The clatter of plates and laughter of students was slowly dying down as the last traces of lunch disappeared from the long tables. The enchanted ceiling above the Great Hall had shifted into a pale autumn blue streaked with drifting clouds, while the Goblet of Fire still blazed with its tall blue flames at the front of the chamber.
Students of Hogwarts had already begun clearing the scraps and crumbs from their tables under the watchful eyes of the professors when the Beauxbatons delegation swept once more into the hall. They moved in their usual elegant manner, led by Madame Maxime herself, their silken robes whispering as they walked.
Eira lingered at the Slytherin table, spooning a final taste of treacle tart onto her tongue, half watching the French students from across the hall. She noticed Fleur moving with her characteristic grace, her hair gleaming like sunlight on water. The Beauxbatons girl held her head high as she stepped towards the Goblet of Fire, the flames reflecting in her pale eyes.
One by one the foreign students approached the Goblet and dropped slips of parchment into its hungry fire. Fleur was among the last to step forward. She bent slightly, the blue light catching her flawless features, and slipped her name inside with a touch that seemed almost ceremonial. When she straightened, her gaze cut across the hall.
Her eyes found Eira.
It was brief and deliberate, but unmistakable. Fleur's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, and she sent Eira a slow, deliberate wink. The gesture was languid, almost teasing, but charged with enough boldness to make Eira's breath catch. Before Eira could even react, Fleur turned on her heel, her hair glinting as she joined her companions and swept out of the hall.
The Slytherin girl sat frozen, spoon halfway to her mouth. She was dimly aware of the shifting silence around her. Students had seen it, the wink, the strange flash of connection. A murmur began to ripple, sliding along the Gryffindor table first before creeping elsewhere.
Ron Weasley was staring, his mouth slightly open.
"Blimey, Harry, look at her. It's like she's glowing or something. Did you see the way she just floated across the room? She's not human, is she?"
Harry rolled his eyes and nudged his friend.
"Ron, she's part-Veela. It's literally magic making you gape like that. Snap out of it, mate, you're practically drooling."
Ron did not blink. His eyes followed Fleur until the doors closed behind her.
"Veela, schmela. That's not just magic, Harry. That's perfection. Did you see her hair? It's like spun gold. And her eyes—d'you think she looked over here?"
Harry snorted.
"Yeah, sure, she's staring right at you, Ron, planning to whisk you off to France. Come on, she's putting her name in the Goblet, same as the others. She's not here to pick you out of the crowd."
Ron leaned forward dreamily.
"You don't know that. Maybe she's looking for someone… brave. Like a Gryffindor. I could be a champion, you know. I'd put my name in if I was seventeen. Bet she'd notice me then."
Harry grinned.
"Brave? You nearly fainted when she smiled at the Welcoming Feast. And you're not seventeen, so you're not entering, unless you fancy growing a beard and fooling the Goblet. Which, by the way, you'd fail at—your face is redder than your hair right now."
Ron blushed furiously but remained defiant.
"Oi, I'm not that bad. I just… she's different, alright? She's not like anyone at Hogwarts. When she walked past earlier, I swear the air got warmer. You felt it too, don't lie."
Harry tried not to laugh.
"Mate, the only thing getting warmer is your head. It's the Veela charm messing with you. Hermione told us about it—it makes blokes go all stupid. Look, she's done now, she's walking away. You can close your mouth."
Ron sighed, his eyes following Fleur until she vanished with the rest of her schoolmates.
"Stupid? I'm not stupid. I'm inspired. I'm gonna talk to her, Harry. Maybe after the champions are picked. She'll need someone to cheer her on, right?"
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, good luck with that. Maybe start by not tripping over your own feet when she's within ten yards. Or, you know, actually saying words instead of staring like a confunded flobberworm."
Ron grinned despite himself.
"You're just jealous because you don't appreciate true beauty. Bet you'd be the same if Cho Chang was tossing her name in."
Harry flushed.
"Shut up, that's different. At least I'm not planning to propose to her in the middle of the Great Hall. Come on, let's go find Hermione before you start writing Fleur love poems."
Ron muttered as he stood, still sneaking glances at the door.
"Poems aren't a bad idea, you know…"
At the other side of the hall, Lavender Brown leaned close to Parvati, her eyes flicking suspiciously from the Slytherin table to the doors Fleur had exited through.
"Don't you think those two, Eira White and that Veela girl, are a little too close? They're not like normal friends. They're… touchy-touchy. More than friends should be."
Parvati frowned and shrugged.
"I don't know. Maybe they're just friends. Eira keeps to herself most of the time."
Lavender shook her head and lowered her voice, though not quite enough to keep others from overhearing.
"No, I actually heard rumours. They say she likes girls. Can you imagine? A head of house of noble, onto girls." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Who would want to be with girls?"
Parvati gave another shrug, noncommittal.
"Well, I don't know. These pure-blood wizards are weird, you know that."
Lavender burst into a fit of giggles, and a few others leaned closer, listening though they did not join in. Some rolled their eyes, others exchanged glances. Whispers followed, curling through the tables.
The rumours began to build. Fleur's wink had not gone unnoticed, nor had the look that passed between her and the Slytherin heiress. To some it was strange, to others scandalous. Yet most students, especially the boys, were too entranced by Fleur's beauty to care. She seemed untouchable, dazzling, and anyone she glanced at was suddenly an object of speculation.
Meanwhile, more Hogwarts students were filing forward to place their names in the Goblet of Fire. The flames licked each slip of parchment with a hungry hiss. The hall grew louder as excitement swelled. Tonight the Goblet would choose. Tonight the champions would be revealed.
By late afternoon a murmur swept through the castle. The Ministry delegation had arrived. Bartemius Crouch himself was among them, stiff-backed and severe, his presence adding weight to the day's anticipation. Students whispered in clusters, speculating about who would be chosen, who would stand for Hogwarts, who would stand for glory.
As the sky darkened outside, candles sprang to life across the Great Hall. The Goblet still burned fiercely, its flames casting eerie shadows on the enchanted ceiling.
When all were gathered, Albus Dumbledore rose from the staff table and approached the podium. His eyes twinkled, but his expression was grave enough to silence the eager chatter.
"Well," he said, his voice filling the chamber. "Before we begin the ceremony of selection, before the Goblet declares the champions who shall compete in this most ancient of tournaments, I have an announcement of importance."
The Great Hall hushed at once, hundreds of faces turning up toward the headmaster, breaths held in anticipation.