The First Task!

Whether Dumbledore instructed this or not is no longer important, since they have no way of finding Dumbledore to verify whether their guesses are correct.

Harry accepted Professor Moody's offer of kindness, but he did not intend to use his flying talent in the First Task.

Before going to bed that night, Harry spoke with Veratia again.

"The First Task is on Wednesday." Harry held up the Crystal Ball. "How have you been lately? Are you busy?"

1

Veratia, of course, understood Harry's implication. She said regretfully, "I'm sorry, Harry, I've been quite busy lately—you know, there's a ton of work to do since the merger of the two Ministry of Magic, and I just can't get away."

"Oh."

Harry was a little disappointed, but he understood Veratia, since the Ministry of Magic couldn't do without her.

He roused himself and asked again, "Have you decided on the name of the Ministry of Magic after the merger?"

"The German Ministry of Magic," Veratia said with a slight smile. "After all, we are all Germans and speak German, so of course it should be called the German Ministry of Magic."

"Since the two countries have merged, why isn't it called Greater Germany?" Harry asked curiously.

Sure enough, Veratia highly affirmed this suggestion.

"That's a good suggestion," she said. "Greater Germany —well, I'll submit this suggestion to Ms. Rosier so she can hold a meeting to discuss and make a decision."

The next day, when class ended, Ron even prepared a question to ask Professor Trelawney.

"Beyond your the Sight— " Professor Trelawney muttered incoherently, her eyes tightly closed, "Don't let distractions interfere with your thinking."

"Professor," Ron raised his hand.

Professor Trelawney suddenly opened her eyes, abruptly interrupted, and she didn't look very happy.

"Mr. Weasley," Trelawney said, "What can I do for you?"

"Well, Professor," Ron glanced at Harry, then at Neville and Seamus, who were looking on expectantly, "I know you have a deep understanding of philosophy, so I wanted to ask you about the Triwizard Tournament. Do you think Harry... Harry will be the ultimate champion?"

What an excellent question! It immediately captured the attention of the entire classroom.

Professor Trelawney was taken aback for a moment when she heard the question, and then she smiled.

"Oh, my dear," she mumbled, "you mean, let me predict the Triwizard Tournament— "

She raised her head, and under the gaze of all the students in the classroom, her eyes gradually deepened.

Lavender Brown, sitting behind Hermione, suddenly laughed. She had actually believed in Professor Trelawney all last year, but with each unreliable Prophecy, she had long since stopped taking Professor Trelawney's Prophecy as a joke.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry, my dear," Professor Trelawney suddenly lowered her head and said to Ron, "I'm sorry, but the Triwizard Tournament doesn't seem to be going well with Mr. Potter. Well, according to the relative positions of Mars and Saturn, people born in July are in great danger of sudden and tragic death."

"So you mean Harry's going to die?" Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm just saying that people born in July have a chance," Professor Trelawney said, seemingly unwilling to dwell on the matter. "Trust my prediction, Miss Granger— well, have you chosen my course?"

She then belatedly realized that Hermione was in the class. Ever since she had a big argument with Hermione in class last year, Hermione had dropped the course and hadn't taken it in her fourth year either.

"I'm just concerned about Harry, Professor," Hermione forced a smile. "Then could you check if there's anything else Grim?"

For example, the Grim surrounding Harry?

Professor Trelawney became particularly agitated at the mention of Grim.

She still considered herself quite authoritative on matters of Grim.

"Of course, of course!" Professor Trelawney gave Harry a deep look. "Of course there's something Grim —I see it, I see it—there's a traitor among us—."

"Who is that?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Anyone could be a traitor; his double-dealing never surprises anyone," Professor Trelawney said in a chanting tone. "You need to keep your eyes open; this traitor might be the very person you thought couldn't possibly betray you." "So what you said is meaningless," Harry suddenly interjected. "Can I understand it as someone who ate a Meiji for breakfast having eaten one more Meiji than someone Meiji didn't?"

After being rebuked by Harry, Professor Trelawney fell silent.

She suddenly sat down in the chair, her black beetle-like eyes dull and lifeless, as if she had lost her dreams, and looked extremely dejected.

A silence fell over the classroom; even the students' even breathing could be heard clearly.

No one wanted to break the rare silence, after all, if the silence was broken, who knew if Professor Trelawney would start spreading "Grim" rumors again.

Although her fortune-telling was inaccurate, no one wants to be told, "You're going to die."

After a while, she sighed and announced the end of get out of class.

"You may have hurt her feelings," Seamus said from the top of the ladder as he climbed down from the classroom.

