Chapter Sixty-Nine - Beauxbatons and Durmstrang
The week after his conversation with Neville, Harry returned to Defense Against the Dark Arts prepared for whatever Moody would throw at them. It came as something of a letdown when the professor announced that they would not be continuing their study of the Unforgivable Curses.
Harry was not alone in his disappointment. The Slytherin students, intrigued by the first demonstration, had been eager for more. And while Moody was forthcoming with anecdotes from his time as an Auror, he was firm in his stance against practical application of the more dangerous spells.
"Defensive magic is what you need," he insisted when the class continued to pester him for another demonstration, "That's what I came here to teach you. My stories aren't going to help you in a real fight."
Harry raised his hand. After he and Neville had spoken to Moody in private, Harry felt more comfortable around the formidable professor. He was only a little unnerved when Moody's magical eye pivoted in his direction.
"You told us that there aren't many spells that can deflect an Unforgivable Curse." He paused, thought of the Killing Curse, and added, "Sometimes they can't be blocked at all."
"That's correct, Potter. But there are ways to defend yourself before giving an opponent the chance to jinx you."
Moody had started to turn away, but Harry was persistent. His hand shot into the air again as he quickly added, "You also said the Imperious Curse could be fought off. Did you mean without a counter-curse? Couldn't we practice in class?"
The question was out of his mouth before he considered what he was suggesting. Moody turned his face back toward him, his natural eye as wide as the enchanted one.
"Potter, are you out of your mind?" he asked, "I had permission to give you all a demonstration only. I can't go casting Unforgivable Curses on children!"
Harry let the subject drop while in class, though he remained unconvinced. He waited until the next time he, Millie, and Blaise were alone to share the idea he had.
"Why show us those curses if he's not going to teach us how to defend ourselves?" he began in a whisper. The trio had made camp in the library. Stacks of heavy textbooks partially screened them from view as they bent over their assignments.
"He is teaching us," Millie countered, "We've got a whole list of defensive spells to practice."
"I learned the disarming spell in Lockhart's stupid Dueling Club!" Harry said, rolling his eyes, "That's not what I mean!"
"Well, else did you have in mind?"
Harry glanced around them to make sure he wasn't overheard before he suggested, "We could practice the Imperious Curse ourselves, in secret."
Blaise looked intrigued, though Millie thought it was a perfectly stupid idea.
"You heard what Moody said!" she told him sternly, "Those curses are forbidden. We'd get a lot more than detention if we were caught using them!"
"I'm only talking about the Imperious Curse!" Harry argued, "Don't you want to see if you can fight it off?"
"I'm almost tempted to try it," Blaise said thoughtfully, "You're the best at curses, Millie. If you cast it, I'm sure nothing would go wrong."
"And you wouldn't make Blaise and I do anything horrible," Harry added, "When else will we get a chance to practice in safety?"
He thought it was a good argument, but Millie would not be swayed.
"You want me sent to Azkaban!" she exclaimed, drawing startled glances from students studying at nearby tables. Harry and Blaise were forced to abandon the scheme, though for Harry it was only a temporary retreat. He would bring the matter up with Millie later, when they were less likely to be overheard.
There would be little time for secret lessons, anyway. Fourth year students were experiencing an increase in assignments across all subjects. If anyone dared to complain, their professors would smugly inform them that they needed to prepare for their Ordinary Wizarding Level exams. Harry, to distract himself from thinking about Defense Against the Dark Arts, dragged A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot toward him.
"I don't understand!" Harry moaned in frustration as the words on the page seemed to dance before his already tired eyes, "We don't have to take the O.W.L.s until fifth year. Why are drowning us with all this homework now?"
"At least I don't have to worry about transfiguration," Millie said with a confident smile. She pushed her completed essay toward Blaise for his inspection. "When you can transform into a falcon, turning a hedgehog into a pincushion is easy by comparison."
"Well, not everyone can turn into a falcon," Blaise said testily. He began copying some sentences from Millie's essay onto his own assignment and accidentally knocked his inkwell over the page.
While he cursed, Harry tried to focus his attention on the essay he was writing for Professor Binns. Their History of Magic professor was the only ghost who taught a class at the school. He had a habit of sticking to the same boring lectures he had written when he'd been alive. This time he had instructed them to write an essay on the Goblin Rebellions.
