The Arrivals
Harry
Harry had only been partially truthful. Sure, he'd written a letter to Remus, too. But he also had a letter for Regulus.
Why was that?
Well, Harry didn't have an explanation. It was just that he thought that Regulus was probably alone most of the time, and that maybe he'd appreciate someone writing to him. Right? Harry also felt an intrigue in regards to Regulus, and wanted to get to know him.
His letter was causal enough:
Dear Crux,
I reckon you're bored, eh? I suppose I would be too, in a situation as yours. How's Padfoot been treating you?
I don't think I've ever talked much to you, so I decided to do so now. Maybe we can get to know each other?
I'd say this: Sixth year sucks. I'm already so preoccupied lately with everything! I'm dreading NEWT year, to be honest. I mean, the way things are going...
I'm still spending most of my time with my friends, though. I dare say you may not know them? There's Ech, of course. And Sera, Adrian, and Cedric. We call ourselves the Prowlers - sort of like the Marauders. Does this make me sound like a copy-cat?
Anyway, I've been toying with the idea of a pet for a while now. What animal would you suggest? Pads bet dogs are the best (typical) and Mum and Dad are convinced that cats are a great idea (though I think it's more to do with the fact how much it'd annoy Sirius). Remus didn't really have many recommendations: he likes everything...
You might give better ideas, though. You know, being unbiased and all.
Anyway, I'll be waiting for your reply.
Harry.
The Owlery, which was situated at the top of West Tower, was a circular stone room, rather cold and drafty because none of the windows had glass in them. The floor was entirely covered in straw, owl droppings, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles. Hundreds upon hundreds of owls of every breed imaginable were nestled here on perches that rose right up to the top of the tower, nearly all of them asleep, though here and there a round amber eye glared at Harry. He spotted Hedwig nestled between a barn owl and a tawny, and hurried over to her, sliding a little on the dropping-strewn floor.
It took him a while to persuade her to wake up and then to look at him, as she kept shuffling around on her perch, showing him her tail. She was a moody owl, Harry had to say, and didn't really envy Charles, despite how beautiful she was. In the end, it was Harry suggesting she might be too tired, and that perhaps he would use a school owl, that made her stick out her leg and allow him to tie the letter to it.
Charles
Charles did his best not to worry about his scar hurting over the next couple of weeks. True, he could not, late at night before he went to sleep, prevent himself from seeing horrible visions of Voldemort, but between times he tried to keep his mind off Voldemort. He wished he still had Quidditch to distract him; nothing worked so well on a troubled mind as a good, hard training session. On the other hand, their lessons were becoming more difficult and demanding than ever before, particularly Moody’s Defense Against the Dark Arts.
To their surprise, Professor Moody had announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist its effects. Oh, and also that Sirius and James were there as well. Sirius was invited by Professor Moody to 'help' and James was just to supervise, being an Auror and all.
“But - but you said it’s illegal, Professor,” Hermione said uncertainly as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room. “You said - to use it against another human was —”
“Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like,” said Moody, his magical eye swiveling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. “If you’d rather learn the hard way - when someone’s putting it on you so they can control you completely - fine by me. You’re excused. Off you go.”
He pointed one gnarled finger toward the door. Hermione went very pink and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave. Charles and Ron grinned at each other. They knew Hermione would rather eat bubotuber pus than miss such an important lesson.
Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. Charles watched as, one by one, his classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it.
“Potter,” Moody growled, “you next.”
Charles moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Sirius gave him a small grin and James winked and showed him a thumbs-up. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Charles, and said, “Imperio!”
It was the most wonderful feeling. Charles felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him.
And then he heard Mad-Eye Moody’s voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: Jump onto the desk... jump onto the desk...
Charles bent his knees obediently, preparing to spring. Jump onto the desk...
Why, though? Another voice had awoken in the back of his brain. Stupid thing to do, really, said the voice.
Jump onto the desk...
No, I don’t think I will, thanks, said the other voice, a little more firmly... no, I don’t really want to...
Jump! NOW!
The next thing Charles felt was considerable pain. He had both jumped and tried to prevent himself from jumping - the result was that he’d smashed headlong into the desk, knocking it over, and, by the feeling in his legs, fractured both his kneecaps.