"Oh, I don't think she's hurt," Ron laughed sarcastically. "I think she's more likely just embarrassed after being exposed."

"You can't say that," Hermione said nonchalantly. "Isn't that how taking over a school works? Using ambiguous language to make you assume you're being targeted—"

"That's not quite right," Harry said, spreading his hands. "After all, Trelawney's great-great-grandmother was quite remarkable; she was the Oracle Cassandra Trelawney, and she was very famous back then."

"Perhaps." Hermione suddenly became materialistic. "Compared to vague and ethereal Divination, I believe more in speculation based on facts. That's the real science."

On Wednesday morning, Harry had his last class before the match.

It is Professor Binns ' History of Magic.

The History of Magic course was as boring as ever. Professor Binns ' voice seemed to have some kind of magic, and even Academic Bully like Hermione couldn't help but doze off in class.

Of course, Professor Binns was also quite open-minded, and he was exceptionally tolerant of students sleeping in class.

Perhaps he simply didn't want to care.

Anyway, the History of Magic is just about learning some history of the Magical World. It's not an important Charms Class. You can learn it if you want, or not if you don't.

Besides, Dumbledore doesn't pay him a salary, so why should he care so much?

At noon, the school announced a suspension of classes, and the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament began in the afternoon.

Everyone was incredibly excited; they chatted animatedly, and some even kept coming up to Harry.

Tell him to keep going, or say something encouraging.

Harry would thank them after taking a couple of bites, his gaze constantly shifting, trying to find Cassandra. He was actually hoping that Cassandra would come over and tell him to be careful, or say something else, even if she looked up and said, "I've prepared a whole bunch of tissues for you to cry on, Potter," it wouldn't be unacceptable.

Although Cassandra was imagined to be arrogant and haughty, in reality she was just like, "Oh, Potter."

Cassandra's voice suddenly rang out beside him.

Harry looked up and met Cassandra's beautiful eyes.

She was wearing a fitted green jacket over a white shirt—compared to Pabbie and Veratia, she didn't have a chest to be proud of, only a flat, cat-scratching chest; however, her legs were beautiful, long, white, and straight— Harry had touched them.

Harry looked down and saw the long, knee-length skirt Cassandra was wearing. To keep warm, she was also wearing long black cotton stockings on her long legs, but the skirt was so long that Harry couldn't tell whether they were knee-length stockings or pantyhose.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

Cassandra's voice carried a hint of mockery.

She wasn't angry at Harry's audacity; in fact, she was quite pleased.

It's always a good thing when a simpleton starts to understand.

"Look at the legs," Harry thought, and he said it.

Lower Scarhead.

"Oh, so you still have the leisure to do this," Cassandra said disdainfully. "I thought you'd be nervous, but it seems you don't take the First Task seriously at all—"

"Not really," Harry said, looking up. "Actually, I was quite nervous at first, but after seeing you, I wasn't nervous anymore."

The other children nearby, Ron, Seamus, and the two Weasley twins, gasped.

Learn from him! Mr. The Savior is not only good at using Charms, but his eloquence is also truly admirable.

Upon hearing Harry's words, a look of satisfaction flashed in Cassandra's eyes.

"Ha, all you say is nice things." Cassandra sat down next to Harry. "I've already heard from Pabbie about it. You know, I'm sure those little lizards are no match for you, Harry —if you get burned, I won't cry for you, I'll laugh out loud."

"Well, it seems you have a lot of faith in me." Harry shrugged. "Looks like our friendship has stood the test of time."

Cassandra asked with a sneer, "Merely tested by time?"

"There's a lot more." Harry smiled politely at Colin, who was taking his picture, and then said to Cassandra, "You should have received that news, right? It's the most explosive news lately. I really can't understand why the German Ministry of Magic and the Austrian Ministry of Magic would suddenly announce a merger—"

"This is none of our business," Cassandra said indifferently. "It's Gretel's business. She wants to rebuild Greater Germany, but that's a pipe dream—I don't think the Muggle or the American Ministry of Magic will stand idly by and let her mess things up like this."

"You don't need to worry too much," Cassandra continued. "For someone as remarkable as her, stirring things up is her natural talent—"

"..."

"What's wrong?" Cassandra asked.

"I don't know what to say," Harry sighed. "Maybe you're right, worrying about Veratia isn't what I should be doing right now. I should focus my energy on the Triwizard Tournament."

"That's right, Potter," Cassandra said with satisfaction. "I hope you win. I've already prepared your reward—"

"What is it?" Harry asked expectantly.

Cassandra's encouragement... is it meant to encourage me?

