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Track Eight: Sleep On The Floor, Lumineers
The great hall glowed with warmth. The large, usually drafty hall, was toasty and illuminated by ten times more floating candles and constellations than it normally had. Circe looked around at the hundreds of new witches and wizards around her, all of the magic in their veins seemed to be buzzing out of their bodies and into the air around them. She was sure the excitement in the room alone would electrify a muggle.
Sitting next to her, Cedric and Emrys's eyes were about to pop out of their sockets when they saw Krum walking to sit behind them at the Slytherin table. She smirked into her roll when he tripped over his feet in an attempt to squeeze past the students mobbing him. Emrys and Cedric both shot her a look of contempt.
"You ought to show him a bit of respect, he is a world-class Quidditch player"
"- And a student, I wonder how he manages!" added Emrys. Cedric nodded in agreement.
"Aren't you a little old to be obsessed with Quidditch players? Cedric is practically an adult for Merlin's sake, isn't it embarrassing?"
Before their playful banter progressed into a proper quarrel, the great hall was silenced by the loud thunder of their Headmaster's voice.
"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen, ghosts - and most particularly - guests," Dumbledore boomed, looking out among the students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will both be comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be opened at the end of the feat. Now I invite you to get comfortable and make yourself at home!"
Food materialized onto their empty plates and chatter erupted from every crevice of the great hall. The dome echoed and amplified the voices by ten. It buzzed with energy, bodies were alight with anticipation and bubbling curiosity. She could hear whispers and rumors forming, and bets being placed at who will win or dares being made to enter. She couldn't hide her disdain at people for treating this like a child's game, not a potentially fatal high-stakes tournament.
"The moment has come," said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket —" "The what?" Circe muttered.
Emrys shrugged.
"— just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation" — there was a smattering of polite applause — "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater (Circe automatically disapproved), or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced. Remembering him in his neat suit at the Quidditch World Cup, Circe thought he looked strange in wizard's robes. His toothbrush mustache and severe parting looked very odd next to Dumbledore's long white hair and beard.
