Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

"Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and ghosts.

And tonight, a special welcome to our guests.

We are truly delighted to have you here at Hogwarts. I hope—and am certain—that your stay will be both comfortable and enjoyable.

Now, let us eat, drink, and relax to our hearts' content!"

The foreign guests visiting for the Triwizard Tournament were greeted with these brief welcoming remarks from Dumbledore, who then gave his wand a flick. Gold plates laid across the house tables filled with a variety of dishes, many unfamiliar to Hogwarts students. These were international cuisines prepared specially for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students.

"Hey, Mirabel! Viktor Krum is sitting at the Slytherin table! What should I do? Should I go talk to him?!"

"I don't care. I'm busy."

Edith, staring at Viktor Krum, the Quidditch star from Durmstrang, spoke with barely contained excitement. Mirabel, however, couldn't have cared less. For her, the dishes in front of her were far more interesting than a brooding Quidditch player. Flattering Krum was something she could leave to Malfoy.

As expected, Malfoy had already stationed himself directly across from Krum and was animatedly trying to engage him in conversation, using exaggerated gestures to draw attention.

"Oh, so in that match, you caught the Snitch because you thought you couldn't win?"

"Yes. I... wanted to end the game on my own terms. Also, if we let the score gap grow too wide, it could affect the overall standings.

As Seekers, there are times when we must choose the way we lose. A tactical loss, you might say."

"Right! Absolutely! That makes perfect sense!"

Krum's English was heavily accented, making it a bit difficult to follow. Words like "I" sounded more like "vok," and "we" became "vare-vare." It seemed certain vowels were challenging for him to pronounce, but considering he was speaking a foreign language, he was doing well. In contrast, his headmaster, Karkaroff, and deputy headmistress, Mavis, spoke English fluently. However, they were originally from Britain, so it was hardly surprising.

"By the way, Mirabel… is that good?"

"Indeed. You should try something yourself."

As she spoke, Mirabel extended her fork toward one of the dishes on her plate. It was a roasted salmon, richly buttered and seasoned with herbs, its aroma tantalizing.

"Alright then…"

Nodding thoughtfully, Edith pulled a dish of gratin toward herself. It was a globally renowned French dish, and she must have figured it would be a safe choice. Stabbing a fork into the macaroni covered in creamy white sauce, she took a bite.

"Mmm, this is delicious!"

"Indeed. But when set beside French cuisine like this, one can't help but despair at our nation's limited culinary repertoire. Not only that, but even British cuisine often tastes better when prepared by foreigners."

"Huh?"

"I once had fish and chips made by a Japanese chef, and it was a completely different experience. It's as if we can't even bring out the best in our own dishes."

The notion that "British food is terrible" is a widely acknowledged truth, one even the British themselves often admit. The cooking methods are notoriously imprecise, with vegetables boiled to the point of losing their texture and ingredients fried until they're charred.

The common critique is that British cooking overprocesses ingredients, masking their natural flavors—an approach that other nationalities generally dislike. Ironically, it's not as though the British palate is especially fond of this either. Many Britons openly prefer food prepared by Japanese, Italian, or French chefs.

This stark contrast between what is served and what could be is why British cuisine often becomes a self-deprecating joke among its own people.

Even British cuisine, often maligned, has its gems—dishes that are genuinely delicious and worth celebrating.

Moreover, the house-elves of Hogwarts are all exceptional cooks, far surpassing the standards of most local eateries. The problem isn't the skill in preparation but the foundations—British culinary traditions simply pale in comparison to those of other nations.

As the feast concluded, the food vanished from the tables, followed by dessert. It was then that Dumbledore rose to his feet once more. The moment everyone had been waiting for had arrived. A palpable excitement spread through the hall as all the students leaned forward in anticipation.

Dumbledore's serene smile met their eager gazes, and his voice rang clear.

"The time has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to begin.

Before we bring forth the 'Goblet,' allow me to share a few words of explanation."

Dumbledore's speech was a succinct outline of how the tournament would proceed:

The judges would consist of the three headmasters—Dumbledore, Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime—alongside Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Each school would select three champions to represent them.

