The ancient stone corridors of Hogwarts Castle, silent and still throughout the summer months, burst back into life with excited chatter and hurried footsteps as students returned in droves.

  After indulging in the comforts of the summer vacation, young witches and wizards were eager to reconnect with friends and exchange tales of their adventures, but many also found themselves struggling to readjust to early mornings and the return of rigid schedules.

  As such, the first few weeks, as in every other year, quickly became notorious for a sudden surge in lateness. Panicked faces, flushed with exertion and anxiety, became a familiar sight as students burst into classrooms, gasping out breathless apologies to stern-faced professors who had seen the same scene play out countless times before.

  For wide-eyed first-year students newly arrived at Hogwarts, the challenge was even greater. The enormous castle transformed into a labyrinth of confusion and wonder, and lost amid shifting staircases and endless hallways, they wandered in small, uncertain groups. Their young faces reflected equal parts awe and dismay as they tried to navigate their way to classrooms hidden somewhere within the chaos.

  For the older students, however, the familiar routine of classroom to classroom, then to the Great Hall for meals, and finally back to their common rooms quickly settled in within just a few days.

  The only notable difference was perhaps Defence Against the Dark Arts, though then again, that subject was almost always a new experience every year. This time, however, it proved particularly interesting, as their new professor turned out to be far more no-nonsense than anyone had expected.

  Unlike most previous years, excluding perhaps the immediate last one, the students were actually learning something of substance. Instead of memorizing hollow theories, they were taught real defensive magic and practical combat skills.

  Professor Alastor Moody had discarded the textbooks from the very first day and chose to teach directly from his own experiences as a veteran Auror, rather than following a rigid syllabus.

  Of course, he did not completely neglect academic foundations. Having once been a student at Hogwarts himself, and remembering what was typically expected at each year level, Moody constructed his lessons with care.

  Even in the original story, the counterfeit Moody's lessons were notably unique, and here it was much the same. Although he did not begin by introducing the students directly to the three Unforgivable Curses, the material was still gripping in its own right. Suffice to say, the students became invested very quickly.

  Meanwhile, behind the scenes of the everyday routines unfolding throughout the school, the castle itself was undergoing a great change during that time as well. Long-neglected corners were quietly restored as suits of armor were polished to a dull gleam, tapestries were mended thread by thread, and enchanted brooms glided through empty corridors at odd hours, sweeping away months of settled dust.

  House-elves worked tirelessly in places rarely seen by students, scrubbing stone floors until they shone and coaxing life back into aging wood with careful magic. Staircases were realigned, torches burned brighter, and classrooms were subtly refreshed, all without ever disrupting the steady rhythm of lessons, meals, and common room gatherings.

  To the students, Hogwarts felt much the same at first, though gradually they also began to notice that the ancient castle was quietly renewing itself.

  It doesn't take a genius to guess why, after all, the school would soon be welcoming and hosting guests for the remainder of the year. And although they were long accustomed to the usual dusty corners scattered throughout the castle, the sight of a cleaner Hogwarts was certainly a welcome change.

  The transformations caused no real disturbance, aside from a few occasional murmurs. Days passed, at least on the surface, without much fanfare, and life at the school continued on as it always had.

  ---

  Time, like a wandering meteor slipping unnoticed through space, had passed without warning, and before anyone truly realized it, two months had vanished in the blink of an eye.

  As the sun rose on yet another day, Mavrick slept on until he woke naturally. Soft morning light filtered through the enchanted windows of his quarters, easing him from slumber rather than tearing him from it.

  There was no mad rush to dress, no frantic scramble to reach breakfast on time, and instead he stretched languidly, savoring the rare calm of what had so far been a peaceful new year.

  So far, at least.

  The crisp autumn air of late October had settled over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, bringing with it an electric sense of anticipation that had not been felt within the castle walls for a while now. The mood was reminiscent of the first interschool Quidditch competition when Hogwarts had hosted and welcomed delegations from foreign schools, and this time it felt even more exciting.

  Perhaps it was because this was not purely a sports event. After all, while Quidditch was the most popular sport in the wizarding world, not everyone would be head over heels for just flying brooms and goalposts.

  The Triwizard Tournament, on the other hand, was something far beyond a simple sport. It was a legendary event steeped in danger and prestige, where magic itself was pushed to its limits and champions were tested in ways no ordinary sport could ever hope to match.

  And so, from devoted Quidditch fans to those who rarely spared the sport a glance, nearly all the students buzzed with excitement for the day. Even the professors, many of whom had spent decades teaching at Hogwarts, found themselves swept up in the growing anticipation.

  With the coming occasion drawing near, aside from the castle as a whole feeling noticeably cleaner, subtle yet unmistakable changes began to manifest among the students as well.

