel! My Mirabel!"
As expected, Mavis rushed over and pulled Mirabel into a grand embrace. A vein pulsed on Mirabel's forehead as the needlessly assertive abundance of her mother's chest was pressed against her face. It wasn't that she was thinking, Why is my chest so small when my mother's is like this?Absolutely not. Still, it was hard not to feel a little irritated when confronted with one of her own deficiencies.
"It has been a long time, Miss Mirabel. My, you've grown even more beautiful, just like your mother," Karkaroff said with a plastered-on smile, extending a hand.
Mirabel ignored the hand, pretending not to notice as she disentangled herself from her mother. "Headmaster Karkaroff. You seem unchanged."
Mirabel had little fondness for this man—a former Death Eater who had betrayed his old comrades to build his current position. She acknowledged his knack for navigating the world, and cutting ties with the Death Eaters was commendable. But in the end, he was nothing more than a philistine who sided with the powerful. He would never fall below a certain level of esteem, but he would never rise above one, either. To Mirabel, Igor Karkaroff was just another trivial person.
"Frankly, I'm relieved. If you were seventeen and eligible to participate, we would have been in trouble."
"Well, I would have won, of course."
"Ah, still as confident as ever, I see. That's a relief. And what's frightening is that you probably would." Karkaroff's face twitched, but he maintained his smile in the face of Mirabel's refreshingly brazen self-assurance. He had never dared to be forceful with her, always trying to stay on her good side. As someone who had survived by bowing to the strong, he likely understood instinctively the existence of those stronger than himself—and the bottomless depth of Mirabel's potential.
And so, he tried to curry favor and flatter her. Though she was just a young girl now, somewhere in his heart, he was convinced that she would one day become a major figure who would shake the wizarding world. That was likely why he wanted to get her on his side now.
"By the way, what do you say? Are you still interested in coming to Durmstrang…?"
"I believe I have given you the same answer to that question seven times already."
"Urk… w-well, yes, but think about it. Wouldn't you be able to focus on the Dark Arts better at our school? You wouldn't have to go to the trouble of ordering materials; I would permit you to read whatever you like from our library. We have no such thing as a restricted section."
"…"
Mirabel shot a single, sharp glare at Karkaroff as he tried to pull her into his camp. He said no more, retreating meekly. Watching him with an exasperated look, Mavis spoke with disappointment.
"Oh, but it is such a shame. That my Mirabel cannot participate."
"Well, let's just say it wasn't meant to be and move on."
It wasn't a matter of giving up; she had never intended to participate in the first place. This sort of event was something Harry Potter could handle. She had far more important things to do.
"Well then, I'll be on my way. Mother, you should probably be returning to your ship as well."
She collected Edith, who had been completely left out of the conversation, and headed for the Slytherin dungeons. She would not be participating in the tournament. That was a certainty. She didn't dislike the spotlight, but this time she needed to move in the shadows. It would be ideal if Dumbledore's attention was completely fixed on Harry. Considering that, entering the tournament was out of the question.
"So that was your mother, Mirabel… I thought so when I saw her from a distance, but she's stunningly beautiful. You're beautiful too, but it's a different kind of beauty, like a mature allure or…"
"Specifically?"
"Her chest."
"Alright, stay right there."
Mirabel grabbed Edith as she tried to scramble away and began pinching and stretching her cheeks. Edith yelped things like "It hurts, it hurts," but Mirabel heard nothing. Words must be pronounced correctly and precisely. Therefore, it didn't count. Mirabel ignored Edith's screams.
"S-Sowwy! I apowogize, so pwease wet go!"
La la la, I can't hear you.
"The impartial selector."
That is what Dumbledore had called the Goblet of Fire.
But what is impartiality? What does it mean to be impartial?
Is it the ability to accurately examine all conditions?
Is it the complete absence of personal feelings?
Is it to show favor to none and demean none?
Surely, all of those are correct.
And the most necessary condition to achieve that is to be without will.
Without will, there is no wavering, no room for personal feelings to enter.
It will simply, dispassionately, and accurately select the one most suited to the conditions.
But to be without will also means to be without doubt.
It means that even if some trickery is involved, even if the information it is given is false, it will not notice.
And so, the "impartial" Goblet made its selection.
It chose a "fourth person" to participate in a tournament that was supposed to have only three champions, one from each school.