The tournament would feature three challenges, testing the champions over the course of a year. Their magical skill, bravery, reasoning, and ability to handle danger would be evaluated, and the champion deemed most outstanding would win the glory of 1,000 Galleons.

The impartial selector for the champions would be the Goblet of Fire. Those wishing to enter must submit their names within the next 24 hours.

Finally—and most importantly—no one should enter their name lightly. Once chosen by the Goblet, a magical contract binds the participant to compete, and there is no turning back. Only those fully committed to the challenge should participate.

With these explanations, the welcome feast ended.

As Edith pondered where the Durmstrang students would be staying, it became apparent that they were simply returning to their ship. Karkaroff, smiling almost fatherly at Viktor Krum, herded his students back. Clearly, Krum was his favorite, much as Dumbledore seemed to favor Harry.

As Mirabel passed by with the Slytherin group, she caught the eye of Mavis, who was standing beside Karkaroff.

"Oh, Mirabel! My dear Mirabel!"

Predictably, Mavis ran over to Mirabel and enveloped her in an exuberant hug. Mirabel scowled as she found herself smothered against Mavis's generous bosom, a vein visibly throbbing on her forehead.

She wasn't thinking about why she herself had a less impressive figure than her mother. Absolutely not. However, it was hard not to feel irritated when such a difference was quite literally thrust in her face.

"It's been so long, Miss Mirabel. My, you've grown even more beautiful, just like your mother."

Karkaroff stepped forward with a plastered-on smile and extended his hand. Mirabel ignored it, disentangling herself from her mother instead.

"You seem unchanged, Headmaster Karkaroff."

Mirabel held little regard for the former Death Eater who had built his current position by betraying his comrades. While she acknowledged his cunning and ability to sever ties with the Death Eaters, she saw him as a shallow opportunist, quick to align himself with whoever held power. To Mirabel, Karkaroff was unworthy of more than mild indifference.

"To be honest, I'm relieved. If you were seventeen and eligible to compete, it would have been dangerous for the others."

"Naturally. I would have won."

Karkaroff's smile faltered at Mirabel's unabashed confidence, though he quickly recovered, his face twitching slightly.

He had always been wary of Mirabel and went out of his way to stay on her good side. Having spent his life aligning with the powerful, Karkaroff instinctively recognized strength. He sensed the depth of Mirabel's potential and saw her as someone who could one day shake the wizarding world.

Thus, he sought to curry favor with her now, knowing that one day she might rise to greatness.

"By the way, have you reconsidered joining Durmstrang?"

"I believe I've given you the same answer seven times already, have I not?"

"W-well, yes, but wouldn't it be more advantageous for you to study the Dark Arts in-depth at our school? You wouldn't need to go through the trouble of requesting restricted materials—we'd grant you access to any book in our library. No bans, no restrictions."

Mirabel shot Karkaroff a sharp look, silencing him instantly. He retreated with a feeble nod, leaving Mavis to sigh regretfully as she watched him withdraw.

"Oh, how disappointing it is that my dear Mirabel won't be able to compete."

"Well, let's just consider it fate and let it go."

There was no need to let go of anything since Mirabel had no intention of participating from the start. Such events were best left to someone like Harry Potter. She had far more pressing matters to attend to.

"Well then, I'll take my leave now. Mother, I suggest you return to the ship as well."

Mirabel, dragging along the thoroughly neglected Edith, left the scene and headed toward the Slytherin dormitory.

Her decision to abstain from the Triwizard Tournament was already made. While she didn't dislike attention, this time she needed to act from the shadows. Ideally, Dumbledore's focus would remain entirely on Harry. Participating in the tournament was out of the question.

"Was that your mom, Mirabel? I thought she looked stunning from a distance, but seeing her up close—wow. She's gorgeous. You're beautiful too, but there's something different about her. Like, this mature allure or something…"

"Be specific."

"Her chest."

"Alright, stay right there."

Mirabel grabbed the panicked Edith, who tried to flee, and pinched and stretched her cheeks.

"Ouch, ouch! That hurts!" Edith cried, but Mirabel paid no mind.

Words must be spoken clearly and correctly. Therefore, any garbled pleas for mercy didn't count. Mirabel dismissed Edith's protests entirely.

