The fourth Champion?
Neither Phoebe nor Krum had anticipated this turn of events.
"What does this mean, Mr. Bagman?" Phoebe asked, puzzled. "Does Hogwarts have two students participating in the competition?"
Ludo rubbed his hands together and said in Sonorus, "That's it, Miss Delacour, the Goblet of Fire has expelled the names of all four of you."
Morris calmly crossed his arms.
To be honest, this was not what he expected, but it was understandable.
In his view, Harry Potter is almost synonymous with the accident itself.
With Harry present, it would be unreasonable for the Triwizard Tournament to start and end smoothly.
How will things actually develop?
" Madame Maxime and I both need an explanation, Dumbledore," Karkaroff's voice came from the side, his expression somber. " Hogwarts has two participants. Do you think that's fair?"
Madame Maxime also frowned, her displeasure evident.
Dumbledore calmly glanced at Harry and slowly said, " The Goblet of Fire has probably been tampered with; otherwise, such an obvious mistake wouldn't have occurred."
"Something was sabotaged?" Karkaroff closer, his tone aggressive. " Dumbledore, who do you think was responsible? Hmm? Who benefited from it? Hogwarts? Or the other two schools?"
This guy doesn't get along with Dumbledore, Morris thought.
Dumbledore's expression remained calm. "So, Karkaroff, what do you think is the best way to resolve this?"
Without hesitation, Karkaroff replied, "It's simple, just ensure that all three schools have the same number of participants."
"Let Durmstrang and Beauxbatons each add one more Champion, so each school has two participants. What do you think, Madame Maxime?"
Madame Maxime nodded demurely. "I think it's fine."
"In fact," Dumbledore said after a moment of silence, "I don't object, but..."
Before he could finish speaking, Ludo interrupted impatiently, " The Goblet of Fire has gone out, Karkaroff. You know, it only reignites at the start of each Triwizard Tournament. Want it to spit out a couple more names now? Absolutely not."
"Moreover," his tone grew serious, "The contract for the competition has been established. The contract automatically took effect the moment these four students' names were ejected from the Goblet of Fire of Fire. They must participate, or there will be very terrible consequences."
The room immediately erupted into a noisy discussion.
How could you do this?
" Dumbledore, do you have a way to change that contract?"
I disagree!
Later, even Moody joined the discussion, believing that someone wanted to harm Harry, causing him to die in the competition, and deliberately making Harry the fourth contestant.
In short, the scene was very chaotic.
But in the end, everyone agreed to let the game continue as it was.
Morris naturally had no objection to this.
Harry, on the other hand, didn't look too good. He thought Moody was right because he simply couldn't cross the Age Line, so he didn't register.
Because too much time was wasted on discussions, the player coaching was postponed to the following morning.
While the other students were in class, Morris went to the instruction room.
Surprisingly, he was the first to arrive.
The room was furnished differently than last night; there were seven or eight blue and white armchairs next to the fireplace, and a teapot and some snacks were placed on a small table against the wall.
Morris took two candies, chose a seat at the very edge, and idly took a book out of his pocket to start reading.
He had just turned two pages when the door was pushed open.
Phoebe Delacour walked in.
She paused slightly when she saw Morris, then gracefully walked to his side and sat down in the adjacent chair.
Although she was still unhappy that Hogwarts had two Champion, she understood that it was the Goblet of Goblet of Fire's mistake and had nothing to do with the players.
Morris didn't even look up, remaining focused on his book.
Phoebe became interested and leaned closer, asking curiously, "What are you looking at?"
Morris didn't answer, but closed the book and turned the cover around to show her.
The title above is -- "One Hundred Little Tips to Make a Witch Beautiful and Elegant".
Phoebe's expression immediately stiffened.
What the heck??
"You're joking." Her voice was dry and monotone.
"No," Morris said seriously, "Sometimes, the truly useful spells are hidden in these miscellaneous books."
Phoebe stared at his face for several seconds.
"It seems what others said was right," she said, leaning back in her chair.
Morris paused in his book-turning motion, then looked up. "What other people?"
Phoebe smiled. "I heard about you from the other students."
Morris became interested. He closed the book, turned to look at her, and asked, "Oh? What did you find out?"
He hadn't expected that.
However, when Phoebe heard Morris's question, she simply winked at him and said, "Guess."
Morris was somewhat speechless.
It seems like he said the same thing to the other person just yesterday.
They really hold grudges.
Phoebe's smile widened as she tidied her long hair, clearly in a good mood.
In fact, she had just happened to run into a few Ravenclaw students.
Their assessment of Morris was almost identical: somewhat strange, somewhat frightening, but a good man.
This assessment is very valuable.
"How good is Harry Potter's magic?" Phoebe asked suddenly, her tone casual. "I heard he's only in fourth year; this competition might be dangerous for him."
Morris guessed that the other person was probably gathering information about the Triwizard Tournament opponents, so he didn't say much, only replying, " Harry and I are the same age."
"Really?" Phoebe paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping over Morris's face before she said with a subtle expression, "I thought you were older than him."
Morris smiled slightly. "It seems your information isn't comprehensive either."
Phoebe was momentarily speechless.
After that, the two stopped talking and silently waited for the others to arrive.
Morris took another pear-shaped hard candy from the dessert plate on the table, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.
The sweet fruity aroma melted in his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting aimlessly to the flames in the fireplace.
The orange-red flames flickered, growing weaker and weaker.
At that moment, Phoebe moved; she stretched out her hand and waved it very naturally toward the fireplace.
The next second, the flames in the fireplace seemed to have been given a handful of straw, leaping up suddenly and raising the temperature of the entire room by several degrees.