A sharp intake of breath swept through the Hogwarts students, followed by a stunned silence. Then the whispers began—fast, fevered, impossible to contain.
"She's—she's unreal—"
"Look at her—she's—Merlin—"
"I'd marry her on the spot—"
Ron Weasley let out a strangled noise that was half-groan, half-sigh, clutching Harry's sleeve so hard his knuckles whitened. His ears glowed scarlet, his eyes glazed.
"Mate," he said, his voice cracking into the hush, "I—I think I'm in love. Honestly—I'd follow her anywhere. Anywhere. I don't care if it's into the bloody Forbidden Forest—"
A wave of laughter and jeers broke out around him, though Ron hardly seemed to notice. His gaze remained fixed, dazed and shamelessly adoring.
At that exact moment, Fleur's eyes swept over the crowd. She smiled softly and deliberately, with unmistakable intent—her lips curling into something dazzling and unmistakably seductive. As she aimed it directly at Eira.
A ripple ran through the students like a sudden shock of cold water. Gasps erupted, a few boys choking on their own breath as they realized Fleur's smile was not for them at all.
"Did—did you see that? She smiled—"
"Not at you, idiot—at her—"
"Who?!"
Eira's heart jolted violently in her chest, her breath catching. Fleur's gaze lingered, the smirk tugging at her lips as though she knew exactly what effect she was having—not just on the boys, but on the one girl whose face had suddenly gone pink.
For Eira, the crowd faded. The whispers, the laughter, Ron's ridiculous groaning—all of it blurred into nothing. The only thing that remained sharp and true was Fleur, her smile like a secret promise carved into the evening itself.
Before the murmurs had died down, another spectacle unfolded. From the depths of the Black Lake, bubbles rose in great streams, and suddenly a vast, dark ship surged upward from the water. Its mast creaked as it broke the surface, lanterns flickering to life along its hull. With a groan of timbers, it settled beside the shore, water streaming from its sides.
Durmstrang students emerged in thick, fur-lined cloaks, their boots crunching heavily against the frosted grass, their breath billowing in clouds of steam. They looked as though they had marched straight out of the mountains themselves—tall, broad, and grim-faced. At their head strode Igor Karkaroff, his pale hair gleaming, his sharp eyes sweeping across the Hogwarts crowd like knives.
But all attention shifted at once to the figure behind him: a broad-shouldered boy, slightly hunched, carrying a staff with the careless ease of someone born to wield it. His dark eyes were hooded, his heavy brows low, his hooked nose unmistakable.
Viktor Krum.
The famous Bulgarian Seeker had arrived.
The reaction was immediate.
Excitement rippled through the students like a shockwave. Several Gryffindor girls gasped loudly, clutching one another's arms as though they might faint on the spot. A Hufflepuff let out a squeal so piercing it bounced off the castle walls. From somewhere in the Ravenclaw ranks came a breathless, "Oh—he's even better looking in person!"
"KRUM!" a boy bellowed from the back, jumping up and down as if his idol had just scored a winning goal before his eyes.
Ron Weasley, who only moments earlier had been on the verge of proposing marriage to Fleur Delacour, went rigid. His jaw dropped, his ears went scarlet again, and he grabbed Harry's arm with the same death grip as before.
"It's him!" Ron hissed, his voice cracking. "It's Viktor Krum! Harry—Harry, it's Viktor Krum!"
"I know, Ron," Harry said, trying to wrench his sleeve free.
But Ron wasn't listening. He was on his toes now, craning desperately to get a better look, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. "Krum, Harry! Right here at Hogwarts! Blimey—if Mum could see this—KRUM!"
The Durmstrang students moved with military precision, filing into place with Krum at the center, his expression sullen and utterly unmoved by the hysteria. If he noticed the chorus of sighs and squeals rising from the Hogwarts girls, he gave no sign.
Several of them clutched their hands to their hearts, sighing so loudly it was almost theatrical. "He's so intense," one whispered dreamily. "That brooding look—it's just—"
Ron, meanwhile, was practically bouncing in place. "Harry, he's staying here! Can you believe it? He'll be in the same castle as us! Blimey—I'm breathing the same air as Viktor Krum—"
Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress a grin. The frenzy was infectious. Between Fleur's dazzling entrance and Krum's brooding arrival, the air around Hogwarts was electric with awe and excitement, students buzzing louder than a swarm of bees.
The delegations converged on the castle steps, where Dumbledore stepped forward, his arms outstretched in welcome.
"Bienvenue! Dobro pozhalovat'! Welcome to Hogwarts!" he declared, his voice carrying warmly across the assembled students.
The visitors inclined their heads politely, and the Hogwarts students broke into applause, though some could not contain their whispers.
"Look—it's Krum!"
"Did you see the size of those horses?"
"I bet Beauxbâtons gets real beds, not these lumpy mattresses—"
McGonagall's sharp look silenced them at once.
With dignified gestures, Dumbledore led the delegations into the castle, the students parting to let them pass. Torches flared brighter as the guests crossed the threshold, and the Great Hall doors swung open to reveal the splendor within: four house tables gleaming with polished goblets, the enchanted ceiling reflecting the twilight sky, and at the far end, the staff table prepared for its distinguished visitors.