The arrival of the Durmstrang delegation was just as spectacular and awe-inspiring as that of Beauxbatons, though in an entirely different way. The autumn evening air was crisp and clear, with a brilliant full moon casting its silvery light across the dark waters of the Black Lake.
"How on earth did that ship get here?" Neville exclaimed in utter amazement, as an enormous and magnificent ship emerged from the depths of the Black Lake. Illuminated by the moonlight, it appeared almost ethereal, like a ghost ship from maritime legends.
The polished wooden flanks gleamed wetly, while dozens of portholes cast warm, golden light across the rippling surface of the lake.
"The Black Lake isn't connected to any ocean! It's completely landlocked!"
Hermione stood beside him with her brow furrowed in deep concentration. Her fingers absently twirled a strand of her bushy brown hair as she contemplated.
"They surely didn't sail here through conventional means," She pondered thoughtfully, her eyes following the water still streaming from the ship's ropes. "I guess the ship must have some sort of dimensional compression charm, allowing it to change size at will, combined with a specialized form of magical transportation that allows it to materialize in any sufficient body of water within a particular distance."
"Cool!" Seamus exclaimed with unrestrained enthusiasm. He drew in a sharp breath of admiration as the ship's massive anchor splashed into the dark waters with a tremendous crash, sending ripples across the previously mirror-smooth surface of the lake.
The Durmstrang students began disembarking from their ship with military meticulousness. Through the softly glowing portholes, Harry and his fellow Hogwarts students could see their silhouettes moving around. As they emerged onto the deck, their body frames were imposing and somewhat intimidating.
Harry's initial impression was that they all had the same hulking build as Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's dumb bodyguards. However, as the delegation made their way across the sloping lawn, illuminated by the welcoming light spilling from Hogwarts' great oak doors, Harry realized their bulky frame was mostly due to their distinctive clothing.
Each Durmstrang student was wrapped in thick, heavy cloaks made of some kind of rough, matted fur that appeared both warm and somewhat wild in nature. The material looked rough and primitive compared to the sleek, silver furs worn by their headmaster, who led the group with confident steps toward the castle.
"Ah, Dumbledore!" The man called out with exaggerated warmth, his voice carrying clearly across the grounds. His accent was thick but accurate, each word carefully pronounced as he approached the steps where Dumbledore waited. "It's been far too long, hasn't it? I trust you're well?"?"
"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied with genuine warmth, his bright blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles as he gave a welcoming smile.
Karkaroff's voice maintained its honeyed tone, though there was something artificial about his warmth that Harry couldn't help but notice.
Though he matched Dumbledore in height and slenderness, the similarities ended there. Where Dumbledore radiated genuine warmth and kindness, Karkaroff seemed to dress his facial features in a carefully constructed mask. As he gazed up at the towering silhouette of Hogwarts Castle, his thin lips curved into what appeared to be a pensive smile, but his eyes remained as cold and calculating as chips of ice, showing no real emotion.
As Karkaroff began to lower his head, to inquire if Beauxbatons had arrived even though the massive powder-blue carriage bearing the Beauxbatons crest and its magnificent twelve-winged Abraxan horses were clearly visible nearby.
As he looked away, he finally noticed a figure who had quietly emerged from behind Dumbledore. The man had been standing there all along, watching the proceedings with an inconspicuous smile, but Karkaroff had been too preoccupied with his grand entrance to notice this while climbing the slope.
"Ah, Professor Watson!" Karkaroff's face split into a wide grin that revealed his yellowing teeth. "I was just wondering why I hadn't caught sight of you!"
His voice carried a note of calculated pleasure, like a merchant discovering an unexpected opportunity as he asked, "How have you been?"
"Just idling away the time, Professor Karkaroff—" Bryan responded with characteristic modesty, his voice carrying a hint of amusement that showed he knew exactly what was coming next.
"You're still as modest and graceful as ever, Professor Watson—" Karkaroff strode forward with eagerness. His silver furs swished dramatically with each step as he turned back toward his students. "Even after accomplishing such remarkable feats. Oh, come look, Viktor, this is the Bryan Watson you've been talking about for months!"
Karkaroff gestured to the group of burly students behind him, then spun back to Bryan with the air of a proud father showing off his most promising son. "Ever since he witnessed your performance at the Quidditch match, this boy has been absolutely captivated. He speaks of little else! Your name comes up in nearly every conversation!"
Viktor Krum's presence sent an electric current of excitement through the gathered Hogwarts students.
"Oh my God, can you believe it, Harry!" Ron practically squealed, clutching at Harry's arm. "It's him, it's actually Krum! We met him at the World Cup - remember when he called for Dad to help during the chaos? This is incredible - he's actually going to be Durmstrang's representative!"
Harry didn't need Ron's insistent reminder; he had already spotted the famous Quidditch player among the Durmstrang delegation. Krum was impossible to miss with his distinctive features - that prominent hooked nose and those thick, dark eyebrows that seemed to always furrow in concentration. He carried himself with the same powerful presence he had shown on the Quidditch pitch, though here, among his classmates, there was something more approachable about him.
Just like how the Beauxbatons students had looked at Professor Watson with a mixture of awe, curiosity, and admiration, many of the young Hogwarts wizards fell into a similar state upon hearing Krum's name.
A wave of excitement rippled through the crowd as young wizards pushed and shoved for a better view, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the international Quidditch star who was now respectfully speaking with Professor Watson.
Harry, observing the commotion, noticed something curious. Hermione, usually so easily annoyed by what she considered "Quidditch worship," seemed unusually calm, apparently not at all surprised to see a world-class Quidditch star among the Durmstrang delegation. This caught Harry's attention enough to voice his confusion.
