Author's note: Many lines of dialogue will be in German; those will be offset in italics. Enjoy!
"For the last time—hey, this is the last time I'll have to put up with you nagging at me!" Lysander Scamander gave a weak grin, not looking up at the twin an inch and a half above him. "But in all seriousness, even if I wanted to leave now how could I? I've already started my actual classwork."
"So have I," Lorcan shot back. "So has everyone else."
"But I'd need to pack and all..."
"But don't you want to see Norway?"
"I've already seen Norway. Remember when we were—"
"Snorkack-seeking with Mum, yes. That's what this is about, isn't it? You know perfectly well you'd make a great champion, you just don't want to represent Hogwarts."
"That wouldn't make me a great champion, then, would it?"
"Look, Lysander, think about how many kids are jealous of you for having the chance, they'll fall through the cracks. There's only a seventh of the school who can even try—"
"Well, the second years will get their turn five years from now."
"If they still have one—"
"If something goes wrong to make them not have one, I definitely don't want any part of it. And some of the sixth years are eligible, of course. And the first years will be...it works out to one in three, not one in seven."
"Oh, forget the arithmetic and come on."
"One in three," Lysander repeated. "One Hogwarts champion matched up against two others. What business do I have, do any of us have, representing Hogwarts? Switch my uniform around and I could pass for a Durmstranger. So could you."
"The tournament's all about encouraging international friendship, isn't it? You'll fit right in. Maybe pick up a cute German date."
Lysander rolled his eyes. "Forget it. No, you go. We're old enough to not do everything the same anymore."
"You're right," Lysander sighed. "Twin handshake?"
The twin handshake did not involve the contact of hands. It had begun as them circling their fingers around each other's; once they were old enough to control their magic, increasingly elaborate magitechnics had been added to the point that their year-mates who saw it were glad they did not share a dormitory.
Lorcan's fingers were larger and nimbler, but Lysander went through the motions with equal gusto. "Right," Lorcan awkwardly nodded. "Be seeing you."
"Yeah. Have fun."
Five carriages were parked outside the gates; Headmaster Ryllis appeared to have one to himself, while the three sixth-years spread out. Lorcan took his place in the last carriage, alongside Brandon McMillan, a Hufflepuff, and three of his Gryffindor classmates. At last, when Diana Claver from Ravenclaw settled in, looking somewhat annoyed, Ryllis raised his arm to the students congregated outside.
"I shall leave Hogwarts in Professor Fawcett's most capable hands. I would ask that you respect her as you would me, but that is in some cases rather too little to ask." His eyes lingered on a gaggle of snickering Slytherin third-years. "Now, how about a preemptive round of applause for all your daring schoolmates—and the champion-to-be!"
At the roar that followed, the carriages slowly began rising into the air. Lorcan caught sight of Lysander's pale hair for an instant before the students blurred into a mass. The lake remained visible a moment longer than the castle itself—some trick to make it invisible to passing airplanes?—then it too was gone.
"How high are we going?" worried Brandon.
"Probably not too high," shrugged Diana. "But here, Dephlogistos."
Lorcan couldn't see anything different, but Brandon whirled. "Oi! What was that?"
"An air bubble across your face. Not that we'd really need one, anyway, but can't be too careful. Anyone else need one?"
"We'll see," said Lorcan. Indeed, they had been leveling off and were now proceeding north, towards the Continent.
No one wanted to get out a book or play Exploding Snap, it was such a long way down even if none of them though they would drop anything, so they spent most of their time just talking. "Can you see them?" Brandon asked after a lull.
"See what?" asked Diana.
But Lorcan had a guess. "The thestrals? No." He smiled thinly. "I know a lot about animals, though, my mum's taught me a lot."
"Oh," said Diana skeptically. He didn't bother to pick a fight.
Indira Gupta was biting her long braid nervously, so Lorcan changed the subject. "D'you reckon they'll ever open the tournament up to more schools? Sicily have got one, I know, and I think Denmark has a smaller school."
"I hope not!" said Brandon. "Competition's tense enough with three."
"I'm not sure. I guess that really depends on whether the whole point is actually about "promoting magical cooperation."" Indira made quote marks in the air with her fingers. "If they aren't doing it this time, I don't see why they would in the future."
About noon, or so Lorcan thought, Ryllis guided his carriage over towards theirs. "I'm sure Durmstrang will have some rousing fare in store for the evening," he said, "but until then, sandwiches ought to do the trick."
He waved his wand and slowly guided two large sacks over the thin but unnervingly tall gap between the two carriages. Diana plucked it out of the air. "Thank you, Professor."
"You're quite welcome," he said, gliding towards a carriage full of Slytherins.
This left Diana in charge of handing out the lunches, a task which she took quite seriously until realizing they were identical. Each student had one sandwich, a flagon of milk, and a tart (except for Joseph Mulrooney, who attempted to trade his with that of Phillipa Creevey in another carriage, and missed).
