Correspondence
Chapter 11: Correspondence
Sneaking up to the Owlery was a relatively simple task, Draco found. He could walk relatively quietly, and he only crossed paths with Filch once. As luck would have it, the old caretaker was too busy to notice his presence—off chasing after the Weasley twins, or some poor first year smuggling in contraband. The castle seemed deserted with most of its students already gathering in their common rooms to discuss the first week of classes coming to a close.
Climbing the twisting stairs up to the Owlery, Draco listened to the hoots and coos of the owls coming to life for the evening. He made quick work of calling forth Aquila, and tying the rolled up parchment to the large eagle owl’s extended leg. Before he could get his fingers nipped and bloodied, Draco offered the great bird a treat from his robes pocket, and whispered for him to deliver the letter to his mother. Aquila confirmed the destination with a pleased hoot, and took off with several powerful flaps of his long wings.
He slipped, still undetected, down the several flights of stairs back to the Slytherin common room, passing the huddled together Weasley twins without notice, to where his friends were still waiting for his return.
“It’s sent,” he announced.
Pansy patted the open seat next to her and Blaise on the couch. “Sit. We’re going over the notes Greg and Millie took for us, though I’m not sure we really missed much.”
The friends spent the rest of the evening like that—quietly sharing notes and trading comments on different coursework, not just from Defense, but from the rest of their classes too. When Daphne pulled out Unfogging the Future, Draco sighed in defeat. He’d tried to put off the predictions and star charts for as long as possible, but working as a group had significantly reduced his workload, and there weren’t any more probable reasons to procrastinate.
“Ugh, do we really have to?” he pouted at the only other blonde.
“Yes,” she said firmly, “we do. I’ll fetch Tracey and we can just make a bunch of things up if you can’t be bothered to actually do the work.” She smirked at the last bit, and he was fairly certain she wasn’t willing to put forth any effort either.
Tracey Davis joined the rest of the cohort, and Theo became their muse.
“Well, my sweet and lovely Daphne, here, will succeed in all her endeavors next week,” he waggled his eyebrows. “And you,” he pointed to Draco, “will be in grave danger!” His voice wavered in a impersonation of Professor Trelawney.
Draco scoffed, “Why would I be in grave danger, Theo?”
“Um, hello? We’re seeing those terrifyingly awful skrewts of Hagrid’s on Monday!” Theo said in mock-horror.
They all laughed heartily at that. It was true enough.
“I’ll have a bout of forgetfulness on Tuesday,” Tracey added, “and maybe one of us should consider rekindling a dying flame?”
Everyone stared pointedly at Draco and he rolled his eyes in return. “Fine. I’ll take that one,” he grumbled. “Though I’m not sure when I’ll have the time, being in grave danger and all…”
Theo just beamed at him, “Oh, come on, don’t you see? You’ll be the damsel in distress, Drakey-poo!”
Once the collective laughter died down, Daphne added to her list that her sister would finally leave her and her friends alone, and that she would be at the top of the class this year. Draco snorted, earning himself a cheeky wink from the witch who was already a favorite for Trelawney.
Several more ridiculous predictions later, and they were heading off to bed. Draco tossed and turned most of the night, afraid to fall asleep—visions of her torture had plagued his dreams, but he also feared the resurgence of the ferret memories. His shoulder still ached, even after Madam Pomfrey had cleared him for regular activity.
Finally drifting off somewhere around dawn, he only slept fitfully for a few hours before giving in and joining the others for a late breakfast.
…
Snape was particularly evasive the following week. It wasn’t until their second Potions class that Draco was able to corner the elusive wizard. He seemed suspiciously unwilling to discuss anything outside of Potions with him.
“What is it you want, Mister Malfoy?” Snape asked, agitated.
“We were hoping to discuss a detention we had with Professor Moody–” he began only to be promptly cut off.
“Your concerns would be best discussed with Professor Moody or the Headmaster,” Snape said flatly, preparing to push past him in an escape attempt.
“Professor, he used Unforgivables on us!” Draco growled at the coward. He knew Snape had some sort of unsavory past run-ins with the ex-Auror, but he had a duty to protect his students–and not just any students, his own House.