“Now, that’s more like it!” growled Moody’s voice, and suddenly, Charles felt the empty, echoing feeling in his head disappear. He remembered exactly what was happening, and the pain in his knees seemed to double.
“Look at that, you lot... Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! Like father, like son, eh? We’ll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention - watch his eyes, that’s where you see it - very good, Potter, very good indeed! They’ll have trouble controlling you!”
“The way he talks,” Charles muttered as he hobbled out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class an hour later (Moody had insisted on putting Charles through his paces four times in a row, until he could throw off the curse entirely), “you’d think we were all going to be attacked any second.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Ron, who was skipping on every alternate step. He had had much more difficulty with the curse than Charles, though Moody assured him the effects would wear off by lunchtime. “Talk about paranoid...”
Ron glanced nervously over his shoulder to check that Moody was definitely out of earshot and went on. “No wonder they were glad to get shot of him at the Ministry. Did you hear him telling Seamus what he did to that witch who shouted ‘Boo’ behind him on April Fools’ Day?"
"Excellent, Charles!" There was a tap on his shoulder, and Charles turned to see his father beaming proudly at him, Sirius having gone to his next class. "You're amazing, you know that?" James gushed. "First the Patronus, now the Imperius!"
Charles grinned smugly. "Thanks, Dad."
"I'm proud of you," James smiled and hugged him briefly, before suddenly letting go. "I'll see you sometime later, yeah? I'm not free, unfortunately. See you!"
With that, James was off, and they resumed their walking. Bianca sighed, resuming their conversation, "When are we supposed to read up on resisting the Imperius Curse with everything else we’ve got to do?”
All the fourth years had noticed a definite increase in the amount of work they were required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explained why when the class gave a particularly loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she had assigned.
“You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!” she told them, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. “Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer-”
“We don’t take O.W.L.s till fifth year!” said Dean indignantly.
“Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger and Mr. Potter remain the only people in this class who have managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!”
Hermione, who had turned rather pink again, seemed to be trying not to look too pleased with herself. Charles wasn't even trying as he grinned abashedly.
Charles and Hermione were neck-to-neck in Arithmancy, as well, with Bianca not too far behind, while Ron announced to them, deeply amused, that Trelawney had told him that he had received top marks for his homework in his Divination class. She had read out large portions of his predictions, commending him for his unflinching acceptance of the horrors in store for him - but he was less amused when she asked him to do the same thing for the month after next; he was running out of ideas for catastrophes.
Meanwhile, Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had them writing weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape was forcing them to research antidotes. They took this one seriously, as he had hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked. Professor Flitwick had asked them to read three extra books in preparation for their lesson on Summoning Charms.
When they arrived in the entrance hall after their Charms lesson, they found themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the tallest of the three, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to the other two:
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early —
“Brilliant!” Charles cried. “It’s Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won’t have time to poison us all!”
Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.
“Only a week away!” said Effie exclaimed, emerging from the crowd, her eyes gleaming. “I wonder if Harry knows? And Cedric?"
Charles frowned at his sister. "Harry and Cedric are entering?"
Effie startled, just noticing him, but rolled her eyes. “Duh, stupid.”
"But mum and dad-"
"Have given him permission," Effie shrugged, raising an eyebrow. "Not as if they could stop him, eh? He's of age. Besides, he's in your house. Shouldn't you know this already?"
Charles shrugged uncomfortably. "I've been... distracted, I guess."
He could just stare as Effie smiled and hurried off.
“Your brother, Charles! Imagine if he became Hogwarts champion?” Ron said as they pushed their way through the chattering crowd toward the staircase. "Though I really think Diggory's an idiot..."
“He’s not an idiot." Hermione scoffed. "You just don’t like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch. He's Harry's best friend, in case you forgot. I’ve heard he’s a really good student - and he’s a prefect.”
She spoke as though this settled the matter.
“You only like him because he’s handsome,” Ron accused scathingly.
Hermione bristled indignantly. “Excuse me, I don’t like people just because they’re handsome!”
Ron gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like “Lockhart!”
The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect on the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter where Charles went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.