"Did you know that goblins aren't allowed to own or use wands?" Harry said, reading aloud from his textbook, "It says here that's one of the reasons for their rebellion against the Ministry."
"Which one?" asked Millie.
Harry flipped through some pages and replied, "All of them, apparently."
"What's the problem?" Blaise asked as he finally located his wand. He waved it over the ruined parchment, murmuring a spell to clear the page of the spilt ink. "Goblins are powerful magic users on their own. They don't need wands."
Harry considered his friend's argument, but something didn't sit right with him.
"Shouldn't the fact that they want them be reason enough?" Harry mused aloud, "If they can use magic anyway, then there's no reason to deny them a wand."
Blaise opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, and looked to Millie for support. When she merely shrugged, Blaise turned back to Harry and repeated, "But they don't need wands."
Harry sighed. His friends did not understand him. The plight of the goblins reminded him of Winky. Like goblins, house elves were capable of powerful magic, even without the use of a wand. But Winky had been fired merely for holding onto Harry's. Not for the first time, Harry found himself questioning whether the wizarding community played fair with non-wizard kind.
Between their schoolwork, the Unforgivable Curses, and the examples of overt discrimination in the magical community, Harry had much to fill his thoughts. He had nearly forgotten about the Triwizard Tournament, until leaving the library, they passed through the entrance hall. A group of students had gathered around a notice posted on the wall. Harry was too short to see over the sea of interested bystanders, but Blaise and Millie came to his aid. Not satisfied with merely using their superior height to look over the crowd, they muscled their way into the group. To Harry's embarrassment, the gossiping students parted easily when they saw who Blaise and Millie were pushing forward. A few first-years gaped at Harry in awe.
He ignored the curious faces of the students who were not yet accustomed to the sight of the Boy Who Lived and turned his attention to the notice, which had the words "Triwizard Tournament" in bold letters at the top. He read:
The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday the 30th of October.
Lessons will end half an hour early and students will return their bags and books
To their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before
The Welcoming Feast.
The students of Hogwarts were buzzing with excitement. Only a week remained before the delegations from the visiting schools would arrive.
"That will only give them a day to enter the tournament before the champions are chosen," Blaise observed, "But I suppose they'll only bring the students who have already decided to enter."
"Only Hogwarts students will need to come to a decision by then," Millie agreed.
Though they speculated on who among their classmates had the best chances of winning the tournament, they had heard no rumors about who was seriously considering putting themselves forward. With the notice posited, it wasn't long before Harry had learned of a few hopefuls.
He had fallen into the habit of taking meals with Cassius Warrington and his friends, Derrick and Bole. They had bonded over a shared disappointment that Quidditch had been canceled that year, though none were as anxious as Harry. The Beaters were Warrington's strongest support for overthrowing Montague, and they would be graduating at the end of the year. Without them, Harry felt insecure of his own position on the team. Warrington was more sanguine, but he had set his eyes on another prize.
"You're going to enter the tournament?" Blaise asked with excitement. As usual, he had joined Harry in his discussion with the upperclassmen. Millie looked on, quiet but interested.
"I'm already of age," Warrington said with an easy smile, "No one knows how they'll pick the champions, but I figure a Slytherin champion wouldn't be such a bad thing. What do you think, Perry? Lucian?"
The Beaters had a reputation throughout the rest of the school as being a bit slow and thick, but Harry knew them better. They would not win any awards for their academics, but if they appeared slow, it was only because they weighed their words carefully before committing to any opinion. He admired them for their caution, particularly when he considered how different they were during a Quidditch match. On a broom, they could be as quick and keen-eyed as any of the rest of the team.
Peregrine Derrick, or Perry to his close friends, spoke up first, "We thought we might put our names in, as well."
"Heard Diggory was planning to do the same," added Lucian Bole.
"Hufflepuff's captain?" Warrington asked with surprise, "He's in a class with you, isn't he Harry?"
"That's right," Harry said. He had mentioned his wand-making course during conversation before, though he was surprised Warrington remembered such a small detail.
Warrington nodded his head in approval, "That's a good idea. Keep your friends close, you know?"
Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. He knew the saying. It was a popular one in Slytherin House. But Harry didn't think of Cedric Diggory as his enemy. They had continued sitting next to one another in class, and Cedric was always happy to answer any questions Harry had about a difficult new theory about wand-making. Harry liked him considerably, but he didn't think he could admit this to Warrington. When it came to Quidditch, he and Diggory were on opposing sides.
"What do you suppose the tasks will be?" Blaise asked Warrington, drawing Harry out of his own thoughts.
"It's supposed to be dangerous," Warrington said, "And something that will test our knowledge and skills. That's why they're limiting it to students who are of age. Most of us are preparing for N.E.W.T.s, so the extra studying may come in handy."
"My money is on dragons," said Derrick. Warrington gave a snort and was prepared to dismiss him.
"They won't have a bunch of kids fight dragons!" he protested.
But Bole was on his friend's side, "You ought to listen to him, Cass. He's got a funny talent for this sort of thing."
Warrington snorted again, "Trelawney tell you that in your Divination class?"
Derrick gave a soft smile and replied, "Naw. That batty old witch keeps failing me because I don't predict my own death often enough. But seriously, if you want to put money on it, I'm game."
They wagered their bets for the three tasks, though Harry and Millie did not take part. Blaise was adamant that there would be some muggle technology involved at some point, and they would all regret not taking Muggle Studies. Derrick confidently told him that he was going to lose his money.
Anticipation for the start of the tournament had reached a peak by the end of the month. No one was very attentive in their lessons that day, and even the professors seemed to relax their workload. Only Professor Snape insisted that they focus on brewing antidotes, but as the class was an hour shorter that day, even this was bearable.
The Potions Master had a nasty habit of testing their brews on themselves. He even threatened to poison his students, so that they could test the efficacy of their antidotes. Harry had not taken this threat lightly, but at the same time, he had not relented in his attempts to get Snape to reveal something about his mother.
Snape had become rather adept at avoiding him, though he made an exception during class, when he was sure to deliver a few cutting remarks about Harry's poor performance.
"Another exemplary failure, Potter," he said with a sneer as he passed over Harry's cauldron, "Keep this up, and you'll do more damage with the antidote than the poison itself. Are you trying to develop a new way to die?"
"Bet you'd love that," Harry muttered under his breath, "Then you'd finally be rid of me."
Snape had started to move away, and Harry thought his comment might go unnoticed. To his surprise, however, Snape actually cracked a thin-lipped smile. Harry wasn't sure if he was amused by Harry's morbid sense of humor, which seemed unlikely, or if he was truly thrilled by the idea of Harry's demise.
Harry took this as a sign that Snape's resolve was waning, and he lingered a moment longer after class was dismissed, taking his time in gathering his books and supplies.
"What did my mum do outside of class?" he asked when the rest of the students had hurried away, "Did she play Quidditch? Was she in any clubs?"
"You're going to be late for the welcoming ceremony," Snape sharply informed him, then he swept out of the dungeon, marking the end of their conversation.
Harry was not late, as it turned out. He ran to his dormitory, dropped off his school things, and had joined his classmates in the entrance hall in plenty of time. The Heads of Houses had just begun to order their students into lines.
"Did she prefer owls or cats?" Harry whispered as Snape marched down their line, inspecting each student and delivering sharp reprimands.
"Did you even try to comb your hair?" Snape replied, pretending he hadn't heard the question. Harry readjusted the pointed hat that was typically only worn on formal occasions. Snape had already moved to the front of the rows of Slytherin students. Soon they were marching down the steps and lining up in front of the castle itself.
Autumn was advancing into winter, and the evening was cold and crisp. The sun was beginning to set, and a pale sliver of moon had already risen above the Forbidden Forest. Harry shivered as a cool breeze swept over him. He hoped the other schools would arrive soon.
"Nearly six," Blaise commented, clearly thinking the same as Harry.
Millie, standing on Harry's other side, was busy contemplating the long drive that led from the train station to the school gates.
"How do you think they're travelling?" she asked.
"Broomsticks?" Harry suggested, looking to the sky. He had learned from Blaise that Beauxbatons was located somewhere in France, while the location of Durmstrang was still a complete mystery. It didn't seem likely that either school would arrive by train.
"Portkey seems more likely," Blaise offered, "It'd be faster than a broom, at any rate."
"Warmer, too," Millie added.