“I suggest you discuss that with the Headmaster. I have no authority over how other professors handle their assigned detentions. I will put in a recommendation for Professor Dumbledore to review the disciplinary guidelines with Professor Moody.” His response was cold, and empty. Draco recognized the tell-tale signs of Occlumency in Snape’s black, and now blank eyes. “Now if you will excuse me, I have grading to do.”
Snape flew out of the classroom, slamming the door to his office shut firmly behind him.
“I am not talking to Dumbledore about this,” Draco grumbled as Pansy, Theo, Blaise, and Daphne approached him outside.
“That bad?” Theo asked, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.
Draco’s frown was clear, “We’re to take it to Dumbledore, he says.”
Pansy was the first to recover from the spewed stupidity only to follow it up with some of her own. “Fine, then. Let’s go.” She grabbed Blaise and Draco by their elbows, dragging them through the castle with Theo and Daphne following behind.
Blaise wretched her hand off after she had yanked them up the third staircase, “Merlin, woman! We can walk ourselves there!” Pansy released Draco too, but never broke stride in her determined march to the ugly stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster’s office.
“Chocolate Frogs,” she hissed at the statue, and it moved aside, revealing the twisting staircase.
“How did you know that was the password?” Blaise stared at her.
Pansy rolled her eyes at him like he was a complete dunderhead. “The prefects aren’t exactly discrete, now are they? I have the password to the prefects’ bathroom too. Moving on…” She pushed the two boys ahead of her onto the stairs so they would stop gawking at her, and the five Slytherins climbed their way to meet with Dumbledore.
When they arrived in the office, the door was open and waiting for them. They poured into the room, taking in all the baubles and magical devices lining the shelves in each corner. The Pensieve, Draco noted, was missing, presumably still in Snape’s office.
“Ah, Mister Malfoy. I wondered when I’d be seeing you this term. Although, I must say, I didn’t expect it to be quite this soon,” Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles at the gathered Slytherins. “Misters Zabini and Nott, Miss Parkinson, Miss Greengrass,” he greeted the others cordially.
“With all due respect, Headmaster,” Pansy cut in, “we’re here to file a complaint about Professor Moody.”
Dumbledore seemed unsurprised. In fact, the twinkle in his eye told Draco he had indeed been expecting exactly this outburst. “Come on, Pans, we’re wasting our breath here.”
The old man’s eyes appraised Draco momentarily, like he was sussing out an adversary’s strategy and weaknesses. “Mister Malfoy, please enlighten me on the situation. I take the concerns of all my students very seriously.”
Draco scoffed in return, “Well, sir, Professor Moody used the Imperius Curse on both myself and Theo. He tried to use us to attack other students.”
Dumbledore hummed as he listened to Draco reprise their story of detention. He purposefully did not include the Transfiguration incident. He was certain McGonagall had already expressed her concerns to the Headmaster and he would have, naturally, assured her it would not happen again. It also wouldn’t help his case to bring up how he had been aiming his wand at Dumbledore’s precious Potter.
“I see.” Dumbledore looked at each of them, most likely considering what the consequences would be if their combined families kicked up enough shit for him to either clean up or drown in. “I will discuss Alastor’s punishments with him. It does appear to have been a good practice for you both to try throwing off the curse, however…” He let the observation hang stagnantly in the air.
Pansy was having none of the silver lining, however, and lashed out instead. “Sir, what he did was illegal. He should be in Azkaban!”
“Now, now,” Dumbledore said placating her, “it was a purely academic endeavor, I’m sure. As I said, I will have a discussion with Professor Moody about proper punishments for future detentions he assigns. I would recommend,” he added, staring at Draco pointedly, “that you do your best to avoid these kinds of situations in the future.”
“But sir!” Pansy resisted. “We can’t continue in a class where we are constantly singled out and attacked by the professor!”
“Miss Parkinson,” the Headmaster said firmly while looking at her with a stiff smile as he moved out from behind his desk, “your loyalty and fire are admirable. I will see if there is an alternative, however, aside from independent study–which would not be wise the year before you take your O.W.L.s–my hands are quite tied.”
