𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐚¹- hp.

𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢. and so the madness begins.

Harry and Hermione shared a matching amused look, nothing short of brows raised and lips quirked, and proceeded to snort.

"Well, they look a lot happier than the Beauxbatons lot." Harry observed, though he was mostly ignored.

Up at the staff table, Filch ( the miserable coot of a caretaker ) was adding chairs. He was wearing an old, mouldy tail coat in honour of the occasion that had even Harry turning up his nose; he truly couldn't wait to tell Lavinia about the disastrous outfit, and the disgust that would settle against her features. Though, he was surprised to see him adding four chairs, two on either side of Dumbledore's.

"There are only two extra people." Harry said, "Why's Filch putting out four chairs? Who else is coming?"

"Eh?" Ron vaguely said; he was still staring avidly at Krum.

When all of the students had finally entered the Hall and settled down at their tables the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. When their Headmistress appeared, the pupils from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laughed, but the Beauxbatons party seemed quite unembarrassed and did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side. However, Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall.

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

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

"No one's making you stay!" Hermione whispered, bristling at her.

Dumbledore continued on, "The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast; I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

He sat down, and Harry watched as Karkaroff leaned forward at once, and engaged him in a 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 Harry had ever seen, including some that were definitely foreign.

"What's that?" Ron pointed towards a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.

"Bouillabaisse." Hermione answered, and Harry was not at all surprised she knew what it was; it seemed, she truly was the brightest witch of her age.

"Bless you." Ron replied.

"It's French." Hermione told him with a small laugh, "I had it on holiday summer before last, it's very nice."

Helping himself to black pudding, Ron briefly raised his brows, "I'll take your word for it."

The Great Hall appeared somehow much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students there. Perhaps, he thought, 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.

Hagrid sidled into the Hall through a door behind the staff table twenty minutes after the start of the feast. He slid into his seat at the very end of the table and waved at Harry, Ron and Hermione with a very heavily bandaged hand.

"Skrewts doing all right, Hagrid?" Harry called.

"Thrivin'." Hagrid happily called back.

"Yeah, I'll just bet they are." Ron quietly said to the two. "Looks like they've finally found a good they like, doesn't it? Hagrid's fingers."