They continued to scan the darkening grounds for some sign, but nothing moved. Harry shivered again. His nose was starting to run. He wished they'd hurry up…
Just as the thought crossed his mind, Dumbledore called out from the back row, where he stood with the rest of the faculty, "Ah! Unless I am mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"
The students looked around in all directions. Millie turned her face to the drive, while Blaise had trained his eyes upward. He was their first in their group to see a strange shape moving toward them from over the Forbidden Forest. At first, they couldn't make out what they were seeing, but the shape was moving toward them so quickly, growing ever larger in size, that it was not long before they could all make out a gigantic, powder-blue carriage, drawn by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.
The carriage itself was the size of a house, and Harry found himself jostled backward as the front three rows of students stumbled back to give it room to land. Harry had just enough time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms consisting of two crossed, golden wands, before it opened.
A boy dressed in pale blue robes, the same color as the carriage, jumped down and fumbled for a moment with something under the carriage door. In a moment, he had unfurled a set of golden steps. Springing back, he dipped into a respectful bow. Harry watched in amazement as a shining, black shoe emerged from inside the carriage, followed immediately by the largest woman Harry had ever seen in his life.
"Does Hagrid have a sister?" Blaise murmured at his side.
Though Blaise may joke, Harry thought the woman might be even taller than Hagrid. She was dressed head to toe in black satin. A collection of magnificent opals gleamed at her neck and on her thick fingers. Dumbledore led his students in a round of applause after her impressive entrance, then approached and kissed the hand she extended toward him.
"My dear Madame Maxime," he said, "Welcome to Hogwarts!"
Madame Maxime greeted the headmaster with equal fondness, her face relaxing into a gracious smile. Harry noted that her voice was deep and heavily accented. She called the headmaster "Dumbly-dorr." Harry, Blaise, and Millie had to stifle their giggles. They turned their attention to the students who had filed out of the carriage after their headmistress. Most were shivering even worse than Harry, and he didn't wonder why. Their light blue robes seemed to be made of silk, and none of them had thought to wear a cloak for warmth.
"Come," Madame Maxime said imperiously to her students. They had chosen to warm up inside rather than wait for the delegation from Durmstrang.
"How big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?" Harry heard a Gryffindor student ask his neighbor from further down the line. Some of the other students must have had a similar thought, as many of them turned their faces to the sky with anticipant expressions. Harry was among them. They continued to wait in silence for a few moments, until Millie suddenly asked, "Do you hear that?"
He listened, and he heard it. There was an eerie noise drifting toward them. It was a rumbling, sucking sort of sound, and it was growing louder. Harry couldn't imagine what would make such a profound racket, when a Gryffindor sixth year began pointing and shouting, "The lake! Look at the lake!"
From their position in front of the castle, overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the black surface of the water. What had been smooth and still a moment before was now broken by great, rippling waves. Huge bubbles were erupting from the center, and from them a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had been pulled out of the lake's floor. What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the center of the whirlpool, and then Harry saw the rigging.
"It's a mast" he exclaimed to Blaise and Millie.
Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water. It had a strangely skeletal look to it, as though it was a resurrected shipwreck. With a great sloshing noise, it emerged entirely, bobbing along the turbulent water. They heard the splash of an anchor being cast down, and soon people were seen disembarking along a wooden plank to shore.
Harry was far more impressed with the delegation from Durmstrang. The students were bundled coats made of thick, matted fur, and seemed far more comfortable than the Beauxbatons students in their thin silks. Their headmaster was striking in furs of a different sort. His coat was sleek and silver, like his short hair. He called out to Dumbledore cheerfully as he preceded his students up the slope.
"Welcome, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied pleasantly.
Karkaroff was tall and thin. He had a goatee that ended in a small curl, though it did not quite hide his weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, the men shook hands, and then Karkaroff turned his face toward the castle.
"Dear old Hogwarts…" he said with a smile. Harry noticed that his teeth were rather yellow. "How good it is to be here. Viktor, come along into the warmth."
Karkaroff beckoned to one of his students. As the boy passed, Harry caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He began ruthlessly punching Blaise in the arm.
Harry's purpose in thus abusing his friend was merely to draw his attention to the fact that Viktor Krum, the world-renowned seeker, was standing on Hogwarts grounds before them. His action was perfectly unnecessary, of course, as Blaise could just as easily see Krum for himself. He returned Harry's excited jabs as they followed the rest of the students into the school.