He ushered them out the door, calling well-wishes in their studies and promising his door was always open to concerned students…as he closed the door in their faces.
“I’m going to say it. Just this one time. I told you so,” Draco said to a scowling Pansy.
…
At dinner that night, a silvery envelope with a seal of emerald wax was dropped in Draco’s lap. Aquila flew overhead, snatching a piece of sausage off the table before returning to the Owlery.
“What did she say?” Theo whispered, hoping not to draw the attention of outsiders.
Draco read his mother’s perfect script on the parchment within.
Draco,
I cannot fathom how you must feel after the aforementioned events. I am glad to hear that Theodore and Pansy are safe as well. I am so sorry you and your friends must endure this, but that is precisely what you must do. Endure. It is not a safe time to be making waves or stepping out of line, and with your father’s precarious positions, we need to remind ourselves to remain under the radar.
Too many years has the Malfoy name been flaunted about society, drawing attention from all corners of the globe, and while I admit my own part played in it, it has made our new roles dangerous. I would advise you all to not take part in any schemes involving the Triwizard Tournament, but simply enjoy the competition as spectators. Please tell Theodore to leave his clever plotting to winning Daphne’s affections, and not attempt anything too unreasonable.
Your father is speaking with Igor Karkaroff of Durmstrang to see if you will be allowed to study with them once they arrive at Hogwarts, instead of continuing on with Alastor Moody, as he is evidently disturbed. Do not, under any circumstances, underestimate him, Draco. He is as much a snake as we are. He will not give pause to strike you, no matter your age; no matter the law. Your father and I will do our best, but we do not have much else to offer in this regard.
Please inform Pansy that she is dearly missed at the Manor, and I am still scouring the shelves of the library here. I have yet to find a magically binding way to adopt her that does not involve her father’s blood or willing participation. While not unwilling to spill Pereneus’s blood, he has embedded himself in the new order, and has since made himself somewhat untouchable in that sense. Do not give up hope. Not any of you.
All my love,
Narcissa D. Malfoy
“You can tell your mother that her services are no longer necessary.” Pansy whispered, her face more translucent than the ghosts haunting the castle.
“What, Blaise finally asked for a betrothal?” Theo snorted, amused.
But Blaise, despite his darker complexion, was also extremely pale. “It was rejected.” Blaise held up his own letter, signed by Mr. Parkinson himself. “I had a feeling that once we were back at school, he would have more time to find a suitor for you,” he addressed Pansy directly. “I sent off a betrothal contract before we left the Manor…Pansy?”
She didn’t respond. Her eyes blankly staring at her own letter in her hands over and over again.
“Pansy?” Daphne called softly, pulling the parchment from the catatonic girl’s hands. “Oh,” Daphne sighed out tearfully, her hand covering her mouth at the shock of what she found. “She’s betrothed to Marcus Flint.”
The letter fell to the table where Pansy ignored it. Instead, she stood quickly, moving robotically out of the Great Hall with Daphne chasing after her. At the mention of Flint, however, Crabbe had paused his stalking of Astoria to snatch the letter off the table. As he read, an ominous smile slowly stretched across his face.
“What’s that?” Astoria inquired, cozying up to Crabbe’s side to read over his shoulder. “Marcus Flint, he’s one of your friends, isn’t he?”
“He is,” Crabbe confirmed, turning his attention from the stolen bit of parchment to watch her reaction.
He wasn’t disappointed. “Oh, how lovely! Betrothals are so romantic, don’t you think?” she sighed wistfully.
“Wouldn’t you rather choose your own future husband, Tori?” Theo tried to steer her away from the thoughts they all knew were running rampantly through her mind. Hyperion Greengrass was more than happy to let his daughters take the lead in their futures, though one word from his sweet Astoria, he would have no problem approving of a predetermined pureblood match.
“Well, of course,” she turned her eyes, full of hearts, on the stocky boy next to her. “But isn’t it lovely when it all comes together nicely?”
“I, personally, think we are entirely too young to be discussing marriage at all,” Draco said assertively, and mostly directed toward Crabbe.