  The most apparent transformation could be seen in the demeanor and appearance of their female classmates, though it was by no means limited to them. Even the male students, particularly those in the upper years, were not immune to the change.

  Where once simple hair ties and practical styles had been sufficient, now elaborate braids, enchanted hair accessories, and meticulously crafted hairstyles adorned many of the upper-year witches throughout the school.

  Likewise, the older wizards could be spotted paying far more attention to their appearance than usual, with neatly styled hair, freshly pressed robes, and an unspoken effort to appear more confident and composed than they truly felt.

  The professors, too, seemed to have undergone a transformation of their own, delivering their lessons with renewed vigor and passion, as though wary of the scrutiny that might come from visiting students, a prospect that would have been deeply embarrassing indeed.

  After a pleasant shower and an unhurried breakfast, Maverick made his way to his first class of the day. Throughout the lesson, the mounting excitement was evident among the students, with nearly all of them, including those usually focused, struggling to keep their attention on the material.

  He could hardly blame them. Letting out a wry exhale, he chose not to press the lesson too hard that day and instead allowed the students some breathing room. And much like his own class, attention was lacking elsewhere as well, with thoughts drifting endlessly toward the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students that evening.

  Even the normally dreaded Potions class felt less oppressive than usual, as though the anticipation of the coming celebrations had softened even Snape's brooding demeanor.

  And when the final bell of the afternoon classes finally rang, its sound triggered an immediate flurry of activity throughout the castle. Students were seen practically sprinting as they hastily dropped off their bags and books in their dormitories, donned their cloaks against the evening chill, and then hurried back down the staircases to join the growing crowd in the entrance hall.

  There, the students lined up in neat rows before leaving the hall under the guidance of their respective heads of house, making their way toward the open grounds in front of the castle.

  The cold wind of late October did nothing to dampen their enthusiasm. Excited chatter rippled through the crowd, blending talk of handsome boys and beautiful witches from other schools with wild guesses about how the visiting delegations might arrive.

  Speculation, laughter, and hurried whispers overlapped in every direction, and even the sharp reprimands of the prefects proved useless in quieting the restless excitement.

  Hearing McGonagall reprimand one of her house's students for what felt like the nth time, Maverick, who stood with Dumbledore a short distance away, could not help but let out a quiet chuckle.

  "She really is thorough to the core," he murmured. "An out-and-out professor, through and through."

  Dumbledore nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him as well, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Indeed. Were the school ever left in her capable hands, I would have not a single worry to trouble my mind."

  At those words, Maverick turned slightly, one brow lifting in mild surprise. Before he could comment, however, the old wizard continued.

  "Ah, do not misunderstand me, Maverick," Dumbledore said gently. "I have no intention of retiring anytime soon. I am merely speaking from the heart. Hogwarts is my home, and knowing it could be entrusted to someone like Minerva brings me great comfor—"

  He paused then, his gaze drifting toward the Great Lake, then lifting to the sky, half filled with the crimson clouds of sunset, as his eyes gleamed faintly and a knowing smile curved his lips.

  "It seems," he added softly, "our guests have arrived."

  By now, the entire staff had assembled in an impressive line behind the students, their formal robes and solemn expressions lending the occasion a sense of gravity.

  Even the old caretaker Filch had dressed for the event, sporting a trimmed beard, polished boots, and what could almost be called a properly ironed outfit. Presentable, at least by Filch's standards.

  —————————

  Outside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, night was steadily falling, and a chilly wind swept across the grounds. The sky still held the last traces of sunset, with crimson clouds drifting lazily beneath a full moon that glowed high above the Forbidden Forest.

  Beneath the fading sky, the occupants of the castle gathered on the broad field before it, waiting to welcome the delegations. At the very front stood Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, with his staff flanking him on both sides to form a composed front line, while the students gathered behind.

  The prefects of each house paced the rows of gathered students, quietly urging the witches and wizards of their respective houses into orderly lines, though the constant hum of chatter and restless movement suggested otherwise.

  The enthusiasm filling the air was simply too much to contain, and at some point, even the stern Deputy Headmistress appeared to concede defeat, leaving the students behind to stand with her colleagues instead.

  The wait wasn't long, and just minutes after the assembly had settled, everyone's attention was drawn toward the horizon. Those most sensitive to magic lifted their heads first, as if reacting to an unseen signal in the air. The professors followed suit soon after, and moments later the assembled students caught on and did the same. Before long, the gaze of the entire assembly had turned skyward, where they finally glimpsed the source of their shared focus.

  High above the ancient Forbidden Forest, where towering pines swayed gently in the autumn breeze, a mysterious black speck had appeared against the vast sky.

  The gathered students watched in shared astonishment as the object moved with astonishing speed, its size doubling and redoubling with each passing moment. What began as a distant dot became a blur, then a growing shadow that cut through the air with surprising grace despite its increasing mass.

