At the staff table, Dumbledore's speech was drawing to a close.
"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and will be spending the greater part of this school year with us."
"While our foreign guests are staying here, I hope you will all display the utmost warmth and hospitality."
As he said this, Dumbledore's gaze swept slowly across the four long tables.
When his eyes passed the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, they lingered for a long moment, focusing primarily on the four members of the Father-Worrying Alliance.
Especially on Kyle, who was currently spacing out.
Although the official lists for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations had not yet been submitted to Hogwarts, Dumbledore knew that Viktor Krum would undoubtedly be among the names on Durmstrang's list.
After all, Krum was Durmstrang's star student, occupying a status there roughly equivalent to that of the Father-Worrying Alliance at Hogwarts.
On one side was the star Seeker who had shone brilliantly at the Quidditch World Cup; on the other was a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class.
The only area where they weren't matched was sheer power.
Yet that was precisely what Dumbledore worried about most.
Others might not know about the feud between the Krum family and the Grindelwald family, but how could Dumbledore not know?
Currently, Dumbledore's sole hope was that Viktor wouldn't let hatred blind his reason when he met Kyle. If Kyle genuinely wanted to kill Krum, not even Dumbledore would be able to keep a leash on this little Demon Lord.
Withdrawing his gaze from Kyle, Dumbledore continued, "Now, it is getting late, and it is crucial that you enter your classrooms tomorrow morning refreshed and sharp-minded. Off to bed with you! Quickly!"
The students stood up in unison, surging out toward the Entrance Hall in chaotic yet orderly fashion.
The members of the Father-Worrying Alliance blended in among the crowd.
Although the Ministry of Magic had stipulated a minimum age requirement of 17 for participants in the Triwizard Tournament, none of the Father-Worrying Alliance members met that age requirement except for Cedric.
Kyle's physical age might or might not be sufficient.
After all, before his soul transmigrated into this body, his physical growth had been frozen by Dumbledore using time magic.
Within that jelly-like block of time magic, his growth had come to a total standstill.
Regardless, the Goblet of Fire used to select champions was ultimately an inanimate object. So long as it wasn't more powerful than an Obscurial like Kyle, it would be utterly incapable of resisting Kyle's Confundus Charm.
Thus, the Father-Worrying Alliance wasn't worried in the slightest about being unable to compete.
As the bustling crowd moved toward Gryffindor Tower, Harry's expression was somewhat dazed.
Why had the Triwizard Tournament set a minimum age requirement for registration?
By all logic, shouldn't the champion representing Hogwarts be Kyle, who possessed the greatest strength?
Kyle's awe-inspiring display at the campsite that night remained deeply etched in Harry's mind to this very day.
Looking at the expression on Kyle's face, he didn't seem worried in the least about being unable to enter.
Could it be that Kyle knew a method to bypass the age restriction and register anyway?
If so, could he himself also...
Harry suddenly began fantasizing impossible dreams.
Glorious images flooded his mind—
Having successfully cheated the age requirement, he became the champion for Hogwarts...
Standing on the field, he raised his hands in joy before the whole school, with everyone cheering for him...
He lifted the Triwizard Championship Trophy...
Cho's eyes from the sidelines were filled with admiration and praise, and as he walked off the field, she offered him a passionate kiss...
If Cedric were here right now, he would surely kick him to the ground and subject him to a brutal, inhumane beating.
Perhaps he might even perform a "preventative castration" on Harry to solve the problem once and for all.
Even after returning to his dormitory, fantasies of participating in the Triwizard Tournament continued to surface endlessly in Harry's mind.
Buried in his pillow, he giggled with an utterly creepy grin, drooling all over his pillow without even realizing it.
The next morning, inside the greenhouses outside the castle, the little Lions and Badgers were squeezing Bobotuber pus under Professor Sprout's guidance, faces twisted in disgust.
The exterior of a Bobotuber didn't look like a plant at all; rather, it resembled a black, slimy, oversized slug rising straight out of the soil.
Furthermore, they wriggled slightly, their bodies covered in shiny, swollen pimples that held the legendary Bobotuber pus inside.
This stuff was a prime tool for pranking people.
Undiluted Bobotuber pus caused unusual damage to the skin.
Dolores Umbridge, the current Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, was certainly no stranger to this substance.
In recent years, under the "fine leadership" of Minister Fudge, the British Ministry of Magic had pulled off quite a few "beneficial" deeds for the country and its people.
For instance, removing Dumbledore from his post at the critical moment when the Basilisk was attacking Hogwarts. Although that was the fault of the Board of Governors—or more accurately, Lucius Malfoy alone—the public pinned the blame entirely on the Ministry, as they couldn't distinguish right from wrong anyway.
Or framing the hero Sirius, sending him to Azkaban, while letting Peter Pettigrew, the true traitor, roam free for over a decade.
Or stationing Dementors at Azkaban, and believing the nonsense of that pink toad Umbridge by letting Dementors intercept and search the Hogwarts Express.
This resulted in numerous anonymous citizens mailing letter after letter of "gratitude" into the Minister's inbox, offering their heartfelt thanks and blessings to Cornelius Fudge, their wise Minister for Magic.
According to British wizarding tradition, a letter of thanks needed an accompanying gift to show true sincerity.
And what gift could be more precious than rare potion ingredients like Bobotuber pus?
Basically, out of every ten letters Fudge received, seven would come with Bobotuber pus attached.
Fearing that Minister Fudge—that "uncorruptible" official—might refuse the gifts, the enthusiastic wizarding public even came up with various creative tricks, such as disguising the letters as communications from Ministry department heads or official mail from the International Confederation of Wizards.
Since owl mail didn't check the sender's identity anyway, it gave the public immense room for maneuver.
To avoid missing important mail, every single letter naturally had to be opened and carefully read.
Minister Fudge was burdened with endless official duties and lacked even the time to read letters, so this heavy responsibility naturally fell onto the pink toad, whom Fudge had dragged out of the Centaur Liaison Office for waste recycling.
Having dealt with Bobotuber pus for years, it would be a miracle if that pink toad weren't familiar with it.
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