Astoria wrinkled her nose up at the accusation. “Young love has no less merit than any other kind of love.” She pulled at Crabbe’s hand, leading him out of the hall and out of sight.
“This is not good.” Theo rubbed at his eyes, releasing the words they were all thinking.
Blaise, who’s head had been buried in his hands, snapped out, “Oh, really, Theo? We hadn’t noticed. Everything is going to shit around us and now Pansy–MY PANSY–is going to be forced to marry a fucking Death Eater! I’d say that’s a touch worse than ‘not good’!” He stormed out of the hall, most likely to search for her, leaving them to quell the questioning gazes of the rest of the Slytherin table and a few errant Ravenclaws.
…
It wasn’t long before rumors of Pany’s betrothal spread through the Slytherin common room and the other purebloods around the castle. It seemed everyone had sympathy to offer the girl, even those she hadn’t been particularly nice to. No one was worthy of the punishment of being married to a troll like Marcus Flint. Blaise and Pansy were often nowhere to be found between classes, soaking up as much time together as they could before she would be whisked away. It was all so up in the air, as no instructions had been sent with the betrothal letter. It was entirely up to Flint and Mr. Parkinson as to whether she would be able to finish her Hogwarts career, or if she would be married off immediately to begin producing heirs.
Once she was out of the castle, no one would be able to protect her. She would be, by all rights, Flint’s property. While he wasn’t particularly cruel to them in passing, being Slytherins and purebloods, he had a mean streak evident on the Quidditch pitch, and wasn’t the brightest bloke around. If bound by a traditional blood ceremony, her magic would be his as well. She would be subservient in every way imaginable, and Draco’s heart broke for his friend–his sister.
Why hadn’t mother found something sooner? Why had Pereneus been allowed to remain her keeper? Her parents didn’t even like her, let alone love her! He should have offered his own betrothal contract! Marrying a friend is better than whatever this is! She could’ve carried on with Blaise and he with Granger…if she ever got that stick out of her arse and maybe took a tumble off her high horse…
Draco’s thoughts spiraled on the daily now, only interrupted when other students had begun whispering about Moody using the Imperius on all of his students fourth year and above, including precious Potter. So that was what Dumbledore had come up with–another test for Potter to pass with flying colors. From the whisperings, he gathered Potter had thrown it off quickly as well, because of course he did. Well done, Potter.
As the weeks went on, it seemed like every Professor was keen to pile on the assignments and homework, giving them months worth of reading to achieve in only a few days. None of them took any regard for how many assignments the student had accumulated already, but simply added in their own level of work to the sum.
Professor McGonagall was the first to actually inform them of why, although several of the Slytherins had already deduced the intent based on Dumbledore’s mention of the upcoming exams in his office.
“You are now entering a most important phase of your 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 til fifth year!” said Blaise indignantly.
“Maybe not, Mister Zabini, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger, Miss Padma Patil, and Mister Malfoy remain the only students in your year to have managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Mister Zabini, still turns up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!”
Draco didn’t bother looking overly pleased at his accomplishment. He was a bloody animagus, he’d better be in the running for top marks in Transfiguration! He honestly didn’t know how Theo and Blaise hadn’t perfected that particular spell yet, but they had to be relatively close, he thought.
Meanwhile, Professor Binns had the History of Magic students writing weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape had also assigned several weeks worth of research on various antidotes, though it was less of a concern to Draco. Snape had hinted that he might poison one of them before Christmas, but Draco highly doubted it would be a Slytherin on the receiving end of the Potions professor’s ire. Besides, Potions theory seemed to come somewhat naturally to him, since he had spent time with his mother in the gardens, growing up, learning the useful and dangerous natures of her favorite plants and ingredients.
As if that wasn’t enough work, the students had also been tasked with reading three other books for the next Charms lesson on Summoning Charms. Luckily, Draco had already read two of them prior to the start of term. Even Hagrid added to their towering stack of things to do. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were rapidly increasing in size, while their preferred diet was still a mystery.