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  "What in Merlin's name is that?" voices cried out from the crowd, excitement coloring every word as students speculated wildly with wide eyes and flushed faces.

  "I think it's a flying carpet..."

  Imaginations ran rampant, with some agreeing eagerly while others argued just as passionately. Hermione, standing among the Gryffindors, struggled to restrain herself as several particularly outrageous guesses were voiced right beside her.

  Under normal circumstances, she would have launched into a thorough explanation of the illegality of flying carpets in British magical airspace, complete with precise Ministry regulations. The sheer spectacle of the moment, however, suppressed even her usual impulses, leaving her uncharacteristically silent.

  All eyes tracked the enormous object as it carved through the deepening blue sky, its approach marked by an increasingly audible whistle. Low murmurs spread through the crowd as the mysterious shape gradually revealed itself while soaring over Hagrid's hut, and a wave of astonishment rippled through the onlookers.

  Suspended high in the air drifted a massive powder blue carriage, drawn by a dozen magnificent winged horses. Each was a pure Abraxan, pale-coated like palominos, though each stood almost as large as an elephant.

  The landing was no less spectacular. To counter the tremendous momentum built up during its flight, the colossal carriage struck the ground with a thunderous impact that sent tremors rippling through the earth beneath their feet.

  Moments after it settled, the carriage door swung open and a boy dressed in light blue robes leapt down. Soon after, a spiral staircase unfolded from the carriage's side in a precise sequence of enchanted movements, drawing another wave of awe from the assembled crowd.

  With deliberate steps, the next figure to emerge was an exaggeratedly tall woman whose elegance carried quiet authority. She wore a modern, tailored pale blue dress with a long matching coat draped over her shoulders. A dozen witches and wizards followed in matching light blue uniforms, descending in disciplined order and forming up behind her.

  Their grace immediately drew another chorus of astonished murmurs, filling the air around them. There was not a single soul in the magical world who would not recognize the tall woman, and still it was perhaps her height, or her striking appearance, undeniably a feast for the eyes, that managed to capture everyone's attention.

  "I'd give it five… out of ten... our entrance back then was a lot cooler, don't you think, Professor?"

  "This is not a competition over who has the most flamboyant entrance, Maverick," McGonagall whispered back to him, inclining her head slightly toward him, although the faint smirk forming on her lips suggested otherwise. Indeed, when Hogwarts had made their presence known in front of the French school, it had been, as Maverick said, cooler.

  Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore stepped forward to greet his counterpart, the dean of Beauxbatons School of Magic, offering a slight bow before pressing a courteous kiss to her hand and drawing her into a brief hug. To the onlookers, the gesture appeared faintly comical, as he did not even reach her shoulders and looked almost like a child embracing an adult.

  Polite but enthusiastic applause then followed from the Hogwarts side, led by the professors. The tall woman's expression softened into a gracious smile, and she stepped forward to greet the rest of the professors, then briefly introduced her students to the Hogwarts side.

  A number of Beauxbatons students clearly recognized faces among the Hogwarts crowd and quickly fell into conversation, smiles and quiet exchanges spreading between the two groups as the adults spoke among themselves.

  "You are the first school to arrive. Would you care to wait here for Karkaroff, or would you prefer to step inside the castle and warm yourselves first?" Dumbledore asked Maxime once the formalities had concluded.

  "No rush," she said with a smile, then glanced toward the large lake as a faint smile played on her lips. "They're already here."

  Following her gaze, Dumbledore and Maverick also looked toward the lake, though they had yet to detect anything. Goes to show that, at least in magical sense, she outpaced them, even among equals. But the wait wasn't long, and just a few heartbeats later, they also caught the disturbance she was referring to.

  ---

  The arrival of the Durmstrang delegation was just as spectacular as that of Beauxbatons, though in an entirely different way.

  "How in Merlin's name did it survive underwater?" students exclaimed in open amazement as an enormous, magnificent ship rose from the depths of the Black Lake. Bathed in moonlight, it looked almost ethereal, like a ghost ship pulled straight from old maritime legends. Its polished wooden hull gleamed with moisture, while dozens of portholes cast a warm, golden glow across the rippling surface of the lake.

  The ship drifted slowly toward the shore before coming to a halt. With a low, solid thud, a wide wooden plank extended from the deck to the lakeside. Unlike Beauxbatons, whose arrival had been marked by grace and elegance, the Durmstrang students disembarked with a rigid, almost military precision.

  Leading them was Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang. He was thin, with short white hair, a stern face, a small curly goatee on his lean chin, and cold eyes that carried a sharp glint.

  Behind him stood the students of his school, some of them old acquaintances of Hogwarts, like Viktor Krum, who stood at the center leading the group. Each Durmstrang student was wrapped in thick, heavy cloaks made from rough, matted fur, garments that looked both warm and faintly wild in nature.