However, Cassandra did not answer him, but instead extended an Argentine finger and pressed it to Harry's lips.

"Don't ask," Cassandra said with a slight smile. "If we knew beforehand, there wouldn't be enough of a surprise, wouldn't you say, Mr. Potter?"

"Okay." Harry shrugged. He wouldn't ask if he didn't want to. The results of the match would be out soon, and the ship was bound to return.

Just then, Professor McGonagall hurriedly walked in from outside the Great Hall.

"Potter, now the warriors need to go to the field below—you must be prepared to complete Project Two."

Professor McGonagall looked very anxious; her glasses had fallen down onto her nose.

"Okay," Harry said, standing up. He suddenly remembered that he hadn't eaten enough, so he looked down at Cassandra and said, "Could you make me a shampoos? I didn't eat lunch properly, you know, so many people came to wish me a happy lunch."

"Um.

Cassandra picked up a piece of bread from the table and added a few things to it, all of which were high in calories and very filling.

"Well done." Harry didn't thank her, but took the bread and praised Cassandra.

Cassandra gave a soft hum.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione whispered. "You'll succeed!"

"Thank you." Harry took a bite of the sandwich; it tasted quite good.

"Three, two, A—Go for it!" the Gryffindor students shouted, led by Ron.

Harry looked like a hero going into battle, following Professor McGonagall out of the Great Hall while waving to the Great Hall students inside.

A burst of enthusiastic applause erupted in the Great Hall as people cheered and applauded for Harry.

"Well done, Harry!" "Get your act together!" "Don't embarrass yourself!"

Professor McGonagall looked somewhat flustered. She led Harry down the stone steps and outside. It was a cold afternoon in October, and she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Alright, don't panic," she said. "Keep calm. We have some sorcerers here; if things get bad, they'll step in and control the situation. Most importantly, make the most of your abilities. Nobody will think you're inferior to anyone else—are you alright?"

Harry thought to himself, "Please don't make me feel inferior. I feel like I'm not even ten times as good as you."

"It's alright," Harry reassured Professor McGonagall. "I'm fine."

Professor McGonagall led him around the edge of the forbidden area and toward where the Fire Dragon was.

As they approached the thicket from which they could see the area, Harry discovered a tent erected there, blocking the Fire Dragon from view, with the tent's entrance facing them.

"You must go in with a few other warriors," Professor McGonagall said, her voice trembling slightly. "When it's your turn, Potter. Mr. Bagman is inside—he will show you the steps one by one—good luck."

"Thank you," Harry said with a polite smile.

Professor McGonagall led him to the tent entrance. Harry went inside.

Phoebe Delacour sat on a low wooden stool in the corner. She was not as composed as usual; her face was very pale, and she looked like she was recovering from an illness.

Viktor Krum looked more somber than usual, which Harry guessed was probably his way of showing his inner turmoil.

When Harry came in, Phoebe looked up and gave him a forced smile, and Harry smiled back at her.

"Harry! That's great!" Bagman turned to look at him and said cheerfully, "Come in, come in, relax, make yourself at home!"

Bagman stood among the pale-faced warriors, looking like a huge cartoon character.

He put on his old Wasp team uniform again, looking much better than Dumbledore the Old Bee.

"Alright, now that everyone's here—it's time to tell you what's going on!" Bagman said excitedly. "But once everyone's gathered, I'll be passing this bag around to each of you in turn,"—he held up the purple silk bag and shook it at them—"You'll pick out the miniature model of the thing you'll be facing! They come in different—well—types. And I have something else to tell you—oh, right—your task is to collect the Golden Egg!"

Harry looked around.

Viktor Krum nodded to Adan, indicating that he had listened to Bagman's words, and then began to move around in the tent again, his face slightly green; Phoebe Delacour did not respond at all, perhaps she felt that Adan would panic and S.P.E.W. if he spoke.

"Don't be arrogant," Harry said to them. "Just like Mr. Bagman just said, don't be arrogant, act like you're at home."

Hearing Harry's words, Viktor and Phoebe looked up at him.

No, do you not know what the competition is about?!

Doesn't he know what we're about to face?!

"You can still withdraw from the competition now." Phoebe Rongya pressed her hand against her collarbone and moved it slightly downwards, trying to force herself to steady her breathing. "What you're about to face is something a fourth-grader like you can't handle. If you withdraw now, you might lose face, but at least you won't lose an arm or a leg or your life."

"Sorry, but I'm Gryffindor," Harry replied.

Phoebe Zhe Zhe smiled, but remained silent.