While the students were a bit dismayed and concerned at the Skrewts’ progress, Hagrid was delighted. He decided that as a class “project”, the students would come down to the hut on alternate evenings to observe the creatures and make notes on any changes and extraordinary behavior.
“I will not,” Draco said determinedly. He had eyes. He could see how large the beasts had grown, and he’d be damned if he spent any more time than absolutely necessary around those ticking time bombs. Literally. “I see enough of these foul things during class, thanks.”
Hagrid’s smile was wiped off his face.
“Yeh’ll do wha’ yer told,” he growled, “or I’ll be takin’ a lead outta Professor Moody’s book…I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy.”
The Gryffindors, as was typical, roared with laughter. Draco, however, flushed with anxiety and anger, his heartbeat pounding in a speedy staccato as he recalled the torture-filled incident. He unthinkingly rubbed at his shoulder, massaging the phantom pain that had suddenly reappeared.
“You alright, mate?” Theo asked quietly, so as not to garner the attention of the rest of the class.
“Yeah, fine,” Draco breathed out, “thanks.”
He tried to ground himself, occluding the memory away, leaving only the anger festering. As much as he’d love to report the threat to his father…hell, he could report it to any Ministry official and Hagrid would end up in Azkaban for using magic like that. He had enough of asking for help though. It was just another case of what the Slytherins had recently discussed. He would take the hit to his pride…for now. The more pressing issues at hand were Pansy’s betrothal and Crabbe’s newfound mix of cultism and grooming of Astoria. The rest could wait.
The rest of the class period was tedious, and the Slytherins were more than ready to leave once it had ended. When they arrived back in the Entrance Hall, they found they could go no further. A crowd had formed, congregating around a sign posted at the bottom of the marble staircase. Theo, the tallest of them, craned his head over the rest of the students to read aloud what was on the sign.
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
The delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday, the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early—
“Potions? Why couldn’t it be a day we have History of Magic last?” Pansy scowled. “I was actually looking forward to one of the Gryffs getting poisoned after their nasty behavior.”
—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!” Ernie Macmillan said, separating from the rest of the crowd. “I wonder if Cedric knows. I think I’ll go and tell him…”
“Guess Diggory’s entering in the tournament then,” Draco muttered.
“Hufflepuff’s not far from the dungeons…I really should be taking more trips to the kitchens, I think…” Theo grinned mischievously.
Blaise, Pansy, and Draco all groaned at the insinuation that Theo would be attempting to spy on Cedric Diggory to try and enter the Triwizard Tournament.
“Theo, mate. I’m pretty sure Diggory’s of age. He won’t need to try anything stupid to put his name forward,” Blaise stated the obvious. “Not to mention, Narcissa said to keep your head down.”
“True, but maybe I could somehow sneak in and change the name on his entry to mine without him noticing!” Theo’s eyes glazed over as he plotted more and more unlikely strategies.
…
The following week, the only topic of conversation that could be heard around the castle was that of the soon-to-be new arrivals and the Triwizard Tournament itself. There was constant speculation over who would be entering, and even more titillating, who would be chosen as the Hogwarts champion.
Draco wondered on several different occasions if Krum would be in attendance from Durmstrang. He was fairly certain that if he did show up, Viktor Krum would undoubtedly be chosen as the Durmstrang champion. Draco wondered how long it would take for Blaise to outright challenge the man to a duel, especially with his patience hanging by a thread since the betrothal announcement.
It wasn’t just the students running around in a tizzy, however. The portrait frames had been so thoroughly scrubbed, some of their subjects were sporting sorely pink cheeks, and the suits of armor had lost their stereotypical squeaks. Filch, to his credit, was running around like a house elf, chasing down students who forgot to wipe their shoes. He even terrified a pair of fifth year girls into hysterics by Wednesday.
The professors were on edge as well. Any slight correction had been turned into a lecture on what not to do in front of the delegates from the other schools. Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were the worst of them, however. Snape took to sneering anytime a student even looked like they were thinking about the Tournament, which Draco noted in hindsight that he may have actually been using Legilimency on some of them… McGonagall simply, but vigorously, demanded they not mention to any Durmstrang students that most of them couldn’t even properly perform a simple Switching Spell.