They flew over water, slowly, which made it difficult to tell how far they'd gone and how far was left to go. The sun went down, which made visibility very difficult for Lorcan, Joseph, and Indira (who had picked the wrong side of the carriage to sit on), so their eyes were closed when Meaghan Baker called "Look!"
Squinting, Lorcan turned and gasped at the approach of several winged horses flying in unison. And behind them—
"The Beauxbatons carriage!" Brandon gasped. "We must be almost there."
"Or just flying along the same path," Diana shot back, but within half an hour they were unmistakably descending. Lorcan, shivering, looked about but couldn't catch sight of the school until it immediately came into full view, dark and squat but with windows lit in anticipation.
A moment later, they landed more roughly than he'd expected; the pets accompanying their owners in the carriage squealed in frustration, and Meaghan shivered, but at least they were on solid ground. Next to them, the other students began piling out.
"No need to bring your suitcases," said Ryllis, "they shall be most secure."
"Professor Ryllis?"
An enormous woman had emerged from the Beauxbatons carriage; the emerging crowd of students behind her paled in comparison. Ryllis seemed to want to kiss her hand, but that would have been very impractical.
"Madame Maxime!" he settled on bowing. "It is an honor."
Only then did Lorcan notice the students on the broad stone steps outside the school; Durmstrang students had come out to greet their guests. A tall man had come down to shake Ryllis' and Maxime's hands; Lorcan assumed he was the Highmaster.
"Come along inside!" Ryllis waved. "I'm sure a wondrous feast is in store."
Lorcan's first thought upon passing through the thick doors, engraved with Sphinx heads, was that the school was quite cold. The grounds had also been quite cold, granted, but perhaps he was more prepared for it. At any rate, as they proceeded along a low-ceilinged corridor, he shivered angrily and hoped they'd get access to their extra robes soon.
Durmstrang's Great Hall was, in Lorcan's estimation, less fancy than Hogwarts'. Its ceiling was essentially bare, though he could see lots of enterprising former students' carved names. Rather than long house tables, there were seven relatively short tables facing a high table, raised several steps at the front of the room.
"Highmaster Arany has suggested that you seat with your agemates," Ryllis murmured. "Abercrombie, Somerville, Fitzwilliams, if you would join the fifth-years?"
"We're sixth-years, Professor," Margaret Somerville glared.
"Ah, but of course. In Durmstrang, however, students begin aged twelve, so you would be of an age with the fifth-years here."
"There's room over here," said a black-haired girl, waving Margaret over.
This meant that the twenty-one Hogwarts seventh-years and those from Beauxbatons—Lorcan couldn't count them, but there seemed almost as many—were expected to squeeze in alongside the Durmstrang sixth-years, while five other tables remained at normal capacity. The Durmstrang sixth-years did not seem any more pleased about this arrangement than their visiting counterparts, but had little say in the matter. Lorcan found himself squeezed tightly between two large boys, with Slytherin Winifred Bloom the only Hogwarts student within reasonable talking distance.
Sighing, he turned his attentions to the food magically appearing from the table. It at least was quite good; various types of fish, salads, and, eventually, a three-layer cake. No one in his section of the table seemed interested in conversing, except the boy on his left who was muttering to a girl further down about a paper they had to write. Not that much further, of course. The packing would have been more frustrating had it not been for how cold he was.
Just before the physical discomfort would have canceled out his happiness at the food's rich flavor, Lorcan's attention was grabbed by Highmaster Arany.
He had begun to speak.
He had begun to speak, in Latin.
And the Durmstrang students were hanging on his every word, as if they knew what he was talking about.
As the Highmaster continued to prattle, Lorcan tried to think logically. That girl had overheard Ryllis talking to Margaret, and invited her over to her table, in English. So at least some of the Durmstrang students knew English. But none of them were making any effort to translate. And, he saw as he glanced at a shrugging Winifred, most of his fellows weren't any better off than he was. Nor did the Beauxbatons students seem particularly confident.
There was one other thing he could try. "Er," he said. "Was sagt er?"
"Du sprichst Deutsch!" smiled a Durmstrang girl with long, curly, hair. She seemed a bit dim, though...
"Yes. Now, what's he saying?"
"You have a very nice accent."
"Thank you. Do you mind translating?"
She tilted her head at him, then waited a moment. "He's just introducing the headmasters—Mr. Ryllis must be yours, Madame Maxime, of course, and the other judges."
She paused. Arany was nodding at a woman who seemed about Lorcan's parents' age. "A talented winged horse racer...Mathilde Skjeggestad!"
There was a hush as the girl waited to translate the headmaster's other guest. Lorcan realized that the Durmstrang students would know perfectly well who at the head table was visiting rather than a professor, but he couldn't tell who the final judge would be. That imposing-looking witch with the bright red hair? Arany's, he realized, was a quite unnatural shade of green. Or maybe the other judge was that very old wizard at the end of the table.
"a man who needs no introduction, of course...Viktor Krum!"
