It was the day before Halloween. The castle was sparkling. Filch had been working tirelessly. The banners flew high on the towers and the entire student body was packed onto the steps of the castle and spilling down onto the grounds in long lines.
It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent looking moon was alreadu shining over the Forbidden Forest.
Hermione stood beside Harry, carefully keeping him between herself and Ron, whose stupid face was staring down the drive that led to the front gates, checking his watch repeatedly. "Nearly six," he said stupidly for about the thirtieth time since they'd followed Professor McGonagall out of the castle.
"Dennis Creevey looks like he's going to pass out," Harry snickered, elbowing Ron and pointing at the tiny first year across the grounds, who was shivering violently with anticipation.
"Blimey, I'd be embarrassed to be that excited about anything like this," Ron said, "Imagine being such a little git you shake over the arrival of some nutters from another school like that? Oi he needs to sort himself out!"
"Yeah," Harry laughed.
Hermione shook her head with annoyance. Why did everything Ron do have to annoy her so much? Why did she have to like it?
"How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?" Ron asked, glancing 'round at Harry and Hermione.
"I doubt it," said Hermione.
"How then?" Harry asked, then, looking up at the starry sky, he suggested, "Broomsticks?"
"I don't think so," Hermione said, "Not from that far away..."
"Yeah what'd'ya reckon they flew all the way from France and -- where the hell is Durmstrang anyway?"
"Bulgaria," Hermione answered. "Honestly, don't either of you read?"
Harry laughed, "Not as much as you do," and Ron rolled his eyes.
"A portkey?" Ron suggested. "Or they could apparate. Maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen where they come from?"
"You can't apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?" asked Hermione impatiently.
"Oh read that in your book, too, did you?" Ron jabbed.
"Yes, Ronald, I did actually, thank you very much, and you really ought to --"
"Guys, c'm'off it," Harry groaned. He wished they'd hurry up, he was tired and it was getting cold as the sun set behind the trees, and he was honestly quite sick of the bickering Ron and Hermione seemed to be constantly at lately. He sighed as his eyes scanned the darkening grounds, wishing that the bloody delegations would just arrive already so they could go inside and get some dinner... Dinner always cheered Ron up, and the whole castle had smelled of the feast the house elves were preparing in the kitchens all day.
Suddenly, Dumbledore was pointing to the horizon. "Aha!" he said jovially, "Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"
"Where?" said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions. A cacophony of confusion ensued until suddenly Herbert Fleet shouted out, "THERE!!!" and pointed out over the forest. More chaos filled the air as students started speculating on what the great big mass in the sky they were seeing was - people were guessing dragons and cars, meteors and flying houses, all shouting over one another... and as the giant black shape skimmed over the tree tops of the Forbidden Forest, the lights shining down from the castle caught it and Hermione gasped.
"Oh how fascinating!" she said.
It was a gigantic, powder-blue horse-drawn carriage - like something out of a storybook, Hermione thought, remembering the story of Cinderella and her coach which turned into a pumpkin. A dozen winged horses, all palominos, were reigned to the coach which was so big that each of the horses had been engorged to the size of a small elephant.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched in awe as the carriage landed and the delegations emerged...
When Madame Maxime stepped out of the carriage, Hermione was struck by how pretty the jewels were that gleamed at her throat and on her fingers, she was in awe of the shimmer of the black silk dress and the elegance of the thick furs that draped 'round her shoulders. In Hermione's mind, Madame Maxime looked like a very tall, broad shouldered version of Audrey Hepburn and she remembered films that she and her mum had watched over and over when she was young. Hermione smiled, delighted, and turned to say something about it to Ron and Harry, only to find the pair of them snickering over the poor woman's height.
They weren't the only ones in the crowd that were gasping and discussing the headmistress's height and build. There were loads of people all around her whispering how she was unnaturally large and comparing her to Hagrid. It was true the woman was taller and just as broad-shouldered as Hagrid, but blimey she was beautiful, too, Hermione thought, and she looked strong and must be to be the headmistress of a school as famous as Beauxbatons.
It was clear Madame Maxime had been greeted many a time by the hushed silence and whispers that she got now, for she took the moment of reaction very gracefully, standing before them with her furs wrapped about her shoulders, her head held at a regal angle, eyes darting over the crowd - daring any one of the onlookers to speak the words they were certainly whispering.
"My dear Madame Maxime!" Dumbledore stepped forward quickly, breaking the tension that had formed, bending to kiss the regal woman's opal-covered hand as she gave him a gracious smile and extended the hand to him. "Welcome to Hogwarts!"
"Dumbly-dorr," said Madame Maxime, her voice a deep and wonderfully rumbling sound, lilted with a French accent. "I 'ope I found you well?"