  "Albus, Olympe…" the man called out with exaggerated warmth, his voice carrying clearly across the grounds as he approached the steps where Dumbledore and Maxime waited.

  "I hope I didn't make you wait long…"

  "You're just on time, Headmaster Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied with warmth, his bright blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles as he offered a welcoming smile. Though the man was magically a full rank below him, he was still the headmaster of one of the most prestigious magical schools in the world, and proper formalities had to be observed, especially with students watching.

  Just like the French school before them, the students of Durmstrang were not strangers to the Hogwarts side either, and it did not take long before familiar faces were spotted and quiet exchanges began to pass between the groups. Old acquaintances resurfaced easily, brief nods turning into murmured greetings as the tension of arrival gradually gave way to a more relaxed curiosity.

  Soon enough, the migration into the Great Hall began, unfolding in a state of controlled chaos as the heads of house moved among the students, guiding them inside while keeping some semblance of order.

  The two visiting delegations followed closely, and once within the hall, it quickly became clear that the seating arrangements had not been divided by school. Instead, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students filtered naturally into the four long House tables, conversations pausing and resuming as chairs were shifted and places adjusted, until at last everyone settled.

  The two deans also settled in at the teachers' table, each taking a place beside the Hogwarts headmaster. Maverick found himself seated next to Olympe Maxime, while McGonagall took the seat beside Igor Karkaroff on the other side, the remaining professors spreading themselves evenly along the length of the table.

  As the final benches scraped into place, the Great Hall filled with a low, constant buzz, voices overlapping in excited murmurs that echoed softly off the enchanted ceiling above.

  "I heard you caused quite a stir at the World Cup finals, little raven." Olympe Maxime did not look at Maverick as she spoke, her gaze resting instead on the sea of students ahead of her. A faint smile touched her lips as she leaned back slightly in her chair. "I paid a visit to the woman a few days later. You left quite the impression on her, I must say."

  Maverick's fingers paused against the stem of his goblet before he glanced sideways at her. "You mean Vinda Rosier?"

  The tall woman hummed softly in confirmation, her head dipping a fraction. After a moment, she tilted it again, studying him from the corner of her eye. "What method did you use to break her so thoroughly?" she asked, her tone curious rather than accusatory.

  "Don't talk nonsense. I did not torture her," Maverick replied quietly. "She broke simply because she realized, like anyone would, that her little plan was doomed to fail."

  "Hmm, speaking of…" the tall woman said lightly. "Care to share with me what you found out? You know, Rosier is known for her calculating nature… and is certainly not the sort to turn into a mindless fanatic terrorising people without reason."

  "Is it possible your assessment of her is wrong?" Maverick asked in return, but the woman answered only with a raised brow and a faint smirk, clearly unconvinced.

  Maverick exhaled in resignation. "Fine," he said quietly. "It's a long story though…"

  Sooner or later, he would have to share everything with her as well. Leaving her out of the loop would only turn her into a variable, and she was not just some random mage he could ignore and assume it would make no difference. Anyways, if there was one thing he was confident about with this woman, it was that she would not oppose his plan.

  "I'll explain everything later," he continued, lowering his voice. "With the Headmaster present. There is more tied to this than you might think. But first, let's get through the ceremony."

  "Oh?" Maxime's smile sharpened as she finally turned her head to look at him fully. "So mysterious," she added teasingly.

  Meanwhile, amid the noise of the Great Hall, Dumbledore stepped to the front of the professors' table where a podium awaited him, and his voice soon carried to every corner despite its gentle tone. Maverick and Maxime also let their conversation drop and turned their attention to the old wizard.

  "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and most particularly our distinguished guests," he announced, his face alight with genuine pleasure as his gaze swept across the hall, lingering warmly on the visiting students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

  He paused briefly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Please, eat and drink to your heart's content, just as you would in your own home."

  With that, Dumbledore declared the dinner officially begun, and at once the long tables of the four Houses filled with an astonishing spread of food. Hogwarts' house elves had clearly spared no effort, preparing a lavish assortment of dishes drawn from across the magical world to welcome witches and wizards from two very different communities.

  French onion soup and rich fish stews, unmistakably Beauxbatons in character, eased the expressions of the French students as familiar scents reached them. Across the tables, pickled herring, Finnish meatballs, and creamy potatoes from the north brought a welcome taste of home to the Durmstrang delegation, who regarded the dishes with quiet approval.

  As plates were filled and conversations resumed, the warmth of the hall and the abundance of food slowly worked their magic. The lingering tension that had clung to the newly arrived students melted away seamlessly, replaced by laughter, shared glances, and the simple pleasure of a meal enjoyed together.

  —————————

  Author's Note:

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