"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and – most particularly – guests," Dumbledore began, beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

One of the Beauxbatons girls still clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakeably a derisive laugh.

"No one's making you stay!" Hermione whispered loudly, bristling at her. "The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," Dumbledore said, opening his arms wide. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

He sat down, and Tori saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation.

The dishes in front of them filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Tori had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.

"What's that?" Lee asked, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding

"Bouillabaisse," Tori replied, glancing over at the Slytherin table, where the Durmstrang had sat and the Ravenclaw table, where the Beauxbatons took their seat.

"Bless you," Lee said.

"It's French," Tori rolled her eyes. "I had it before at home, it's okay."

"I'll take your word for it," Lee chuckled, helping himself to black pudding.

The Great Hall seemed somehow much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students there; perhaps it was because their differently coloured uniforms stood out so clearly against the black of the Hogwarts robes. Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep, blood red.

A Beauxbatons girl came over to the Gryffindor table, asking Ron is he was going to have any more of the French meal at the table. Lee was staring after her with wide eyes.

"She must be a Veela..." George mumbled.

"Just because she's pretty doesn't mean she's automatically a Veela." Tori sighed, biting into a warm biscuit.

"Pretty? No, no. She's hot."

"She's also a human being. I'm sure she has feelings. And I'm sure she wouldn't enjoy the fact that you are eyeing her like a fancy dessert." Tori snapped, crossing her arms. She glared at the two boys, who immediately stared down at their dinner.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now. Tori felt a slight thrill of excitement, wondering what was coming. Fred and George leaned forwards, staring at Dumbledore with great concentration.

"The moment has come," Dumbledore saif, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure which we will be following this year. But firstly, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation – there was a smattering of polite applause – and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likeable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand.

Fred and George glanced at each other, knowing they'd finally have a chance to corner the man about their money. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced. His toothbrush moustache and severe parting looked very odd next to Dumbledore's long white hair and beard.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "And they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime on the panel which will judge the champions' efforts."

At the mention of the word 'champions', the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr Filch."

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore, carrying a great wooden chest, encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; Tori leaned up into her seat to be able to see.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman," said Dumbledore, as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, "And they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge.
There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways... their magical prowess –their daring – their powers of deduction – and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

"As you know, three champions compete in the Tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "One from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector... the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore now took out his wand, and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it, and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable, had it not been full to the brim with dancing, blue-white flames.

Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the Goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment, and drop it into the Goblet," Dumbledore said. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Hallowe'en, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation,' Dumbledore continued, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the Entrance Hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this Tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the Tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are whole-heartedly prepared to play, before you drop your name into the Goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight to you all."

"An Age Line!" Fred gasped, his eyes glinting, as they all made their way across the Hall to the doors into the Entrance Hall. "Well, that should be fooled by an Ageing Potion, shouldn't it? And once your name's in that Goblet, you're laughing – it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not." Hermione told them as her, Harry, and Ron caught up.

"But I don't think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance,' said Hermione, "We just haven't learnt enough..."

"Speak for yourself," said George shortly.

i just wanted to thank you guys so much for sticking with me and this book.

i love you all so much and it makes me so glad that people actually want to read my stuff.

love you guys always!