The morning of October the thirtieth carried with it a kind of breathless expectation, as though the very stones of Hogwarts castle sensed what was about to unfold. The Great Hall, usually abuzz with ordinary chatter about homework or Quidditch, now pulsed with rumors and restless speculation. Eira could feel the hum of it even before she sat down at the Slytherin table for breakfast.
Professor McGonagall's announcement the night before had already set the tone: at six o'clock that evening, the delegations from Beauxbâtons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute would be arriving. Every student seemed incapable of speaking of anything else.
"They say the Beauxbâtons girls are all dazzlingly beautiful," drawled a Slytherin fifth-year at the table, brushing crumbs from his sleeve with exaggerated care.
"No, really—people say they don't even walk, they glide," whispered a Ravenclaw prefect, leaning forward as though he were passing on a state secret.
"I heard they wear gowns spun from moonlight," sighed a dreamy Hufflepuff, his eyes far away.
"They're supposed to be ethereal," another Ravenclaw chimed in, lowering her voice dramatically, "like they're not even quite human."
"And Durmstrang—well, they say every single student there has learned the Killing Curse by the time they're fifteen," muttered a Gryffindor third-year, sending a ripple of gasps across the benches.
"I heard," piped up a tiny Hufflepuff first-year, so eager his words tumbled out, "that the Beauxbâtons carriage is pulled by winged horses the size of elephants!"
Laughter, gasps, and arguments broke out all at once. Rumors piled upon rumors, some so ridiculous they made no sense at all, others whispered so breathlessly they almost sounded true.
Eira hid her smile behind her goblet, listening to the storm of chatter with quiet amusement. She'd lived among the girls of Beauxbâtons, and she knew very well that most of these tales were embroidered nonsense. Yet… one rumor, at least, carried a sliver of truth. The Beauxbâtons girls were beautiful—elegant in a way that seemed to make the air itself bend around them.
Her smile softened as a thought warmed her chest. 'Yes… beautiful and ethereal. They've got that part right.' And though she would never say it aloud, in her heart she knew something else, something certain: the most beautiful of them all was Fleur. Fleur with her silver-blonde hair that caught every ray of light, Fleur whose smile had the power to unseat her completely.
'Fleur is mine,' Eira thought with quiet certainty, a secret warmth blooming inside her. 'That's how it should be.'
Clusters of students leaned close together, whispering or giggling, voices tumbling over one another. "They say Durmstrang's bringing Viktor Krum himself," one boy at the Ravenclaw table was saying loudly enough for half the Hall to hear. This again set off an immediate wave of chatter; a group of Hufflepuff girls squealed and clapped their hands together, while a pair of third-year Gryffindors began arguing heatedly about whether Krum would bother playing Quidditch while studying at Hogwarts, if it's allowed by Dumbledore.
Appearance, suddenly, seemed of utmost importance. Several boys had turned up with freshly trimmed hair, running hands self-consciously over their neat fringes as though waiting to be noticed. Some of the older girls had dusted their faces with powder and charmed their eyelashes to look longer, their eyes darting constantly toward the doors as if half-expecting the foreign guests to sweep in hours early. Even the Slytherin common room had buzzed with unusual activity that morning; Eira had seen two sixth-years actually practicing smiles in the mirror.
Even the professors seemed to be caught up in the strange energy of the day. Filch had been spotted scurrying about with a feather duster, muttering darkly about "foreign muck being dragged in," while a harassed group of house-elves had been polishing the suits of armor so furiously that they gleamed brighter than Eira had ever seen.
McGonagall herself interrupted the flood of chatter partway through breakfast. Rising from the staff table, she tapped her goblet and cleared her throat.
"Attention, students," she began, her voice cutting crisply through the noise. The hall stilled at once. "As I informed you yesterday evening, Hogwarts will today be welcoming two very distinguished visiting schools. They will be our guests for the duration of the Triwizard Tournament, and it is the duty of each and every one of you to ensure they feel both welcomed and respected."
She cast a sharp glance at the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables in particular.
"I need not remind you," she went on, "that your behavior tonight will reflect upon Hogwarts as a whole. There is to be no foolishness, no practical jokes, and certainly no attempts to embarrass our visitors. Any student caught doing so will answer directly to me."
Her lips pressed together in a way that brooked no argument. Somewhere down the Gryffindor table, the Weasley twins slouched in unconvincing innocence.
McGonagall continued, "You will attend classes this morning as usual. This afternoon, however, all lessons are canceled to allow the castle to be properly prepared for our guests. You will assemble by the front doors at six o'clock sharp to greet the arrivals. That will be all."
The moment she sat down again, chatter erupted tenfold. Students leaned across benches, speculating about the visitors' arrival, about who might be chosen as Champion, about how Hogwarts compared to these other schools.