There was a beat of silence for Lorcan, confusion almost, before he got swept up in the applause that bounced through the stony hall. Viktor Krum had never been an attractive man, and was even less so with age, but he gave a tight, polite smile as the murmur gradually faded.
"Now he's just going on about the tournament—you're all of age, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Right, so that won't be a problem—you have twenty-four hours to enter, I assume your lot are all entering?"
"Yeah. Are you?"
"No, hang on—hah, yes," she laughed. "Arany's just going on about how they've got even more security this year. That's what they said last time."
Lorcan gulped. "Well, there's no dark wizard sitting around, waiting to be restored to life."
"Everyone thought Voldemort was really dead, didn't they?"
"Well, I think Dumbledore or someone knew..." Lorcan struggled to recall what he knew of History of Magic. The Second War was different, seeing as how his mother and her schoolfriends had been to a large extent the ones fighting it.
Before she could respond, the students rose from their seats. Led by the formidable Maxime, the Beauxbatons students headed towards the outer doors.
"Er—does anyone know where we're staying?" said Lorcan. Brandon shook his head. Ryllis seemed to be in rapid conversation with Arany about something.
Finally, with Arany glowering, Ryllis beamed and made his way towards the second student table from the front (where the three sixth-years had joined their schoolmates).
"The Beauxbatons students," he explained, "will be returning to their carriage. However, as our own carriages are perhaps unable to...weather such temperatures, Highmaster Arany has agreed to let us lodge within the castle, in the spirit of international cooperation among wizardkind."
International cooperation among wizardkind did not seem to be the highest priority of the students.
"As many students as wish to do so may share the sixth, or fifth-year, dormitories. Should capacity prove problematic, there are some unused classrooms you may choose to inhabit."
"Can't we stay in the other dorms?" asked Robert Price, another Slytherin.
"The Highmaster discourages that. It would be like sleeping in the wrong House at Hogwarts."
"Er—Professor?" asked Margaret. "Those of us who don't make it in, will we be taking lessons with the Durmstrang students?"
"Everyone will be expected to continue taking lessons. That includes the school champion!"
"Oh," she said. "Only, I don't speak Latin, I'm not sure about the rest of you but—"
"Me neither," Lorcan rushed to add, while several others chimed their assent.
"Those of you who wish to attend classes with your peers may do so. The rest will have lessons with me; I'll print up a schedule soon. Granted, that makes twelve classes I have to teach rather than seven like a normal teacher would, so I highly recommend you take in at least some classes here even if you don't understand every word—what you get from me will be rather thinly-stretched."
"Twelve classes?" said Michael Fitzwilliams. "Er, what about us sixth-years?"
"That would include you. Next year, it may perhaps be more advisable for you to take classes with that year's sixth-years."
"Waste of time, this," he muttered, but Ryllis pretended not to hear.
There were a few Durmstrang students waiting outside the hall. "I'm not even going to bother with the dormitories," said Lorcan. "Just show me the open classrooms."
One of the boys smiled. "This way."
Great, everyone was willing to speak English except the Highmaster.
Another Durmstrang boy muttered to himself in a language Lorcan didn't recognize, then looked up. "Okay. I think the dormitories can fit all the fifth-years, and maybe five more sixth-year girls and boys each."
"Don't push it," said Diana, raising her eyebrows at Margaret.
Lorcan and half of the other seventh-years followed the first boy who'd spoke up a flight of stairs—that didn't move!—and down a dim corridor into a room with a wide window and several cots pushed up against the walls. "There're bathrooms down the hall," he muttered before taking off.
"Where're all our clothes?" Joseph asked.
"Ryllis'll probably bring them," said Indira. Her optimism was borne out five minutes later when the Headmaster walked by, pushing a trolley.
"Here are your personal belongings," he smiled. "Owls have been dispatched to the Durmstrang Owlery. I have brought some other animals along—no allergies, correct? If you have any you really shouldn't be competing."
Heads shook. "Was that a hint, Headmaster?" asked Robert.
"Not necessarily, but there are plenty of traps a champion might face. I do hope your pets can keep their noise levels down, for the respect of your fellow students. I shall come by to rouse any stragglers for breakfast tomorrow."
And with that, he departed.
There turned out to be one extra cot, but it was a tight fit once they'd all packed in. Lorcan was one of the first to shower; to his displeasure, the range of available temperatures ran roughly between "cold" and "cold."
But when he got back to the room, he could not have slept even if it had been dark or quiet. The others were buzzing, mostly about Viktor Krum. "D'you think there's gonna be a Quidditch task?"
"Not Quidditch. Probably something you'd want to fly for, though."
"I can't believe they'd bring him back, wouldn't they want to distance themselves from the old tournament?"
"They can't distance themselves from the old tournament, they've got the goblet and all."
Lorcan lay back, quiet but asking himself the same questions in his mind. He thought he'd never get to sleep, what with all the discussion, but...