The morning of the thirtieth of October, they found the Great Hall decorated in enormous silk banners hanging from each of the walls, representing the Hogwarts Houses: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue and a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. The Head Table bore the largest banner sporting the Hogwarts coat of arms: each of the Houses united around a large letter H.
Autumn sunlight flooded in from the windows above and the enchanted sky above. It painted an optimistic mood on each of the sulking Slytherins as they sat down in their usual seats. The past month had been hell to say the least. Between having to tiptoe around Pansy, and working through independent studies for Defense Against the Dark Arts, they were all exhausted. Draco had been up nearly every evening, sneaking off to the Restricted Section in the library, looking for any way to undo a betrothal. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had removed any kind of references to magical contracts, blood magic, and traditional rituals, of course, so he was at another dead end.
Draco had written to his mother the day they received the letters, but she hadn’t been able to find much in the Manor’s library. She was working on trying to slip away for long enough to go through the collection at Grimmauld Place, but Lucius’s compatriots were keeping a scrutinous eye on the both of them. It was too big of a risk to disappear for several hours at a time without obvious cause, and any society ladies she could possibly be meeting up with were either avoiding the Malfoys due to their perceived (but not unwarranted) affiliations, or their husbands were also Death Eaters. She promised she would continue the search, but Draco was too disheartened to even tell Pansy the contents of their correspondence until there was something good to report back.
Their classes that day were of little substance. The professors tried their hardest to engage the students in the topics they were teaching, but there was a continuous buzz about the arrival that evening of the potential champions from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. When the bell finally rang, signaling the early end of their Potions class, the Slytherins quickly dropped their things in their dormitories and were some of the first to arrive in the entrance hall as instructed. They pulled on their cloaks to stave off the icy chill that had been growing with the turning of the season, and the Heads of Houses were ordering their students into line.
“Nott, at least attempt to look like you own a mirror,” Snape drawled, simultaneously pointing his wand at a younger student’s tie, magically tightening it a little too snugly. “Follow me, first years in front…stand up straight, all of you!”
The entire student body filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening and dusk was falling to reveal a pale, transparent-looking moon shining over the Forbidden Forest.
“Nearly six,” Daphne grinned excitedly as she cast a discreet tempus charm, canceling it out before Snape could chide her about it.
“How do you think they’re arriving?” Theo wondered aloud. “Train? Broomsticks?”
“Doubtful,” Draco replied, annoyed at being stuck standing in the cool air just waiting. “I’m sure they’ll be wanting to show off, so I wouldn't even bother trying to guess.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun, you know that?”
Finally, 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!”
Many eager students started searching in all different directions, shouting “Where?”
“There!” a sixth year called out, pointing over the shadow of the forest.
Something large was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger with each passing second.
“It’s a dragon!” shrieked a first year, losing her head completely.
“Don’t be stupid…it’s a flying house!” another first year shouted back.
As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, and they saw a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, this size of a large house, soaring toward them. It was pulled by a dozen palomino winged horses the size of elephants–Abraxans.
Several of the front rows of students drew backward as the carriage approached, hurtling toward them without much sign of stopping. It came in to land, still moving much too quickly to be safe. With a startling crash, the horses’ hooves hit the ground, leaving hoofprints larger than dinner plates, and startling Longbottom into jumping on Montague’s foot. The older Slytherin scowled down at him, but Theo stepped in between them, gently pushing Longbottom back into his original place. The carriage landed too, bouncing on its wheels, while the golden horses whinnied and blinked their large, fiery red eyes.
The Beauxbatons school crest was emblazoned on the door to the carriage, which was swung open, by a young boy in pale blue robes who jumped down to unfold the golden steps before springing back respectfully. What emerged then, could only be described as a taller Hagrid, sans beard, and wearing shining, black high heels. It was the largest woman, he’d ever seen, but suddenly the size of the carriage and the need for so many Abraxans was clear. Beauxbatons had a giantess for a Headmistress.