"Autograph!" Harry finally managed to gasp as they crossed the threshold into the Great Hall. He began patting the deep pockets of his school robes, searching for a quill. He didn't have one, and Blaise was equally bereft.
"Even if you had a quill, what would you have him sign?" Millie pointed out, "You haven't any parchment."
"He could sign my forehead," Blaise retorted immediately. Harry suggested a more discreet location that could then be tattooed over.
"I had no idea he was still in school!" Blaise exclaimed. Harry nodded his head in agreement. He wondered how Krum could balance schoolwork with practice, and was even more impressed with his skills.
Once they had calmed down a little, they had leisure to observe that the Beauxbatons students had already taken seats at the Ravenclaw table. Harry wondered if they were attracted by the bronze and blue banners overhead, similar in color to their own uniforms. In contrast, the Durmstrang students hesitated near the entrance to the Great Hall. A Slytherin prefect promptly invited them to join their table, much to Harry and Blaise's delight.
But their cheerful smiles turned sour when they saw Draco trying to draw Krum into conversation the moment he sat down. Harry certainly did not want a discussion with Malfoy to be Krum's first experience at Hogwarts. He looked to Blaise, he saw that they felt the same.
"Oi, Malfoy!" Blaise said loudly as they made their way toward the table, "What have I told you about crowding my famous friends?"
Draco directed a hateful glare at him and spat, "I wasn't aware you were acquainted with Viktor, Zabini."
Blaise ignored him and thrust a hand at Krum, almost aggressively, "Blaise Zabini, pleasure to meet you."
Krum accepted the hand, though with some bewilderment. His expression was lost on Blaise, who was busy directing a look at Draco as if to say, "There, now we're acquainted."
Draco had already claimed a seat at Krum's side, so Harry, Blaise, and Millie seated themselves directly across from him. Harry was glad to be sitting so close, but he wasn't sure what he should say to Krum now that he had his chance.
The Beauxbatons group attracted some attention as they all simultaneously jumped to their feet. Madame Maxime had entered the hall, escorted by Professor Dumbledore. They did not take their seats again until their headmistress had settled at the staff table. Some of the Slytherin students laughed at their expense, joined by a few from Durmstrang, who had not demonstrated the same mark of respect for their own headmaster.
Dumbledore remained standing, and the snickering ceased as general silence fell over the Great Hall.
"Good evening, ladies, gentleman, ghosts, and guests," he 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."
A derisive laugh broke out among the Beauxbatons students. Harry didn't see who it was, but it was clear that the Durmstrang faction felt differently. Krum was gazing up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall with interest. When his eyes came down again, they briefly met Harry's. He smiled awkwardly, though his attention was quickly called away by Dumbledore, who had announced the start of the feast.
The plates in front of them filled with food as usual, though Harry noted a greater variety of dishes. He watched as the Durmstrang students began to reach eagerly toward dishes that were clearly familiar to them, though Harry had no idea what they were.
Blaise was attempting to draw Krum into conversation as they ate their meal, but Krum did not appear practiced at small talk. In fact, he looked just as uncomfortable as Harry felt. Somehow, the realization that Krum was shy emboldened Harry. He had been thinking of Krum as a famous seeker, but now he saw him as just another visitor in a foreign land. He must feel just as nervous as any other teen. Harry ventured to speak to him.
"Will you be staying in the castle?" he asked.
Krum glanced at him, and Harry could see his eyes travelling to the scar on his forehead. He evinced no other sign of recognition, however, as he replied, "I belief ve are sleeping in ze ship."
"Pity," said Blaise with a suggestive wink to a Durmstrang student seated on Krum's right, "We could have bunked together."
The Durmstrang boy's mouth fell open in surprise, and a bit of soup dribbled down the front of his robes. He cursed in his native tongue and quickly tried to pat himself dry, his face turning as crimson as his robes.
Millie chose that moment to nudge Harry and directed his attention to the Gryffindor table, saying, "Check out Weasley."
There were many Weasleys attending Hogwarts, but Harry knew instinctively that she meant Ron. Looking over his shoulder, Harry saw that a pretty Beauxbatons student with white-blond hair had approached the Gryffindor table. She appeared to be asking for one of the French dishes sitting untouched in front of Ron. He seemed awestruck by her presence, and could barely fumble out a response.