Charles noticed too that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.
Other members of the staff seemed oddly tense too. “Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can’t even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!” Professor McGonagall barked at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus.
When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers’ table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.
Charles, Ron, Hermione, and Bianca sat down beside Fred and George at the Gryffindor table. Once again, and most unusually, they were sitting apart from everyone else and conversing in low voices. Ron led the way over to them.
“It’s a bummer, all right,” George was saying gloomily to Fred. “But if he won’t talk to us in person, we’ll have to send him the letter after all. Or we’ll stuff it into his hand. He can’t avoid us forever.”
“Who’s avoiding you?” said Ron, sitting down next to them.
“Wish you would,” said Fred, looking irritated at the interruption.
“What’s a bummer?” Ron asked George.
“Having a nosy git like you for a brother,” said George.
“You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?” Charles asked. “Thought any more about trying to enter?”
“I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn’t telling,” said George bitterly. “She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon.”
“Wonder what the tasks are going to be?” Bianca mused thoughtfully.
Ron grinned at Charles. "You know, I bet we could do them, mate. We’ve done dangerous stuff before..."
“Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven’t,” Fred frowned. “McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they’ve done the tasks.”
“Who are the judges?” Bianca asked.
“Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel,” Hermione said, and everyone looked around at her, rather surprised, “because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage.”
She noticed them all looking at her and said, with her usual air of impatience that nobody else had read all the books she had, “It’s all in Hogwarts, A History. Though, of course, that book’s not entirely reliable. A Revised History of Hogwarts would be a more accurate title. Or A Highly Biased and SelectiveHistory of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School.”
“What are you on about?” Ron asked, though Charles thought he knew what was coming.
“House-elves!” said Hermione, her eyes flashing. “Not once, in over a thousand pages, does Hogwarts, A History mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!”
Charles shook his head and applied himself to his scrambled eggs. Her friends' lack of enthusiasm had done nothing whatsoever to curb Hermione’s determination to pursue justice for house-elves.
True, all three of them (Charles, Ron, and Bianca) had paid two Sickles for a S.P.E.W. badge, but Charles and Bianca had done it in a moment of inspiration, and Ron had only done it to keep her quiet and because he didn't want be left out.
Their Sickles had been wasted, however; if anything, they seemed to have made Hermione more vociferous. She had been badgering the three ever since, first to wear the badges, then to persuade others to do the same, and she had also taken to rattling around the Gryffindor common room every evening, cornering people and shaking the collecting tin under their noses.
“You do realize that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned, and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslaved?” she kept saying fiercely.
Some people, like Neville, had paid up just to stop Hermione from glowering at them. A few seemed mildly interested in what she had to say, but were reluctant to take a more active role in campaigning. Many regarded the whole thing as a joke.
Ron now rolled his eyes at the ceiling, which was flooding them all in autumn sunlight, and Fred became extremely interested in his bacon (both twins had refused to buy a S.P.E.W. badge). George, however, leaned in toward Hermione.
“Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?”
“No, of course not,” said Hermione curtly, “I hardly think students are supposed to-"
“Well, we have,” said George, indicating Fred, “loads of times, to nick food. Many older students do, too. And we’ve met them, and they’re happy. They think they’ve got the best job in the world-"
“That’s because they’re uneducated and brainwashed!” Hermione began hotly, but her next few words were drowned out by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead, which announced the arrival of the post owls. Charles looked up and saw Hedwig soaring toward Harry.
Harry
Harry pulled off Regulus' reply and offered Hedwig his bacon rinds, which she ate gratefully.
Dear Harry,
Thank you for your letters. I have to admit it, I'm rather enjoying hearing something fresh and joyful as your school life these days. It keeps me occupied and amused.
Sirius comes to visit me often, and I've mentioned our exchanges in passing, but I’m afraid he was rather distracted to properly listen. Nothing interesting going on here, of course, but I think your suspicions were right... I've seen Sirius going out to meet a certain unnamed lady often recently.
Tell me more.
Crux.
Harry smiled mischievously. So, Sirius did seem to have a secret lady - which he grandly suspected was the Italian girl from the World Cup - though Sirius had been quiet about it... Excellent blackmail stuff.
