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Few of the young wizards could tear their attention away from Professor Watson's earlier revelations, his final points falling on ears already buzzing with excitement and dreams of glory. The Great Hall, still warm from the feast, hummed with whispered conversations and barely contained enthusiasm.

The Triwizard Tournament's grand prize of a thousand Galleons, though reserved exclusively for the ultimate champion, was only the beginning. Professor Watson had revealed that just the selection as a champion would catapult the chosen few into instant celebrity status throughout the European wizarding world. As if this weren't enough to set their young hearts racing, he added that even after the competition's conclusion, champions would receive a generous consolation prize of several hundred Galleons.

This announcement undoubtedly ignited a wildfire of excitement among the assembled students. Several Hogwarts students who had previously backed-down at tales of the tournament's dangers were now reconsidering, their earlier fears melting away like morning mist under the warm sun of potential glory.

The more proactive among them were already creating quite a commotion, scrambling to borrow quills and parchment from their peers, eager to submit their names to the Goblet of Fire the moment the feast concluded. The scratching of quills and rustling of parchment added to the symphony of excitement filling the hall.

"The age line—" Fred's eyes sparkled with mischievous determination, catching the light of the floating candles above. He leaned forward, his voice barely containing his excitement, "That's child's play, really. An aging potion will fool it without breaking a sweat. Once your name's nestled safely in that cup, you can just sit back and watch the show—after all, how could a mere magical artifact possibly distinguish between someone who's seventeen and someone who's just shy of it?"

His freckled face bore the confident grin of someone who had already tasted victory in his mind.

"You're actually planning to enter?" Ron asked dazedly, his voice thick with a mixture of disbelief and barely concealed envy. The golden gleam of imagined prize money seemed to dance in his eyes, making him slightly dizzy with possibility. "But hang on—haven't you just received that thousand Galleon investment from Remus?"

"Who in their right mind would ever complain about having too much gold, you daft fool—" George interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand, his tone telling that his younger brother had asked something ridiculously obvious.

"I must warn you!" Hermione's voice cut through their excitement with concern as she drew in a deep, steadying breath. Her eyes, filled with genuine worry, darted between the twins before settling on Ron with a particularly sharp look. "The tournament isn't just some game—it's historically proven to be incredibly dangerous! I don't believe underage wizards possess the necessary magical knowledge or experience to handle these tasks safely. We simply haven't learned enough yet!"

"Come off it, Hermione! We're students in Professor Watson's PE class!" Fred protested, his voice carrying a note of indignation as he straightened up in his seat. "You're in that class too—you've seen firsthand what we're capable of now!"

"But that's precisely the point—" Hermione pressed on urgently, her words tumbling out in a rush of concern. She leaned forward, her eyes intense with conviction. "You're not the only ones in the PE class. There are students who are adult there too. How could you possibly hope to compete against their experience and skill?"

"We'll soon find out, won't we—" George replied with unwavering confidence, his grin matching his twin's. He turned to Fred, excitement crackling between them like visible electricity. "Come on, brother—tonight's going to be one for the history books!"

Hermione had severely underestimated just how powerful the allure of championship and glory could affect these young wizards. Ron stood frozen, his gaze following his brothers' leaving figures as they disappeared into the crowd, clearly torn between following them and heeding Hermione's warnings.

Even Harry, who had never sought fame or fortune, had an expression of internal struggle; while the prize money held little appeal to him, the honor of being chosen as champion was a siren song few could resist.

The crowd dispersed with remarkable speed, their footsteps echoing through the stone corridors like rolling thunder. Many students practically flew up the sweeping staircases, their robes billowing behind them like dark wings in their haste to return to their dormitories and prepare for what promised to be a historic night.

The usual strict enforcement of curfew seemed suspended; even the notoriously vigilant Filch and his companion Mrs. Norris would surely make an exception on this extraordinary evening.

"Let's go, let's go," Professor Watson's commanding voice rang through the corridor as he ascended the stairs. Students instinctively parted before him like water around a rock, none daring to obstruct his progress.

Meanwhile, Karkaroff shepherded his Durmstrang students toward the castle grounds, their heavy furs making soft shuffling sounds against the flagstone floor as they moved as one toward the exit, clearly having no intention of taking up residence within the castle. At the staff table, Bagman remained deep in conversation with Dumbledore, their discussion showing no signs of concluding despite the rapidly emptying Great Hall.

Observing this scene, Ron let out a dejected sigh. "Let's go," he muttered, his earlier excitement somewhat dampened by the night's developments.

They followed the trailing end of the dispersing crowd up the marble staircase, their footsteps joining the symphony of movement echoing through the castle.

Upon reaching the third floor, they encountered an unexpected scene: Lavender and Parvati had stopped dead in their tracks, their faces clouded with concern as they whispered urgently about something in the corridor ahead. Neville stood nearby; his round face painted with surprise.

"What's wrong?" Hermione approached her dormmates with curiosity evident in her voice.

"Oh, that Beauxbatons girl!" Lavender's voice dripped with barely concealed displeasure. "We just saw her heading down that way!"

"What?" Not only did Hermione's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but Ron and Harry's jaws dropped in perfect synchronization, their eyes blinking rapidly as they processed this information.

"She must be going to see Professor Watson!" Parvati's voice rose with indignation, her dark eyes flashing as she turned accusingly toward Harry. "She's probably trying to curry favor with Professor Watson—I bet she's hoping to gain an advantage over her classmates in becoming champion!" Her voice dropped to a fierce whisper, "But Professor Watson will see right through her schemes, I'm certain of it!"