In the blink of an eye, the sound of hundreds upon hundreds of feet passing over the tents could be heard, their owners chatting and laughing excitedly.

Before long, we saw Mr. Bagman untie the small purple silk bag.

"Lady first," he said, handing the bag to Phoebe Delacour.

She reached her trembling hand into the bag and pulled out a small, lifelike model of a dragon—a Welsh Green dragon, with a number around its neck: number two. Harry saw that Phoebe showed no surprise.

Instead, seeing the resigned expression on the Vice-President's face, he knew their deduction was correct: Madame Maxime had told Phoebe what challenges she was about to face.

That makes perfect sense, since Madame Maxime had already seen the Fire Dragon, so she had no reason not to tell the warriors of her academy so they could prepare in advance.

Viktor confirmed the same thing, pulling out the bright red Chinese Fireball with the number 1 around its neck.

He didn't even blink before sitting down, staring at the ground, no one knew what he was thinking.

"Alright, it's your turn, Harry," Mr. Bagman said with a smile. "You have a 20/20 chance, or rather—of the remaining two, the first one is very easy, and the second one is extremely difficult. Now it all depends on your luck."

Harry raised an eyebrow, reached into the silk pocket, and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail dragon, numbered 3.

As he looked down, the Little Dragon spread its wings, revealing its tiny fangs.

Its mouth looks quite fierce.

"Alright, you've all got yours!" Bagman said. "You've all drawn your respective Fire Dragon, and the numbers around their necks indicate your order of engagement. Understand? Okay, I need to leave you all for a moment to give some instructions. Mr. Krum, you're number one. You'll go into the arena when you hear the Fire Dragon, understand? Now—... Harry —can I say a few words to you? Shall we go outside?"

"Okay," Harry said, standing up and getting up with Bagman to go outside the tent.

Bagman led him a little further away, into the bushes, then turned to look at him with a subspecies fatherly expression.

"How are you feeling, Harry? Is there anything I can help you with?"

"What?" Harry said. "Oh, thank you, but I'm sorry, I don't need it."

"Looks like you already have a plan, right? Oh, I guess so. You have a good relationship with the Weasley family."

"You should already know what the match is about—" Bagman lowered his voice furtively and asked, "I don't know what your plans are, but if you're interested, I can offer you a few ideas—I mean," Bagman continued, lowering his voice even further, "you're at a disadvantage here, Harry —if I can help you—"

"You bet on me to win, didn't you?" Harry looked at Mr. Bagman with a half-smile.

"Haha." Mr. Bagman laughed heartily, patting Harry's arm as he said, "Yes, during the Quidditch World Cup, I was with your girlfriend, oh— the Austrian Ministry of Magic —no, Miss Gretel, the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the Greater German Ministry of Magic, who placed a bet. She wrote to me a couple of days ago, asking me to place an achena Galleon bet on you for her, and I think it's necessary for me to do the same this time—"

"Don't worry," Harry said with a smile. "Professor Dumbledore secretly taught me some methods for dealing with Fire Dragon, so I think dealing with the Hungarian Horntail dragon shouldn't be a problem." "Since Professor Dumbledore has already taught you, then I'm relieved," Mr. Bagman said happily. "Then I—"

Suddenly the whistle blew, and Mr. Bagman took off running, saying as he ran, "Oh, my Mei Qie's Bitter Tea, I must run now. Good luck, Mr. Potter— "

Harry walked toward the tent and saw Viktor coming out of it.

"Good luck," Harry said with a smile.

Viktor nodded solemnly to Harry, and as they passed each other, Viktor whispered, "Thank you."

His tone was heavy, with a strong Eastern Europe flavor.

Back in the tent, Harry saw Phoebe squatting on the ground, looking emo.

Her long silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, even reaching the ground.

"I still suggest you relax a bit, at least don't be so tense," Harry told her. "The ship's return means facing those Fire Dragon. Even if you're feeling down right now, it won't change anything. You might as well face it with a smile..."

Phoebe looked up at Harry, but didn't say anything.

Not everyone has Harry's big heart. Phoebe is just a delicate and beautiful girl; she has never fought Fire Dragon before.

—Oh, that's not entirely accurate, since the competition isn't about fighting or defeating a Fire Dragon Fire Dragon, but about retrieving Golden Egg right under Fire Dragon nose.

Just then, Mr. Bagman's loud shouts pierced through the tent and reached their ears.

"Brilliant! Stinging Hex!" Mr. Bagman shouted. "Very daring!"

The Chinese Fireball dragon let out a terrifying, earth-shattering scream, and everyone gasped in unison, "He showed extraordinary courage—yes, he got the Golden Egg!"

