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Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Triwizard Tournament
Amid the somber mood that always accompanied the end of the holidays, the staff welcomed back the returning students as well as the new ones.
The students soon realised that their once-beloved, young and dazzlingly handsome Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had changed dramatically. It was as if he had been infected by Professor Snape himself—he now wore a constant scowl, no longer cracked jokes, and even the smallest mistake earned a razor-sharp remark.
Lockhart's gloom came partly from putting on a show for Dumbledore, partly from the lingering resentment of having been dosed with Veritaserum (even if he understood Dumbledore's reasons, understanding was not the same as forgiving), and partly from the pressure of knowing he still had no way of stopping Barty Crouch Jr.
"Even Hermione Granger—Professor Lockhart's favourite—is too scared to go to his office these days."
A single comment summed up Lockhart's current state perfectly.
It seemed that people with bad tempers always found each other. Lockhart now called Snape "Severus," and Snape, with visible reluctance, returned the courtesy by calling him "Gilderoy." A shared secret goal could bring even the strangest pair closer.
On the last day of October, the other two schools competing in the Triwizard Tournament were scheduled to arrive and begin their year-long stay.
The final lesson of the afternoon ended half an hour early. Lockhart had no classes that day, so he stood behind Dumbledore long before the others arrived, enduring the biting northwest wind.
At exactly six o'clock, a carriage the size of a small house—drawn by twelve giant winged horses—descended from the southeast and landed to a chorus of excited shouts. A servant in a light-blue uniform hurried down to open the carriage door and set up the ramp. Madam Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, stepped out elegantly. She was extremely tall—almost taller than Hagrid—but carried herself with astonishing grace. Her skin was flawless, her face smooth, her large dark eyes striking beneath a finely curved nose. Her hair was swept into a glossy bun, and she wore black satin robes adorned with dazzling opals on her neck and thick fingers.
Dumbledore led the applause, stepping forward.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, dear Madam Maxime."
Madam Maxime extended her hand for him to kiss without needing to bend even an inch.
"'Ello, Dumbledore. I 'ope you 'ave been well."
Her deep, velvety voice—like a cello bow sliding over silk—made the girls in silver-blue robes behind her seem dull by comparison. Every drop of French elegance was concentrated in this tall and striking woman.
"It's an honour, Madam Maxime."
Seeing her attention shift to him, Lockhart quickly introduced himself.
"Gilderoy Lockhart, Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I am at your service."
"I 'ave 'eard much about you, Monsieur Lockhart."
She gave a graceful curtsey and subtly shifted her position, shielding the students behind her—as if aware of his reputation and treating him like Britain's most notorious flirt. The gesture was almost protective.
After repeatedly reminding them that her horses were difficult to manage, and Dumbledore repeatedly reassuring her that their gamekeeper could handle them, Filch led the Beauxbatons students indoors.
Several minutes later, the Durmstrang delegation finally arrived.
A whirlpool roared open in the middle of the Black Lake. Water churned like a giant drain emptying, and a massive iron-framed ship rose from the depths. Even under sunlight—let alone in the dim evening—it looked aged and skeletal, a ghost ship pulling itself back into the world. The deck was silent. As it neared the shore, scattered lights flickered in the portholes like monstrous eyes. The figures inside came into focus, setting down gangplanks before marching out in thick fur cloaks.
Leading them was Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang, wrapped in a silver fox-fur cloak the same colour as his hair. His curled goatee twitched as he gripped Dumbledore's hands dramatically.
"My dear old friend, Dumbledore! How are you?"
Karkaroff's reputation in the wizarding world was far from favourable, and this was likely his first return to Britain since his acquittal. When he proudly called forward a student and introduced him, it became clear why he dared to attend at all. The students' lukewarm reaction made him exaggerate even more as he turned to Lockhart with theatrical shock.
"By Merlin! Isn't this our dear Mr Lockhart! Your adventure books are required reading at Durmstrang!"
As a former Auror, Lockhart disliked him immensely, but responded with polite civility.
The Great Hall soon filled with students, and the teachers brought up the rear. They met with Madam Maxime briefly in the antechamber before taking their seats at the staff table.
Four extra chairs had been added—two for visiting Headmasters and two for the Ministry officials overseeing the Tournament. As expected, Rufus Scrimgeour (replacing Crouch) and Ludo Bagman arrived shortly after, though few students gave them much attention. Instead, their eyes drifted—some subtly, some not—toward the Ravenclaw table.
When the Beauxbatons girls removed their scarves in the warmth of the hall, one girl revealed a cascade of long, thick, pale-gold hair that reached her waist. It glimmered with a beauty reminiscent of a Veela. Even the immaculate Malfoy family could not compare. Her hair alone seemed enchanting enough to unsettle every boy in the hall and spark envy in every girl.
Lockhart sat at the staff table, wine glass in hand, studying the stunning young woman. If he wasn't mistaken, this was Fleur Delacour. She was breathtaking—no wonder the students were dazed. Even Lockhart had never seen anyone so naturally beautiful. Veela blood truly lived up to its reputation.
But his mind was far from flirting.
After a brief welcome, Dumbledore moved straight to business.
"Mr Bagman and Mr Scrimgeour have been working tirelessly over the past few months in preparation for the Triwizard Tournament," he said. "They will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madam Maxime as judges."
"Now then—Filch, if you could bring the casket forward."
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