At the staff table, the atmosphere was just as lively. Dumbledore sat in the center, serene as ever, his twinkling eyes hidden behind the gleam of his half-moon spectacles. To his right towered Madame Maxime, her enormous figure draped in robes that glittered like starlight, while to his left Igor Karkaroff slouched in his chair, his thin goatee twitching as his eyes darted sharply over the students below.
Ludo Bagman, resplendent in yellow-and-black robes that looked as though they had once belonged to a particularly enthusiastic bumblebee, clapped his hands together as though he were at a Quidditch final rather than a formal feast. His grin stretched nearly ear to ear, the very picture of cheer. Beside him sat Barty Crouch Sr., stiff and upright in a pinstriped suit, his face set in stone and his mustache trimmed with military precision. He looked as though even breathing might have been done according to a strict timetable.
On the far side of the table, Alastor Moody leaned forward, his magical eye whirling in its socket. It fixed—rather unpleasantly—on Karkaroff, who shifted under its gaze like a student caught with Dungbombs in his pocket. Moody's scarred mouth twisted into what might have been a grin, though it looked more like a grimace.
"Up to no good, that one," he growled under his breath. "Always was. Can smell it a mile off."
Karkaroff pretended to be very interested in a silver goblet before him, studiously avoiding Moody's eyes. Every so often, Moody muttered something else—half-paranoid, half-funny—like "Bet he'd sell his own boots if the price was right" or "Shifty beard, shifty man." The teachers seated nearby exchanged wary glances but wisely said nothing.
Down the table, Hagrid sat ramrod-straight, his tangled mane of hair combed more vigorously than usual, though stray bits still stuck up like twigs. His gaze never left Madame Maxime. Every time she shifted, or reached for her goblet, or so much as adjusted her glittering sleeve, Hagrid puffed out his chest a little wider, nearly splitting the seams of his moleskin coat.
"Bit o' veela in her, maybe," he whispered loudly to Professor Sprout, who jumped and nearly spilled her wine.
Sprout, pink-faced, gave him a sidelong glance and muttered, "Do behave, Hagrid."
"Only sayin'," Hagrid mumbled, his eyes still following Madame Maxime with an expression of hopeless admiration.
Meanwhile, Bagman was regaling Professor Flitwick with some over-loud tale about a Quidditch match in his youth, waving his arms so broadly that he nearly knocked over a gravy boat. Flitwick clapped politely at the end of each outburst, though he had clearly heard it all before.
At the center of it all, Dumbledore appeared serenely oblivious, surveying the hall with mild delight, as though he had orchestrated the entire scene for his own amusement.
When the hall finally quieted, Dumbledore rose. His presence alone was enough to command silence.
"Welcome, students, teachers, and honored guests," he began, his voice rich and warm, carrying easily to the farthest corner of the hall. "It gives me the greatest pleasure to open Hogwarts to our friends from Beauxbâtons and Durmstrang. May your stay here be as rewarding as it is memorable."
Polite applause rippled across the hall, joined by a few scattered cheers. Fleur lifted her chin proudly, her silvery hair catching the glow of the floating candles, her hand already finding Eira's on the table as though it belonged there.
Beneath the oak, hidden from every curious eye, their fingers slid together with the ease of habit. Fleur's touch was slow, deliberate, her thumb brushing over Eira's skin in soft, lingering circles that spoke more clearly than words ever could.
Eira turned to her with a smile that was all warmth, her eyes bright in the candlelight. She returned the pressure, lacing their fingers tightly, her palm fitting snugly into Fleur's as if made for it. The contact drew a faint blush to her cheeks, but she didn't look away.
Fleur leaned closer, until her shoulder pressed against Eira's, until her lips hovered just beside her ear. Then, deliberately, she let out a soft sigh, her warm breath spilling across Eira's skin.
The effect was immediate. A shiver ran down Eira's spine, betraying her, and her hand tightened around Fleur's under the table.
Fleur's voice followed in a whisper, low and velvet in French: «Si nous n'étions pas en public… je t'aurais embrassée. J'aurais fait tant de choses à toi.»
( "If we weren't in public… I would have kissed you. I would have done so many naughty things to you 😈.")
Eira's ears turned scarlet, the heat creeping down her neck. On the surface she forced herself to sit upright, her face calm and composed, as though nothing at all were amiss. Anyone looking on would have seen nothing more than two friends sitting close, listening to Dumbledore.
But Fleur's smile lingered knowingly, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around Eira's beneath the table, as if reminding her that their little secret world still existed, hidden in plain sight.
Dumbledore gestured toward the staff table. "Allow me also to introduce some of our distinguished visitors from the Ministry of Magic. Mr. Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."
Crouch stood briefly, gave a curt nod, and sat back down, his lips pressed in a thin line.
"And Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
Bagman bounded to his feet and gave an enthusiastic wave, grinning at the students as though expecting them all to know him personally. A few Gryffindors clapped louder than necessary, likely amused by his flamboyance.
"Together," Dumbledore continued, "with our esteemed colleagues Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff, we shall oversee the Triwizard Tournament."
At the mention of the Tournament, a murmur spread like fire through the hall. Forks clinked against plates as students whispered feverishly: Who would be chosen? What would the tasks be?
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as though he enjoyed the suspense. "As tradition dictates, the Tournament shall test the skill, daring, and ingenuity of three champions—one from each school. No student under the age of seventeen may enter. This age restriction will be enforced."