Meanwhile, in the Student Safety Office, Bryan was attempting to settle in for what promised to be a long night. Having consumed more drinks than food during the welcoming feast out of courtesy to their guests, he was preparing a strong cup of tea for himself as soon as he returned to his office. Then, he walked behind his desk, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved a simple wooden box.

The box contained a selection of specially crafted biscuits, a thoughtful offering from the house-elves who knew his preference for lighter sweetness compared to the standard Hogwarts treats.

The familiar aroma of the freshly brewed tea mingled with the subtle sweetness of the biscuits, creating a comforting atmosphere in the modest office.

Knock, knock, knock—

The sudden sound of knuckles against wood shattered the peaceful moment. Bryan had just settled into his chair with a steaming cup of tea, with extra leaves to combat the sleepless night ahead, when the unexpected visitor announced their presence.

"Come in—" Bryan's invitation carried a note of resignation, as if he'd anticipated this interruption.

The door swung open to reveal Fleur Delacour, her presence immediately transforming the atmosphere of the simple office.

She had gathered her silvery-blonde hair into an elegant high ponytail, the style lending her an air of businesslike sophistication that contrasted sharply with her earlier appearance in the Great Hall.

Upon entering, she didn't immediately greet Bryan, instead took her time to survey her surroundings with undisguised curiosity. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arched in surprise as she took in the modest furnishings and simple decor of the office belonging to the renowned Bryan Watson.

"Is this Hogwarts style, Mr. Watson?" Fleur's voice carried a familiar warmth that seemed at odds with their brief acquaintance. Her accent wrapped around each word like silk as she continued her inspection of the office. "Or is it your personal preference? This office looks more suited to a monastery!"

"A well-mannered guest shouldn't criticize someone's home before even offering a proper greeting, Ms. Delacour—" Bryan's response came with a casual smile, though his eyes held a glimmer of amusement. He gestured toward a chair, inviting Fleur—who seemed to have grown several inches taller since their meeting six months ago—to take a seat.

Rising from his own chair, he moved toward the window, intending to let in some fresh night air.

Rather than accepting the offered seat, Fleur drifted interestedly toward Bryan's desk, her curiosity drawing her to examine his workspace more closely. Her eyes fell first on the box of simple biscuits he'd just retrieved, then wandered to a substantial stack of unopened letters pushed to one side of the desk. Something about this sight caused her face to cloud with disapproval.

"Don't—"

A shiver ran through her frame as she noticed Bryan's movement toward the window, and her voice took on a reproachful tone, "Brrr— it's absolutely freezing here!"

"Then perhaps you should count yourself fortunate that the Triwizard Tournament isn't being hosted at Durmstrang." Bryan's response came with a casual shrug as he abandoned his attempt at ventilation. Instead, he turned his attention to the fireplace, making the flames to leap higher with a subtle gesture before returning to settle himself on the office's comfortable sofa.

"What brings you here, Miss Delacour? Has Hogwarts somehow failed in its hosting duties, compelling you to lodge a complaint mere moments after the feast's conclusion?"

"Oh, my concerns aren't with your school so much as with you specifically—" Fleur's gaze fixed on Bryan Watson, who sat across from her with fingers interlaced.

This was their second meeting, their first having occurred at the Triwizard Tournament preparatory meeting six months ago. While Bryan Watson's physical appearance remained largely unchanged, there was now a subtle but unmistakable air of calm authority about him, a quiet dignity that seemed to emanate from him and cause an involuntary flutter in one's chest when their eyes met unexpectedly.

This sensation was completely foreign to Fleur, who had spent her life being the one who caused others to feel flustered and uncertain. When men encountered her, it was always they who struggled to maintain their composure, their eyes filling with that familiar desperate hunger that she had come to find so tediously predictable.

Yet Bryan Watson's light purple eyes remained clear and steady, without that nauseating eager possessiveness she had grown accustomed to detecting in male gazes.

Mysterious and powerful. These words echoed in Fleur's mind as she assessed Bryan Watson, finding them somehow inadequate to fully capture the spirit of the man before her.

"I wrote you three letters, Mr. Watson," Fleur leaned forward slightly, the flickering firelight tinting her faintly exposed collarbone a pale gold. Her naturally husky voice carried an unusual emotion. "The most recent was just two months ago—" She paused meaningfully, her blue eyes searching his face for any reaction. "But I didn't receive even a single reply. I suppose, Mr. Watson, my letters likely reside in that rather substantial pile on your desk marked 'No Reply Needed'?"

"Ah—" Bryan's response came with a smile that managed to be both thoughtful and slightly mischievous. "The Hogwarts' house-elves handle the sorting of my letters. They must have made an unfortunate error in classification. Don't worry, I'll reprimand them severely—"

Hmph—

'This excuse was really too perfunctory.'

Fleur snorted with disbelief. Her eyes continued their careful survey of the office, lingering momentarily on the mysterious black curtain that concealed one entire wall. Though curiosity clearly burned in her gaze, she refrained from inquiring about what might lie behind it.

The plain simplicity of the office seemed to diminish her interest in further exploration. Her attention returned to Bryan, who maintained his polite, slightly enigmatic smile. The flickering firelight created interesting patterns in his unusual purple eyes as she gathered her thoughts.

"May I ask you something, Mr. Watson?" Her voice took on a more focused tone, dropping its earlier playful edge.

"What would you like to know?"

"That witch you defeated at the Quidditch World Cup—" Sudden enthusiasm colored Fleur's tone as she leaned forward staring seriously into Bryan's eyes and asked abruptly. "What's your relationship with her?"

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