"In excellent form, I thank you," said Dumbledore, smiling.
"My students," Madame Maxime announced them and the doors of the carriage burst forth with about a dozen students in their powder-blue uniforms, tiny caps and witches hats set upon their heads. The uniforms were silky and lovely, fashionably cut with sheer tights on the girls beneath knee length A-line dresses and grey trousers for the boys with powder-blue silk vests over their oxfords. A few girls had tucked scarves and shawls about them, and they were all staring up at the castle with wide-eyed apprehension. One girl in particular caught Hermione's eye - blonde haired and blue eyed, the girl's face seemed to sparkle as though it were reflecting the moon and stars overhead and she held the hand of a younger girl that looked such a lot like her. The pair whispered excitedly to one another as Dumbledore and Madame Maxime talked.
Hermione turned to whisper something to Harry and Ron about the delightfulness of the student uniforms, but they were both distracted - Ron staring at the pretty blonde girl as she walked past, and Hermione looked down at her own very plain wool uniform and flushed. She ran her fingers through her hair, thinking how it couldn't ever dream of being so straight and beautiful as that blonde haired girl from Beauxbatons. Ron turned around to watch the girl go into the castle, then turned back to Harry and the pair of them laughed and grinned stupidly.
"Boys," muttered Hermione.
"How big d'you reckon the Durmstrang horses will be?" Seamus Finnigan asked Harry and Ron, leaning around Lavender and Pavarti, who were bent together, whispering excitedly about whether they ought to make a petition to Dumbledore to get more fashionable uniforms for Hogwarts, too.
"Imagine," Pavarti said, eyes sparkling, "Those dresses but in a lovely Gryffindor red or gold? I would look like maharani."
Lavender nodded and squealed, "You really would! Oh you'd be so beautiful! And I'd look like a princess!"
Hermione wondered if they would think that she would look like a princess, too, in such a pretty uniform... but she felt silly even thinking so frivolously and she flushed and looked away quickly, gazing up at the sky and hoping to spot the Durmstrang delegation soon. Everyone outside was cold, but Hermione felt a sort of cold that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the way Pavarti was whispering, "Of course not everyone would look so great in that sort of dress, but if it was an option --"
There was suddenly a loud and eerie noise that broke over the grounds, echoing up from the lake - an odd sucking, muffled rumbling noise like a giant vacuum cleaner - and Lee Jordan let out a shout that drew their attention to the center of the lake, where the black surface was bubbling and churning and the water began to rise up over the banks, spilling over the roots of the tree where Harry, Ron, and Hermione often went to sit and study on nice days. A whirlpool sank through the center of the Lake.
Hermione heard Ron say, "Wicked" under his breath as they watched. She tried not to smile at the child-like tone of his voice, so ironic considering he'd been judging the Creevey boy just a short while before. "Woss that!?" Ron asked, pointing to where a long, black pole seemed to rise up from the center of the whirlpool.
"It's a mast!" Harry cried as the rigging came into view and within moments then, the whirlpool coughed out a great big ship with Buglarian flags flying on the masts. It had a skeletal look to it, with dim, misty lights shining from the portholes, shimmering through the darkness. There was ice on the glass that covered the portholes, and ice on the rigging and the flags movements were stiff as though caught in an ice-cold wind. The ship burst up onto the surface as the whirlpool filled itself up and the surface of the lake returned to it's calm, still state, the waves calming and the waterline relaxing back to its usual place.
Big, strong boys emerged onto the decks, a smaller collection of students than had come from Beauxbatons. Hermione watched as a tall, lean man emerged behind them and laid his palm firmly on the shoulder of one particular boy, guiding him along while the others followed, lined up perfectly and moving in unified, straight-backed manner, their faces all stern and staring straight ahead as they marched down the gangplanjk and onto the land. They moved swiftly up the pathway.
"Dumbledore!" called the tall man as he approached, the boy's shoulder still firmly in his grasp. "How are you, my fear fellow, how are you!"
"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff!" Dumbledore greeted the Headmaster of Durmstrang.
"Dear old Hogwarts!" said Professor Karkaroff, beaming up at the castle. "How good it is to be here, how good..." he turned the boy under his shoulder roughly, "Come along Viktor... Dumbledore, if you don't mind, Viktor has a slight head cold..."
The boy was frowning, staring down at the ground with a sad, resigned sort of expression on his face, his eyes not upturned to the school like his classmates were... He looked as though he would rather be anywhere else in the world.
And as they turned to climb the stairs, Hermione saw out of the corner of her eye that Ron was trembling twice as bad as Dennis Creevey had been doing. "Ronald, what on earth --" she started, but before she could finish, Ron had turned to Harry, grabbed his hand by both shoulders, bright red with excitement, eyes wide.
"Harry -- it's KRUM."