Chapter 204: Disagreement

"Now, please let the champions come forward for interviews and receive the clues for the second task," Madame Maxime said. "Let us first invite Fleur Delacour and Elina Kastelana, who placed third."

Fleur and Elina walked calmly to the podium, where a swarm of reporters surged forward, and they began smiling and greeting everyone.

"Our team name derives from a Protestant teaching: legend says God did not wish humanity to always rely on Him or revolve around Him, so He secretly commanded His most devout believer, Judas, to betray the Son of God—thus, humanity's fate would be decided by humanity itself. We greatly admire this meaning: self-reliance, perseverance in solving problems with one's own strength…" As Elina spoke at length, Harry listened, partly curious, partly guilty, when a sudden noise beside him made him turn his head.

Krum stood up, looking agitated, and said loudly, "Unreasonable? I'm being serious about my opinion, and you think I'm being unreasonable?"

"Isn't that exactly what it is?" Renata also stood up. "I don't want to argue with you here, but if you insist on going on and on, then you simply don't understand anything."

"You understand, I don't—what you say doesn't matter," Krum snapped. "What matters is that you didn't tell me. If you don't tell me, how am I supposed to understand?"

"Didn't I tell you I'd use a machine gun? I told you to assess your own limits when luring the dragons. This outcome is normal. Dumbledore always seizes any chance to promote his saintly morality, and Tang Nade will find fault with us no matter what. Did I break the dragon eggs?"

"But you didn't tell me you'd kill them!" Krum's voice rose, heavier now. "You made me think you were cruel, and you never intended to explain this. I asked you several times—you only complained about Dumbledore."

"I told you I'd use a machine gun. Don't you know what a machine gun is?"

"But you didn't need to kill those wounded dragons who couldn't fight back. Couldn't we have just started coloring them directly?"

"I also told you I had to outperform Harry. The score doesn't matter—what matters is that I had to perform well enough. Harry already injured all the dragons. I had to kill them."

"Why? Why?" Krum said, pained. "Does Harry's performance even matter? Why are you fixated on him?"

"If you insist on asking here, then I'll tell you plainly, you country bumpkin from Bulgaria!" Renata snapped. "Because I represent the Soviet Union—I must shoulder the banner of the socialist camp on the international stage! Do you think you're just a simple champion? The moment you step beyond your country's borders, you must represent your nation!"

"Oh yes, of course you're just a simple champion—this is a game for the five permanent members. Countries like Bulgaria don't get to join." Renata said coldly. "You don't need to worry about appearing weak, you don't need to deter hostile enemies or allies, you don't need to show diplomatic flexibility or firmness—because you're just a fool lost in the praise of your village folk!"

Krum looked slightly confused, frowning as he shook his head, as if still unsure how to respond. But Renata's rapid-fire questions continued: "Do you really think you fly well? Look at Harry—he's only a Seeker for the school team, not because he's stupid, but because Britain is vastly larger than your Bulgaria, and there are far better flyers everywhere."

"You did well in your village, but the world is much bigger than your comfort zone, Krum," Renata said, shaking her head with disappointment before sitting down.

"So that's how it is," Krum said, sounding defeated. "You've looked down on me from the start. Why? Because I'm Bulgarian? Would it be different if I were Soviet? Fine. Do as you please."

"You think I have no right to question your actions, that I'm just a silly poor boy—then why did you ever like me?" Krum turned in a circle. "Let's break up."

"What do you think?" Renata sneered. "Figure it out if you want—but the truth is, I never liked you. Fine, break up. You're just a liability anyway."

Harry instantly understood the situation—perhaps Krum had been faking his performance, and Renata had seen through it, so she pretended to date him. Clearly, Krum was deeply entangled; judging by his performance in the first task, he didn't seem like someone faking—he had gone all out just to please her.

But now Renata appeared truly cold-blooded and ruthless. Harry sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"What were they saying? You seem to understand Russian?" Cedric asked, leaning over.

"But they were clearly speaking…" Harry suddenly realized—perhaps Dr. Who was watching the match, causing the TARDIS to hover nearby, allowing him to understand Renata and Krum's conversation. Cedric, never having boarded the TARDIS, wouldn't be affected by the translation charm.

"Oh, they had a fight," Harry said, lips pressed together. "Krum thought Renata was cruel; Renata looked down on his background. They ended up deciding to break up."

"Background? Is Krum a Muggle-born?" Cedric looked baffled. "Does Renata believe in blood purity?"

"No, it's complicated to explain, but roughly speaking, yes," Harry said. He suddenly felt he needed to say something. "I'll go talk to them."

Harry stood and walked slowly toward the two, who had turned away from each other. In as friendly a tone as he could manage, he said, "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but there was a bit of noise just now."

"I'm wondering—is it really necessary in the magical world to keep dividing nations and ethnicities? Or even if there must be some distinction, does it have to be so hostile?" Harry said. "We wizards are already few enough. Wouldn't it be better if we united?"

"I have nothing to say to you, Lord Grantham," Renata rolled her eyes. "Of course capitalists see no borders."

Harry felt a flash of anger. He had always believed that though he wasn't destitute, his heart supported building a world without exploitation or oppression. For Renata, a staunch Soviet, to say this made him feel like he lacked awareness—but it wasn't like that at all.

"Ah," Krum suddenly stood and grabbed Harry's shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. "Let's go over there and talk."

"I think there's some conspiracy behind this competition. Honestly, I was dazzled by Renata and didn't think deeply—but something's definitely happened." Krum lowered his voice. "Has anyone strange approached you? I mean, someone like—"

As Harry patiently waited for Krum to organize his words, Madame Maxime's voice suddenly rang out, audible to all: "Next, let us invite Renata Yevgenyevna Chicherin and Viktor Krum, who placed second!"

"Sorry, we can discuss what you found later," Harry said quickly. "But if anyone asks, say we were talking about Quidditch, okay?"

"Uh, okay," Krum nodded, then began walking toward the podium. Renata walked ahead of him by about ten feet, but he made no effort to catch up—only maintained the distance.

When the reporters surged forward, Renata quickly regained her composure, offering a practiced smile and politely answering their trivial questions. Krum, however, kept his face downcast, sounding disheartened. "Yes, we did have some disagreements. We'll talk things through when we return. As for the competition? I have nothing to say about it. Nothing at all."

Harry sat in his seat, watching the two with complex emotions. Clearly, Krum, as Renata had said, had been somewhat carried away by praise—but that was normal. Anyone would be. Yet, apart from that, perhaps Krum himself wasn't a complicated person—he seemed simple, even a bit naive.

Finally, it was Harry and Cedric's turn to take the stage. But before the interview, Madame Maxime first pulled out a delicate, small dragon egg and handed it to them.

"I must tell you that the second task will take place on February 24th next year. Until then, you will have a long period of rest," she said. "Principally, we assume all champions already know the full details of the second task and are fully prepared. But in reality, the clues you've received are too vague—you may be utterly confused…"

Harry looked at the brass dragon egg in his hand. There appeared to be a seam—likely meant to open.

"Oh, I just remembered—I have a distant relative who had a daughter, and named her Meiledihe Pan De," Madame Maxime winked. "I just mentioned the name offhand. Now go, get your interviews."

"Why did she suddenly say that?" Cedric mused. "Could it be a hint?"

"Very likely," Harry nodded. But he had no time now to speculate on the task or decipher the clue—because not far away, Rita Skeeter, dressed in a bright green robe, had already pressed her Quick-Quotes Quill to parchment, her eyes fixed intently on this direction.