She had an olive complexion with large, black, liquid-looking eyes and a beaky nose. If you squinted, she really looked a bit like a lovechild of Hagrid and Snape…he washed the disgusting images from his brain as quickly as they had popped up. That was not a sight for anyone to behold… The giant woman’s hair was drawn back into a shining knob of a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore all black satin and paired it with gleaming opals at her throat and fingers.
Dumbledore began to clap and the students, following his lead, broke into applause too. Many of them were rolled up on tiptoes to get a better look at her. The woman’s face had relaxed from a tense pursed set of lips to a more gracious smile as she walked toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand.
“My dear Madame Maxime,” he said, barely having to bend to kiss her offered hand. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”
“Dumbly-dorr,” Madame Maxime said in her deep voice. “I ‘ope I find you well?” Her thick French accent cut was overbearing, but not so much that they couldn’t understand her.
“In excellent form, I thank you,” Dumbledore answered.
“My pupils,” said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.
About a dozen Beauxbatons students, all wearing the matching, light weight, pale blue robes, had stepped down out of the carriage and were now standing behind their Headmistress. They were shivering from the somehow unexpected chill–it was Scotland in the fall…what did they expect?--Their robes were made of a fine silk, which would have been much more appropriate for August and September, however finding themselves on the cusp of November, the poor dears would find no comfort out in the elements.
“‘Has 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 the horses–”
“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,” said Dumbledore, “the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other–er–charges.”
“Those Blasted Skrewts,” Theo muttered, grinning.
“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” Draco chuckled as he corrected him.
“My steeds require–er–forceful handling,” said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. “They 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 this Hagrid that the horses drink only sing-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.
“Wonder what’s up with the skrewts?” Blaise asked absentmindedly.
Theo said, “Maybe they’ve escaped?”
“Oh, don’t put that out into the universe, Theo. Can you just imagine one of those running rampant around the grounds?” Draco shuddered, “I honestly hope they turned cannibalistic and killed each other.”
Everyone was shivering now, still waiting for Durstrang to arrive. Most were gazing up at the sky, looking for any sign similar to how the Beauxbatons carriage had appeared. Draco, however, was sure they wouldn’t be copying the other school’s method of travel when the whole purpose of these things were to show off magical capabilities.
It was eerily quiet among the crowd, the silence only broken by the snorting and stamping of the Abraxans, until…an eerie noise drifted toward them from out of the darkness. It was a muffled rumbling and sucking sound.
“The lake!” Lee Jordan yelled, pointing down the hill at it. “Look at the lake!”
From where they were gathered at the top of the hill, there was a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water–-until it started rippling and bubbling. Then, out of the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, spinning as if a giant plug had been pulled out of the lake’s floor. A long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the core, visually turning into the mast of a massive ship.
Slowly, the magnificent ship rose out of the water, gleaming under the glow of the fully risen moon. There was a skeletal look to it, like a resurrected shipwreck with dim, ghostly lights shimmering in the portholes like eyes. A great sloshing noise announced the ship’s full arrival, bobbing on the now-turbulent water, and it glided toward the bank. When it reached its destination, there was a splash of an anchor dropping into the shallows, and the plank was lowered on the bank with a thud.
While only the silhouettes could be made out, several people disembarked from the ship, and Draco thought he could faintly make out Krum’s bulky stature among them. When they got closer, stepping into the light, he could see that they were all wearing bulky red cloaks trimmed with shaggy, matted fur…all except Karkaroff. The Headmaster of Durmstrang stood out among the rest with his sleek and silver bundle of furs, matching his hair.
“Dumbledore!” he called heartily as he walked up the slope to join them. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?”
“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied.
Karkaroff had thinned even more since he had last appeared at the Manor, his voice fruity and unctuous. His white hair and curled goatee were in their usual shortened crop. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.
“Dear old Hogwarts,” he said, looking up at the castle and smiling with unnervingly yellowed teeth. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, which conveyed nothing but cold and shrewdness. “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 the silhouette Draco had suspected to be Krum. As Viktor passed, he was followed by gasps and murmurs as others noted who exactly had just arrived at Hogwarts.
“Krum!” Blaise growled in their ears.