The first week of October brought a cold that settled into the stones of Hogwarts and refused to leave. The grounds that had been green in September were now dusted with frost, and the lake had taken on the dark, opaque quality that preceded winter. The castle hummed with anticipation. The Triwizard Tournament was coming, and everyone could feel it.
Edmund walked the corridors with his friends, listening to the speculation, the arguments, the wild theories about what the tasks might be. Cassius was convinced there would be creatures, great beasts that had to be faced. Arthur thought there would be elemental challenges—fire, water, earth, air. Horace was reading about previous tournaments, his nose buried in a book that was older than any of them, recording tournaments that had been held for centuries. Astrid said nothing, but she was watching, waiting, her rune stones never far from her hands.
Edmund had other things on his mind. The Parseltongue gift was still new, still strange. He heard whispers everywhere now—in the walls, in the foundations, in the spaces between stones. The castle was full of serpents, small ones that lived in the dark places, that had been there for centuries, that had seen the Founders walk these corridors. He had not spoken to them yet. He was not ready. But he was listening.
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The delegations were scheduled to arrive on the fifteenth of October. The word spread through the castle like fire: Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were coming. Not a handful of champions and judges, as in the stories Edmund had read. Everyone from fifth year and above. Hundreds of students, descending on Hogwarts for the duration of the tournament.
Professor Marchbanks had called an assembly in the Great Hall on the first of October to explain the arrangements.
"This is not a small event," she said, looking out at the gathered students. "The Triwizard Tournament, in its modern form, is a celebration of magical excellence. It is a competition, yes, but it is also an exchange. For the next seven months, you will be living and learning alongside students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. You will attend classes together, eat together, study together. The tournament is not only about the champions. It is about all of you."
She paused, her eyes sweeping the room. "There will be changes to the usual routines. Quidditch, for the duration of the tournament, will be played between the three schools, not between houses. A single Hogwarts team will be selected from the best players in the school. They will compete against Beauxbatons and Durmstrang in a series of matches throughout the year."
Cassius straightened in his seat. He had been waiting for this.
"The tasks themselves will be announced as they approach," Marchbanks continued. "There will be six tasks, one each month, beginning in December and ending in May. The tasks are designed to test magical skill, courage, intelligence, and endurance. They are dangerous. Wizards have died in these tasks. The last tournament, seven years ago, claimed a life. The one before that claimed two. You will not enter lightly."
The hall was silent. Edmund looked at his friends. Cassius's face was set, determined. Arthur was pale but steady. Horace was gripping his book so hard his knuckles were white. Astrid was still.
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The days leading up to the arrival were a blur of activity. Classrooms were rearranged to accommodate the new students. The Great Hall was expanded to seat three hundred more. The Quidditch pitch was resurfaced, the hoops reinforced, the stands expanded. Professor Kettleburn was busy preparing the forest for the tasks. Professor Wainwright had been selected as the Hogwarts judge, along with representatives from the other schools.
Edmund went about his studies, his routine unchanged. He had fifteen subjects to maintain, and the N.E.W.T.s were at the end of the year. He did not have time to obsess over the tournament. But he could not stop thinking about it. Six tasks. One each month. Dangerous. Deadly.
And he was eligible. He was seventeen. He could enter. The thought had been forming in his mind since the announcement. He had spent seven years preparing for something. Not the tournament, but for something. The Register, the school, the work that waited. But the tournament was here, now, and it was a test. A test of everything he had learned. A test of everything he was.
He had not decided. Not yet.
---
The day of the arrival was cold and clear. The students gathered on the lawn, their breath misting in the air, their eyes fixed on the sky and the lake. The entire student body had been given leave from classes to welcome the visitors. Edmund stood with his friends near the front of the crowd, watching the appointed meeting points.
The Beauxbatons delegation came first. The sky above the Forbidden Forest shimmered, and a great disc of light descended, resolving into a platform of pale stone, floating on currents of air. Upon it stood nearly two hundred students in robes of deep blue and silver, their faces bright with curiosity. The platform settled on the lawn with a soft thud, and a woman stepped forward. She was tall, dignified, her silver hair bound in an intricate braid, her robes embroidered with the crest of Beauxbatons. She was not the Madame Maxime of Edmund's memories—she was someone else entirely, a headmistress who had held her position for three decades, whose reputation for excellence was known across Europe.
"Headmistress Eleonore Delacour," Arthur whispered, having done his research. "She's been at Beauxbatons since before any of us were born."
The Beauxbatons students descended from the platform in orderly rows, their voices a soft chorus of French and English. They were older—fifth years and above, just as promised—and they moved with the easy confidence of students who had traveled the continent, who had seen magic beyond the borders of their own country.
The Durmstrang delegation came from the lake. It did not rise from the depths in a ship. Instead, the waters parted, and a bridge of ice formed, arching from the far shore to the edge of the lawn. Upon it walked nearly two hundred students in robes of deep crimson and black, their faces serious, their steps measured. At their head was a man with a grey beard and a face like carved stone, his eyes missing nothing. He wore the heavy furs of the far north, and his presence was as cold as the bridge he walked upon.
"Headmaster Viktor Ivanov," Arthur whispered. "He was a champion himself, forty years ago. He won the tournament. They say he's been training his students for it ever since."
The Durmstrang students crossed the ice bridge in silence, their boots crunching on the frozen surface. They were older as well—fifth years and above, their ranks filled with witches and wizards who had been preparing for this moment since they were children. They joined the Beauxbatons students on the lawn, and the three schools stood facing each other: Hogwarts in its black robes, Beauxbatons in blue and silver, Durmstrang in crimson and black.
Headmaster Black stepped forward, his voice carrying across the crowd. "Welcome to Hogwarts. For the next seven months, this castle will be your home. You will study with our students, eat with our students, compete with our students. The Triwizard Tournament is a tradition that has been held for centuries. It is a test of skill, courage, and magic. It is also a celebration of what we can achieve when we come together."
He paused, his eyes sweeping the three delegations. "The champions will be chosen on Halloween. The names will be drawn from the Goblet of Fire, which will be placed in the entrance hall tomorrow. Until then, I ask that you enjoy the hospitality of Hogwarts and make yourselves at home."
The crowd cheered. The Beauxbatons students began to move toward the castle, their voices bright, their laughter quick. The Durmstrang students followed more slowly, their eyes scanning the towers, the grounds, the faces of their hosts. Edmund watched them pass, and among the Durmstrang students, he saw a face that made him pause. A boy, no older than himself, with sharp features and dark hair, his eyes cold, his posture rigid. He moved through the crowd with the confidence of someone who had been raised to command. Antonin Dolohov. Edmund had heard the name. He knew what the future held for that boy. He wondered if it was already written.
---
The feast that night was the largest Edmund had ever seen. The Great Hall had been expanded, the tables extended, the ceiling enchanted to show a sky of deep winter stars. The Beauxbatons students sat with Ravenclaw, their voices light, their laughter quick. The Durmstrang students sat with Slytherin, their faces serious, their eyes watchful.
Headmaster Black rose, and the hall fell silent.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," he said, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. "For the next seven months, this castle will be your home. You will study with our students, eat with our students, compete with our students. The Triwizard Tournament is a tradition that has been held for centuries. It is a test of skill, courage, and magic. It is also a celebration of what we can achieve when we come together."
He paused, his eyes sweeping the hall. "The champions will be chosen on Halloween. The names will be drawn from the Goblet of Fire, which will be placed in the entrance hall tomorrow. Until then, I ask that you enjoy the hospitality of Hogwarts and make yourselves at home."
He sat down. The feast began.
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