Chapter 227: "The Arrival"

The days leading up to October 30th were filled with a palpable excitement that permeated every corner of Hogwarts. The castle itself seemed to be preparing for the arrival of its guests; suits of armor were polished to a gleaming shine, portraits were scrubbed clean, and even Peeves the poltergeist was threatened with expulsion if he didn't behave.

The staff, too, seemed affected by the impending arrivals. Their usual patience wore thin as they drilled students on proper etiquette and pushed for exemplary performance in classes. The message was clear: Hogwarts' reputation was at stake.

On the morning of the 30th, as Harry made his way down to breakfast following his rigorous morning exercises, snippets of animated conversation drifted to his ears.

"I heard Beauxbatons is where all the beautiful witches study," a third-year Hufflepuff whispered excitedly. "There's a theory that many of the students there are descendants of veela."

His friend scoffed, "Don't get your hopes up. They won't give your face a second look. It's the Durmstrang lot we should be excited about. I bet they know loads of dark magic."

Harry suppressed a smile, knowing the reality would both meet and subvert these expectations.

Classes that day crawled by at a glacial pace. Even the professors, usually masters of composure, betrayed signs of tension, their lessons more serious and stricter than usual. This added pressure only intensified the students' anticipation.

Finally, at half past five, the bell rang, signaling the end of lessons. A tidal wave of students rushed back to their respective common rooms, hastily depositing bags and donning cloaks before surging towards the entrance hall.

In the entrance hall, Heads of Houses corralled their charges into orderly lines. Professor Flitwick's diminutive form was barely visible as he squeaked instructions to the Ravenclaws. "Miss Lovegood, straighten your hat! Mr. Boot, remove that ridiculous badge at once!"

Luna emerged from her dreamy state long enough to adjust her hat, while Terry Boot reluctantly unpinned his "Viktor Krum Fan Club" badge, scowling all the while.

As they filed out onto the grounds, Harry found himself between Reggy and Roger. The crisp autumn air crackled with anticipation.

"Nearly six," Roger muttered, checking his watch for the umpteenth time. "How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?"

Reggy shook his head. "Doubt it. Maybe portkeys? Or they could create a spectacle by arriving on brooms. Imagine that – a sky full of wizards descending on Hogwarts!"

Harry, recalling the spectacular arrivals from his foreknowledge, remained silent, a enigmatic smile playing on his lips.

Suddenly, Dumbledore's voice rang out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers. "Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

A fifth-year near Harry pointed toward the Forbidden Forest, shouting, "There!"

Something large was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.

"Don't be stupid . . . it's a flying house!" said Dennis Creevey.

Dennis's guess was closer to the mark. Harry, with his enhanced sight, could make out the gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them. It landed with a tremendous crash, bouncing on its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.

The horses were Abraxan, a breed of winged horses, each the size of an elephant. A boy in pale blue robes leapt down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully.

Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage — a shoe the size of a child's sled — followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman he had ever seen in his life. As tall as Hagrid, Madame Maxime stepped out of the carriage, followed by her students.

Harry's eyes scanned the group, landing on a familiar face — Fleur Delacour. She looked just as he remembered: beautiful, graceful, and slightly aloof. Her allure, apparently uncontrolled, had already ensnared many of the Hogwarts students. Harry knew her current arrogance would diminish as the tournament progressed. The odds were stacked against her and she might even lose to Charles in the tasks. That would surely hurt her pride.

As Dumbledore began to clap, the Hogwarts students followed his lead. Madame Maxime relaxed into a gracious smile and walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, barely had to bend to kiss it.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he said warmly. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dorr," Madame Maxime replied in her deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," Dumbledore responded genially.

Harry's attention turned towards the other Beauxbatons students, who were shivering in the cold. Their school robes, while beautiful and made of fine silk, provided little protection against the Scottish chill. Harry found their discomfort amusing, noting how they seemed to have forgotten they possessed magic that could easily solve such minor inconveniences.

Unlike the depiction in the movies, Beauxbatons was a mixed school, not an all-girls institution. The ratio of boys to girls was almost equal. They all regarded Hogwarts with a mixture of apprehension and distaste, perhaps finding the ancient castle lacking in comparison to their own, more opulent school.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime inquired.

"He should be here any moment," Dumbledore assured her. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think," Madame Maxime decided imperiously. "Come," she commanded her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her charges to pass up the stone steps.

The Hogwarts contingent then waited for the Durmstrang party to arrive, most gazing hopefully at the sky.

A few minutes later, Harry's attention was drawn to the lake. The previously smooth, black surface was no longer placid. Great bubbles formed on the surface, waves washing over the muddy banks, and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared.

What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool. Slowly, magnificently, a ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look, as though it were a resurrected wreck. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank.

A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

People disembarked; their silhouettes passed the lights in the ship's portholes. As they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, they all looked bulky. Harry realized their bulk was due to the thick, shaggy furs they wore.

The man leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair. "Dumbledore!" he called heartily as he walked up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied cordially.

Harry watched as Karkaroff shook Dumbledore's hand with both of his own. His eyes, unlike Dumbledore's twinkling ones, were cold and shrewd. Behind him, Harry could see Viktor Krum, looking surly and somehow smaller in person than he remembered from the World Cup match.

"Harry — it's Krum!" Roger exclaimed, barely containing his excitement.

"Yes, it's Krum," Harry replied, slightly exasperated. "Why are you so excited? I already told you he would be here for the tournament."

"I just can't believe it's real," Roger gushed. "You know, even though I'm not a seeker, I'm his biggest fan. I hope he can give me some Quidditch tips. Learning from a pro would be great for my future Quidditch career."

Harry sighed, "For your sake, I hope he's a friendly and talkative kind of guy. Don't get your hopes up though. I have a feeling he's not that approachable."

Roger's enthusiasm remained undimmed, however, and he wasn't alone. Excited whispers rippled through the Hogwarts students as Krum passed.

Another celebrity had arrived at Hogwarts, and Harry hoped this might divert some attention away from him. He had grown weary of his own popularity recently, finding it increasingly difficult to enjoy his nightly outings and morning exercises on the Hogwarts grounds without attracting unwanted attention. He silently wished that Krum and Fleur could absorb some of the fanatic energy that seemed to follow him everywhere.

With both delegations arrived, Dumbledore invited everyone into the castle for the Welcoming Feast. As they moved inside, Harry hung back, his eyes scanning the grounds one last time. There was still no sign of any intruders, and this fact troubled him.

Harry found himself at a loss. He had no idea how this year would unfold. In the best-case scenario, Charles wouldn't be chosen as a champion, and with only three champions, it would be an ordinary year. Voldemort would have to find some other way to resurrect himself.

However, Harry didn't think this outcome was likely. Both Dumbledore and Voldemort, in their own ways, would ensure that this year was far from quiet. Harry trusted both of them, albeit for very different reasons, to make certain of that fact.