The overwhelming applause shattered the winter air like broken glass.

"Looks like he succeeded," Harry said to Phoebe. "Now it's your turn."

Phoebe looked up again and gave Harry a very unhappy look.

That's too much to say.

Harry shrugged.

I meant well, I was just worried you'd take it too seriously.

When the whistle blew again, Bagman called out loudly, "Miss Delacour, please come on stage!"

Phoebe stood up. Her legs seemed to be numb from squatting. After she stood up, she was trembling from head to toe.

Especially the wand in her hand, which she shook so much it almost left afterimages.

It's clear that she truly embodies Zhang, the Zhang of the world.

"Oh, I can't be sure this is a smart move!" they heard Bagman shout excitedly. "Oh—just a little bit more! Watch out—my God, I thought she had already succeeded!"

Ten minutes later, Harry heard cheers and applause erupt from the crowd once again. It seemed Phoebe had succeeded.

Then there was a moment of silence as the judges scored Phoebe —and then thunderous applause erupted again—and then the whistle blew for the third time.

Harry knew that when the whistle blew, it was his turn to go on stage.

There was no one else in the tent. He took out his wand from his pocket and leisurely walked out of the tent.

There's nothing to be excited about; after all, he's fought the Fire Dragon before, and more than once.

He went through the tent entrance, outside, past the trees, and through the gap in the fence.

We arrived at the competition venue.

It looks similar to Quidditch arena, but the Quidditch is much larger.

The entire school's faculty and students sat around the stands, along with officials from the Ministry of Magic, reporters from various newspapers, and many wizards from all over the world who had come to Hogwarts to compete.

Conservatively speaking, there must be at least 30,000 to 40,000 people fighting here.

It seems that the Triwizard Tournament is indeed a very influential event. Harry thinks that if it weren't for the big news of the merger of Asia, German-Austrian Merger, perhaps even more people would have come here to compete.

He looked up again and saw the Hungarian Horntail dragon standing prominently at the other end of the field.

It crouched low, guarding its nest of eggs, its wings folded shut, its fierce yellow eyes fixed on Harry.

This was an enormous, scale-covered lizard-like reptile named Ajata. It violently writhed its long, pointed tail, leaving a series of cratered marks several meters long in the hard ground.

Amidst the uproar from the crowd, Harry assumed it was cheering him on.

He looked up and searched around for his shoes.

He saw Cassandra in the direction of Slytherin.

She was also clapping for Harry, looking completely unlike her usual aloof self.

In Hufflepuff's direction, Pabbie even sitting on a stool, cheering for Harry.

Harry looked for the shoes again, but they didn't appear, nor did they find the figure he longed to see.

Just as he was feeling somewhat disappointed, he was surprised to find that Ya Dao's beautiful figure was applauding him from the High Table.

It was Veratia; Harry recognized her immediately.

He was initially disappointed that Veratia couldn't attend, but suddenly he was full of energy.

He looked again at the Hungarian Horntail that was staring intently at him, as if it wanted to swallow him whole.

"Are you ready?" Mr. Bagman's voice rang out, loud enough to drown out the clamor of the crowd.

Harry raised one arm to indicate to Mr. Bagman that he was ready.

"Very well," Mr. Bagman shouted amidst the commotion, "Then—our last sub-warrior,

That is, the youngest warrior, Mr. Potter— we know that he is only fourteen years old this year, attending Grenfell House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and is currently only in his fourth year. "Of course, age is not a problem, and we know him very well—the famous Dark Wizard the Dark Lord was once defeated by him."

At this point, a burst of enthusiastic cheers erupted from the audience.

The Savior, who doesn't know him?

The mere infant Jing, with his superhuman physique, defeated the world-renowned Dark Wizard Voldemort. This feat is entirely verifiable, isn't it?

"Of course, that's all history. His grades in school were quite good, which is why Headmaster Dumbledore made an exception and allowed him to participate in the Triwizard Tournament before he was seventeen. So let's cheer again and give a shout of approval to this youngest warrior."

The crowd erupted again with a cacophony of shouts and cheers, interspersed with a few curses. Some of the Durmstrang Warriors supporters, along with some Beauxbatons Warriors supporters, were dissatisfied with Mr. Bagman's self-serving agenda and were demanding a Geneva.

"Alright, enough chit-chat." Mr. Bagman, realizing he'd gone a bit too far with the boasting, announced loudly, "Now, let the competition officially begin!"

As Mr. Bagman's voice faded, the Hungarian Horntail dragon let out a deafening roar.