"Don't you remember?" Hermione replied with her typical matter-of-fact tone, though there was a hint of satisfaction in her voice at having known this detail. "That night, before we parted ways with Krum, he mentioned to Professor Watson that he was a Durmstrang student. Given his competitive nature, it seemed obvious he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to represent his school as champion."
Harry's brow furrowed as he tried to recall the specific moment Hermione referenced. But the events of that particular night had been so chaotic, so filled with tension and fear, that the details had become somewhat muddled in his memory. Unlike Hermione, whose mind seemed to catalog every detail with perfect clarity, Harry couldn't quite reconstruct that particular conversation.
The great migration into the Great Hall proceeded with controlled chaos as the heads of houses shepherded their students inside, following the Durmstrang delegation.
The Beauxbatons students had already claimed their territory at the Ravenclaw table, their powder-blue uniforms creating a striking contrast against the sea of black Hogwarts robes. After much shuffling, whispering, and strategic maneuvering for optimal viewing positions, everyone finally settled into their places.
Many young wizards, Ron included, found themselves in a constant state of distraction, their attention bouncing between two magnetic poles - Viktor Krum, who was already surrounded by an admiring crowd at the Slytherin table, and the breathtakingly beautiful Beauxbatons student who seemed to radiate an otherworldly allure.
"That girl must be part Veela!" Ron said hoarsely to Harry, as he stared dreamily at the Beauxbatons girl. His eyes had taken on a slightly glazed look that Harry recognized from the Quidditch World Cup. "How do you think Professor Watson knows her?"
"I don't know!" Hermione snapped; her voice sharp enough to cut glass. Her response came before Harry could even form a reply, and there was no missing the irritation in her tone. "Perhaps he caught her attention by standing there gawking like a mindless troll - much like you're doing right now!"
Ron appeared not to have heard a single word of Hermione's sarcastic reply; he remained mesmerized by Fleur, who was casting frequent, active glances toward Professor Watson at the staff table, her silvery hair was catching the light of the floating candles with every movement.
Dumbledore's voice suddenly filled the Great Hall, carrying easily to every corner despite its gentle tone.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - our distinguished guests," he announced, his face beaming with genuine pleasure as he surveyed the assembled crowd, paying special attention to the visiting students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."
Fleur, having temporarily shifted her attention from the handsome professor, was now examining the Great Hall with an expression of barely concealed disdain. Her facial features arranged themselves into a look of sophisticated criticism as she released an unmistakably sarcastic laugh.
"Nobody's forcing you to stay!" Hermione muttered darkly, her patience clearly wearing thin with the French student's apparent superiority complex.
The feast that appeared before them today was truly extraordinary. The house-elves had outdone themselves, preparing an international meal that showcased not only traditional British wizarding palate but also French cuisine and Eastern European dishes.
Golden platters creaked under the weight of exotic delicacies and familiar comfort foods, while crystal goblets filled themselves with various beverages ranging from pumpkin juice to fine French wines (for the staff only, of course).
However, few students could truly focus on the delicious food. Most of their attention was on the visiting students from the two schools, while those like Cedric Diggory, who aspired to become Hogwarts champion, were eagerly anticipating the announcement of the champion selection process.
The appearance of the Ministry representatives halfway through the feast created yet another ripple of interest through the Hall.
"Phew—"
Ludo Bagman arrived looking somewhat disheveled, his round face flushed from apparent fatigue. After exchanging hurried greetings with Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff, he leaned in close to Dumbledore, speaking in what he probably thought was a discreet whisper.
"Barty expressed some concerns," Ludo explained between heavy breaths, "so he's personally accompanying the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on their inspection."
"Sounds exactly like Barty—" Bryan commented with a knowing chuckle, his eyes meeting Bagman's for a brief moment. Ludo quickly averted his gaze, showing an almost painful reluctance to maintain eye contact with Bryan.
The sharp pain that suddenly shot through Ron's shin finally managed to break the spell that had held him captive. "Ouch!" he yelped, shooting an angry glare at Hermione while rubbing his injured leg. "Have you gone completely mental again?"
"When you finally manage to tear your eyes away from her—" Hermione replied without a shred of sympathy, "Perhaps you'll notice who's just arrived!"
"What?" Ron's irritation gave way to confusion, but Harry's subtle head nod toward the staff table finally directed his attention to where Ludo Bagman sat, his robes were slightly crooked but his smile was as bright as ever.
"Oh, it's Bagman!" Ron's entire demeanor transformed instantly from annoyed to excited. He turned to Harry with renewed vigor, his previous grievances forgotten. "It's Bagman, Harry! We should go ask to him about the situation!"
To be honest, Harry didn't want to spend more energy on this matter, but he knew how much it meant to Ron, and he understood the significance of several hundred Galleons to him. As Harry hesitated, Ron looked troubled again. His gaze returned to Bagman, who was now toasting with others at the staff table, and said hesitantly,
"Maybe this isn't the best moment, Harry, I mean, Bagman's here for the Triwizard Tournament opening ceremony. We should probably wait for a more appropriate time."
Before Harry could respond, Hermione's exasperated sigh cut through the air. Ron, seemingly eager to avoid another confrontation with her, quickly turned his attention to his brothers, Fred and George, who had been watching the discussion with unusual intensity.
"What about you two? Are you planning to confront Bagman about it? You lost quite a bit of money too!"
"Just let us catch him alone," Fred said with grim determination.
"We're definitely not letting him wriggle out of this one!" George added with equal resolve, completing his twin's thought as they often did.
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