"Seems Weasley likes our guests well enough."
"And who can blame him?" said Blaise, "There are a lot of attractive students at Beauxbatons."
He caught the eye of a girl wearing a blue headscarf to match her robes. He grinned and she turned away with a haughty expression, though when the blonde returned the empty seat by her side they immediately began whispering. They peered at Blaise, and both giggled.
"Must you flirt with everybody?" Millie hissed at him, leaning around Harry to be heard.
Blaise laughed and said, "I'm just being friendly. Isn't that what this tournament is all about? Making new friends?"
Millie shook her head and muttered something in which Harry could discern the word "incorrigible."
Harry had just noticed two more faces at the staff table. Two extra seats, placed on either side of Dumbledore's throne-like chair, had recently been filled by Ludo Bagman and, much to Harry's dismay, Barty Crouch, the man who had dismissed Winky from his service.
"When you've finished making eyes at every visiting student, maybe you'll notice who's just arrived," Harry commented to his friend.
"What's he doing here?" Blaise gasped, his attention drawn to Bagman, his mother's current suitor. Unlike Harry, he hadn't seemed to remember Crouch.
"He organized the tournament, didn't he?" Millie reminded him, "That's how your mum knew about it."
Dumbledore soon settled their curiosity after the plates had been wiped clean.
"Allow me to introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
Harry noticed with a touch of perverse glee that the applause following Bagman's name was much louder than for Crouch. Bagman had been a famous Beater, but more than that, he looked far more likeable. Bagman waved to them all, and recognizing Blaise and Harry in the crowd, directed a pair of finger guns at them.
"God, he's so embarrassing," Blaise muttered through a tight smile.
"Just think, he could be your new stepdad," Harry teased.
Dumbledore announced that Bagman and Crouch would be joining Karkaroff, Maxime, and himself on the panel that would judge the champions' performance in the tasks to come. At the mention of champions and judgement, the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. It was time to announce how the champions of each school would be determined.
Dumbledore requested that Filch, the caretaker, bring in a wooden chest. Students craned their necks to watch as Filch dragged forward a large case encrusted jewels. It looked extremely old.
"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore continued, reviewing the information as if allowing the anticipation to build, "One from each of the participating schools. They will be awarded points based on how well they perform each of the tasks, which will be spaced throughout the year. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."
He drew his wand and tapped three times on the top of the wooden case. The lid folded itself back, and from the depths Dumbledore drew a large, roughly hewn chalice of wood. Alone, it was unremarkable, but the next instant the students gasped as bright blue-white flames erupted from the vessel.
Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top, where it could be seen by everyone in the Hall.
"Students who wish to participate must write their name and school on a piece of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have until tomorrow night to put their names forward. The goblet will return the names of the three judged most worthy to represent their schools. It will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be accessible to all who wish to compete."
Dumbledore paused then, his calm yet penetrating gaze apparently seeking a few determined-looking faces in the audience. He then added, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire to ensure that no one under the age of seventeen will be able to enter the tournament."
The announcements complete, Dumbledore bid them all a good night. The Hogwarts students prepared to return to their dormitories, while the Beauxbatons students made their way toward their carriage. Karkaroff quickly bustled up to collect his charges from the Slytherin table.
"Really Poliakoff?" he said testily to the boy who had dribbled soup down his front. "Can we get through one meal without you…"
He stopped himself abruptly. He had just noticed Harry. He knew that Karkaroff's gaze had travelled over his face and fixed upon his lightning-shaped scar. Then his eyes met Harry's again, and he seemed almost prepared to speak. He was interrupted by a growling voice that said, "Yeah, that's Harry Potter."
Professor Karkaroff spun around. Professor Moody was standing only a few feet away, leaning heavily on his staff. His magical eye had stopped spinning, and as glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang headmaster.
"Unless you have anything to say to Potter you might want to move," Moody said as the color drained from Karkaroff's face, "You're blocking the walkway."
It was with a look of very deep loathing that Karkaroff turned to leave, not saying a word to either Harry or Moody as he swept his students back toward their ship. Moody kept both eyes on him until he was out of sight.