Harry and Regulus had become pen-pals now, writing to each other twice a week. It was fun and helped in killing time, and Harry realized that he was starting to like Regulus, who was so different and yet so similar to his older brother.
“Thanks, Hedwig,” Harry said, stroking her. She hooted sleepily, dipped her beak briefly into his goblet of orange juice, then took off again, clearly desperate for a good long sleep in the Owlery.
There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Harry hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited his bag and books, pulled on his cloak, and rushed back downstairs into the entrance hall, meeting up with the rest of the Prowlers.
The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines.
“Weasley, straighten your hat,” Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. “Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair.”
Parvati Patil scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.
“Follow me, please,” said Professor McGonagall. “First years in front... no pushing..."
They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Harry, standing between Jéricho and Cedric in the fourth row from the front, saw Dennis Creevey positively shivering with anticipation among the other first years.
“Nearly six,” Adrian said, checking his watch and then staring down the drive that led to the front gates. “How d’you reckon they’re coming? The train?”
“I doubt it,” Sera said.
“A Portkey?” Cedric suggested. “Or they could Apparate - maybe you’re allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?”
“You can’t Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?” Sera said impatiently.
They scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent, and quiet as usual. Harry was starting to feel cold. He wished they’d hurry up... Maybe the foreign students were preparing a dramatic entrance...
And then Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers —
“Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”
“Where?” said many students - including Harry - eagerly, all looking in different directions.
“There!” yelled a fourth year, pointing over the forest.
Something large, much larger than a broomstick - or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks - was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.
“It’s a dragon!” shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.
“Don’t be stupid... it’s a flying house!” said Dennis Creevey.
Dennis’s guess was closer. As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.
The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming to land at a tremendous speed - then, with an almighty crash, the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.
Harry just had time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars) before it opened.
A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage - a shoe the size of a child’s sled - followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman he had ever seen in his life. The size of the carriage, and the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped.
Harry had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in his life, and that was Hagrid; he doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow - maybe simply because he was used to Hagrid - this woman (now at the foot of the steps, and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) seemed even more unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.
Harry could've bet she seemed at least like half a giant...
Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.
Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.
“My dear Madame Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”
“Dumbly-dorr,” said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. “I ’ope I find you well?”
“In excellent form, I thank you,” said Dumbledore.
“My pupils,” said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.
Harry, whose attention had been focused completely upon Madame Maxime, now noticed that about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. From what Harry could see of them (they were standing in Madame Maxime’s enormous shadow), they were staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.
Harry caught the eye of the person he'd been searching for, who winked at him.
“’As Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madame Maxime asked.
“He should be here any moment,” said Dumbledore. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?”
“Warm up, I think,” said Madame Maxime. "But ze ’orses-"
“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,” Dumbledore said, “and so will our gamekeeper, I believe, the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other - er - charges.”
“My steeds require - er - forceful ’andling,” said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. “Zey are very strong..."
“I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job,” said Dumbledore, smiling.
“Very well,” said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly. “Will you please inform zis ’Agrid zat ze ’orses drink only single-malt whiskey?”
“It will be attended to,” said Dumbledore, also bowing.
“Come,” said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.
“How big d’you reckon Durmstrang’s horses are going to be?” Cedric mused.
“Well, if they’re any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won’t be able to handle them,” Harry snorted.
They stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky.
For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime’s huge horses snorting and stamping. But then —
“Can you hear something?” Jéricho said suddenly.
Harry listened; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward them from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed...
“The lake!” yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. “Look at the lake!”
From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water - except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks - and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake’s floor...
What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool... and then Harry saw the rigging...
“It’s a mast!” he realized.
Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.
People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship’s portholes. All of them, Harry noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle... but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, he saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair.
“Dumbledore!” he called heartily as he walked up the slope. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?”
“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied.
Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.
“Dear old Hogwarts,” he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and Harry noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. “How good it is to be here, how good... Viktor, come along, into the warmth... you don’t mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold...”
Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Harry caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He didn’t need the punch on the arm Adrian gave him, or the hiss in his ear, to recognize that profile.
“It’s Krum!”