Without suspicion, without question, it spat out the name.
The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic champion, Fleur Delacour.
The Durmstrang Institute champion, Viktor Krum.
The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry champion, Cedric Diggory.
And the impossible fourth champion… Harry Potter.
Silence fell. Through the utterly quiet Great Hall, Harry walked with a pale face, an expression of disbelief etched upon it. Normally, a champion would be sent off with cheers, but not a single voice of support followed him. He was met only with piercing stares of confusion and scornful anger.
It's not me, he thought. I didn't put my name in.
But he couldn't even summon the energy to defend himself. Like a criminal whose name had been read aloud, Harry ascended the dais.
"Wh-what's going on? Why Harry?" Edith asked in a trembling voice as she watched Harry disappear through the door behind the staff table.
One couldn't help but ask why. Harry was a fourth-year, just like them, only fourteen years old. He shouldn't have been able to put his name in the Goblet.
When Edith looked at Mirabel, she saw her friend calmly swirling the liquid in her wine glass, an amused look on her face.
"That man truly is beloved by trouble. He never gets boring to watch."
"Mirabel, this is hardly a matter of mere 'trouble'!"
Mirabel took a sip of her after-dinner ice wine and let out a small breath. She then gave a wry smile to Edith, who was looking at her with a reproachful gaze.
"I know. Something like this can't happen because of simple trouble."
"Then why?"
"Someone tampered with it. That's the only possibility."
With the Goblet having spit out Harry's name, there were three broad possibilities.
One: Harry put his own name in. But his pale face refuted that, and in truth, he wasn't that much of an attention-seeker. He certainly had a hero complex and a tendency to care about what others thought of him, but that was a perfectly natural sensibility for a boy his age. Due to his oppressed childhood, Harry's tendency was only slightly stronger than most; he was just a boy, nothing more.
Two: Someone else submitted his name on his behalf. The Age Line wouldn't let anyone under seventeen through. Conversely, that meant anyone seventeen or older could cross it. So, it was conceivable that someone who wanted Harry as champion entered his name. But Dumbledore would be well aware of such a simple weakness. It was natural to assume there were other defensive measures in place to prevent anyone but the individual from submitting their name. Therefore, this was also impossible. If there was anyone who could do it, it would be Dumbledore alone.
And three: The Goblet itself was tampered with. This method would bypass the previous two conditions and force Harry to be selected as champion. It would ignore Harry's own will, break through the Goblet's defenses, and intentionally cause it to make a mistake. However, this method also drastically narrowed down the list of suspects. To pull it off, one would need deep knowledge of the Dark Arts, knowledge of the Goblet itself, and be in extremely close proximity to the selection process.
"Tampered? What for?"
"Who knows?" Mirabel feigned ignorance in response to Edith's question, turning her gaze toward the staff table.
At the end of her line of sight was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, the former Auror, Mad-Eye Moody… no, the Death Eater impersonating him. It was impressive, she had to admit, that he could be so bold right under Dumbledore's nose, even while disguised as a highly trusted former Auror.
Well, she thought, for now, I'll just watch without interfering or eliminating him. In fact, if necessary, I might even help him.
After all, Mirabel also needed Harry to win the tournament.
Author's Notes:
∩(・ω・)∩< I'll make things easy for you!
I considered having Mirabel enter the tournament, but decided against it.
Since she is technically an enemy of Voldemort, I could have had the fake Moody enter her name with the intent to have her killed. However, considering the fake Moody's objective (for Harry to win), having Mirabel participate would drastically lower Harry's chances, so I concluded he would do everything in his power to prevent it. Frankly, even if Mirabel had tampered with it and thrown her own name in, he would have probably found a way to secretly remove it.
If Mirabel were to participate, she would likely leave Harry in the dust and win on her own, no matter how much they tried to obstruct her. In that case, only Mirabel would appear in the graveyard, and Wormtail would obviously be unable to defeat her. That would create the worst-case scenario: a face-to-face meeting between the infant Voldemort and Mirabel. It would be a repeat of the first-year nightmare. She'd get burned by Fiendfyre again.
For that reason, the fake Mad-Eye did not toss Mirabel's name in.
Therefore, this time, Mirabel will be in a support role for Harry.
What a troublesome support character he's got.
***
10 Advanced Chapters Available on my Patreon!
https://patreon.com/Well_being