"I'm sorry! I'll fix it, so please forgive me!"

La la la, can't hear you.

"The impartial selector."

Dumbledore had referred to the Goblet of Fire with those words. But what does "impartial" truly mean?

Is it the ability to evaluate every condition with precision? Is it the absence of personal bias? Or is it the refusal to favor or belittle anyone?

All of these are undoubtedly correct. And to achieve them, the most crucial quality is the absence of will.

Without will, there can be no deviation, no room for personal feelings. It would select the most fitting candidate with cold, unerring precision.

However, the absence of will also means an inability to question. Even if some manipulation were involved or if the provided information was flawed, it would remain oblivious.

Thus, the "impartial" Goblet selected.

It expelled, without doubt or hesitation, a fourth champion—something that should have been impossible in a tournament designed for three schools with one champion each.

The representatives were:

Fleur Delacour, from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

Viktor Krum, from Durmstrang Institute.

Cedric Diggory, from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And then, the unthinkable fourth champion... Harry Potter.

The Great Hall fell deathly silent as Harry, pale and incredulous, walked toward the front.

Ordinarily, a champion would be sent off with cheers, but no one voiced their support for Harry. Instead, all he felt were the piercing gazes of confusion and anger, some almost contemptuous.

No, it wasn't me. I didn't put my name in.

That was what Harry wanted to say, but he couldn't summon the will to defend himself. Like a condemned man whose name had just been called, he climbed onto the platform, his expression one of disbelief.

"What... what's going on? Why Harry?"

Edith spoke in a trembling voice as she watched Harry disappear through the door behind the staff table.

She couldn't help but question it. Harry was only fourteen, a fourth-year like them, and far too young to have submitted his name to the Goblet of Fire.

When Edith glanced over at Mirabel, she saw her swirling the liquid in her wine glass with a look of amusement.

"Truly a man loved by trouble. Never a dull moment watching him."

"Come on, Mirabel. This isn't about trouble or anything trivial like that!"

Mirabel took a sip of her dessert wine, ice wine, and let out a small sigh. Then, noticing Edith's accusatory glare, she smiled faintly.

"I know. Something like this doesn't happen by mere chance."

"Then why did it happen?"

"Someone tampered with the Goblet. That's the only plausible explanation."

Given the situation, where Harry's name had been ejected from the Goblet, Mirabel reasoned that there were three main possibilities:

First: Harry had entered his name himself.

However, Harry's pale, terrified expression made that unlikely. Besides, he wasn't the type to crave attention to that extent. True, he had a certain desire for recognition and a tendency to be conscious of others' perceptions of him. But such feelings were natural for boys his age. Harry was just a boy whose slightly stronger tendencies stemmed from his difficult childhood.

Second: Someone else had submitted Harry's name without his knowledge.

The Age Line prevented anyone under 17 from entering, which meant anyone over 17 could technically submit a name. It was possible that someone had decided Harry should be a champion and entered his name for him.

But Dumbledore would surely have accounted for such a vulnerability. It was reasonable to assume additional safeguards were in place to prevent anyone other than the candidate themselves from submitting a name. Thus, this scenario was improbable. If anyone could bypass such measures, it would be Dumbledore alone.

Third: Someone had tampered with the Goblet itself.

This scenario bypassed the first two conditions entirely, forcibly making Harry a champion. By deceiving the Goblet into selecting Harry, the tampering rendered Harry's own intentions irrelevant and overcame the Goblet's defenses.

However, this also greatly narrowed down the list of suspects. Pulling off such a feat required not only extensive knowledge of dark magic but also intimate understanding of the Goblet itself—and proximity to the selection process.

"Tampering? But why?"

"Who knows?"

Mirabel feigned ignorance, avoiding a direct answer to Edith's question. Instead, her gaze shifted to the staff table.

Her eyes landed on Mad-Eye Moody, the ex-Auror who had just started teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year—or rather, the Death Eater impersonating him.

It was remarkable how convincingly he played the role of the trusted former Auror, even under Dumbledore's watchful eyes.

Well, this time, Mirabel decided to simply observe without interference. No, she might even offer help if necessary.

After all, it would be quite inconvenient for Mirabel if Harry didn't win the tournament.

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