The wand-weighing ceremony officially began.
Mr. Ollivander, the master wandmaker, inspected the three champions' wands in turn with his pale eyes, which seemed capable of seeing through everything.
Pheobe's maple wand emitted pink sparks, carrying the sensitivity and capriciousness unique to Veela blood.
Krum's hornbeam wand was rigid and thick, filled with the same silent strength from northern Europe as its owner.
Cedric's holly wand was supple, loyal, and dependable, just like Hufflepuff's character.
The focus of the ceremony soon shifted from the champions to the judges' table.
Everyone's eyes converged on the important figures who would determine the course of the tournament.
Smiling, Dumbledore turned to the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation beside him.
The man had a stiff face and a stern expression, his meticulously trimmed short hair like a helmet-the very image of Mr. Barty Crouch.
"Barty," Dumbledore said gently, though a barely perceptible hint of amusement lay deep in his blue eyes, "it's been a while. I hear your new assistant, Percy Weasley, is doing rather well?"
Crouch's body stiffened for an instant.
But he quickly recovered and answered in a flat, official tone, every word as cold as if it had been taken from a filing cabinet.
"Everything is handled according to regulations, Albus."
"Mr. Weasley... is adequately competent."
"I've already sent him on a business trip to Italy. As you know, your school's Professor Holmes caused some trouble over there, requiring the Ministry of Magic to do a little cleaning up."
Dumbledore's smile deepened.
He reached out and, uncharacteristically, gave Crouch a heavy pat on the shoulder.
"Percy is an excellent young man."
An extremely faint smile flashed across Crouch's face, mingling bitterness with pride.
Seated at the other end, Karkaroff watched this scene with disgust.
His hatred for Barty Crouch