Harry had finally made it back to the circle, his prize clutched to his chest, fingers numb and tired, but he was smiling as only a Goblin could smile, all teeth and satisfaction. The circle was small, made up of those who had, as individuals, decided to come and celebrate or give advice, or just witness in him coming to true individuality, as the Goblins know it. Harry's Artisan wasn't there, which, initially he had found weird, who else was he supposed to share this with than the closest thing to a father that the Goblins had? But it had dawned upon him, with some help from his Goblin allies that his Artisan could not be present. For he was celebrating his independence from him, and so him being there would be disingenuous as well as rude.

The circle had only adults in it, some of them liked him, others did not, some respected him, others did not, some were very nearly insane, and some were so rational talking to them was even worse. Goblins always held such a diverse set of opinions, that one of the first nuggets of Goblin wisdom that Harry had come across was, "How many Goblins does it take to light a fire? All of them." It had taken him some time to realize it wasn't because Goblins were supposed to be ineffective, but that they all had different ways of completing tasks. For what use is autonomy and art if it is all squandered on actions that are the same? He was glad that he had learned that lesson before his 7th year.

Harry made his way into the circle, his prize contained by him and his pride. He didn't know where exactly it was from or how old it was, but he was fairly certain it had significance. He had seen some runes carved onto it that spoke of construction, and construction was always significant to the Goblins. So he had high hopes that his prize might win, if winning was even an option (although that would be weird if it didn't, almost every Goblin interaction had a winner, competition was too important to their way of life).

He stepped into the middle of those around him. It was a simple place that this ceremony was being held. The floor was simply dirt, the entrances to caves all around them with the soft glow of some fluorescent lichen and bright torches providing light. Not that he needed that anymore, Harry thought wryly, he had been forced to get quite good with the sonar magic to work his way through the nearly pitch black tunnels. Those around him wore what they wanted, there was no specific dress to be constrained by, and they did not all make the same movements, or say the same things. Some of them simply stood there, softly touching the knives secreted about their person, others talked amongst each other, and some simply stared.

There was only one officiator for his ceremony, and it was usually someone who did not know the person making their way through to adulthood, that way there could be no dependence upon him or her for a good ruling. It was simply another adult, judging a fellow adult for their work.

Harry had finally made it to the center of the ring. He stopped and very carefully placed what he had brought at his feet. And then he also unsheathed his dagger, hidden between his shoulders, and placed that by it. He was now disarmed, and only then did the officiator reveal himself, so that his work could be judged with no threat to those who did the judging.

It was a fairly dangerous business to insult those armed with numerous knives, and it had only taken a couple of centuries for the Goblin people to figure out a good solution for that particular kind of fatality. So, now, disarmed, Harry simply waited, as the Goblin in front of him, unknown to him, began his investigation.

After several long minutes, while Harry repeatedly catalogued everything that could go wrong, the man removed a knife, from where Harry did not see, and murmured something causing a pale glow to illuminate his arm, Bone magic. Suddenly the light dispersed, although Harry did not know what it that had been done. And then, as he tried to puzzle out the spell's effects, the Goblin gave him a slight smile, "An individual has done well rescuing this from the bowels of the earth, from Essum himself. You sacrifice much to be here, to be with us and against us. And so, to balance it all out, for one to rise another must fall."

Harry was delighted. He had been referred to as an individual (the rest was unimportant), so he knew he had passed. He assumed that he would know if he had won only when the other Goblin trying to ascend to adulthood made it back, but it seemed that they had lost, which was sad, but he had made it! His Artisan would be so proud, and the others would be jealous, and now maybe less Goblins would look so strangely at him, and he could start learning and harvesting his own Bone magic, and was there anything cooler than that, and what had been-

Suddenly his thoughts were cut off as the sharp cracking sound of a vase breaking. The Goblin who had judged him was hacking away at his prize his knife splitting it into pieces again and again. Harry cried out and tried to save it, but by the time he could scramble his way to where the Goblin had taken the vase to do his terrible deed it was too late. Harry tried to take the pieces, to put them back together, and regain at least the semblance of his prize, that which had made him an adult, his first piece of work as an individual. But when it became clear that the vase was beyond all repair, he looked up in fury, eyes clouded by tears, ready to fight the Goblin who had wrought this, but there was no one there. The Goblin had disappeared into the folds of the caves, and only those who had come to witness stood around him, watching him.

Harry stood and walked forward mouth open, only to have a Goblin, face flickering in the torchlight, raise a fist to his mouth, a crude way of telling Harry to shut up. Harry stopped, looking around to the others that stood around him in the circle. A few of them moved closer, allowing him to step between them, to join the circle. Harry took one last look around, then looked at the pile of debris that had been his prize, and then walked to the edge of the circle, taking the place where those who had witnessed his defeat had made space. And then they just stood there.

Harry didn't understand what he had done wrong. The Goblin had called him an individual, was he not one? He didn't think that it was a good sign his piece had been smashed to bits, but now he was in the circle. Weren't only adults allowed in the circle? But no one was looking at him, did he fail or succeed? Was there another step? He had never heard of another step before. And he had, according to his Artisan, been told of all the requirements to compete and succeed in this. These were the thoughts that ran around in Harry's head, chasing each other, as he and the others stood in a circle, waiting for something.

Later, though Harry could not say how much later, there were sounds of someone approaching. Covered in soot and ash and dirty and tired the other Goblin who Harry was competing against made his way to the circle, in his hands, wrapped tightly in his fists was a small dagger, gleaming in the light that bounced off the cavern walls. Harry watched him break the circle's barrier, heading toward the middle. He might have said something, a warning, but then he caught sight of the dagger itself. It was strong. It was small, for sure, but it was also tight and durable, it had the look of something that would outlive the darkness itself, and in that moment, Harry was sure that he had lost. His vase would have been destroyed by such a dagger, and they had known, and that was why his prize had been destroyed, to be the balance to this Goblin's ascension. Harry's shoulders slumped. Here was the winner, and it was not him.

The other Goblin had finally made it to the middle of the circle, and like Harry, he placed the dagger lovingly on the ground before him before disarming himself of his knife. This time though a different Officiator came out from the darkness. This female Officiator also deeply investigated what had been offered up, and after what must have felt like forever, as it had for Harry, she finally looked down to the Goblin kid and said, smiling, "An individual did a great job forging this from the flames of Evomere. You have sacrificed much to be here, to be with us and against us..." Harry recognized that speech and his own happiness of that moment on the kid's face, now made adult, over the precious debris of his own vase.

"He deserves it" thought Harry, having difficulty stopping his eyes from tearing up. But he would be happy for his comrade, and later, once again, he would try and succeed this time to become an adult. The Goblin kid, now adult, was looking up at the ceiling to the cavern, eyes closed as he enjoyed the relief, so he did not see the Officiator take out her dagger, murmuring just like Harry's did, and cast the same exact spell, but Harry did. Why was she doing that? Wasn't the kid the winner? His vase had been destroyed, were they both going to lose? No, no, no that wasn't fair, and he wouldn't see his competitor go through what he had.

And so, Harry, without really realizing it had suddenly broken out of the line, yelling, and tried to step in front of the Goblin Officiator, as the newly made adult Goblin, still kneeling on the ground, looked up with wide eyes.

Harry pushed forward, eyes on the dagger as it fell slowly toward the knife in the dirt, a knife that his competitor had probably poured as much effort and love as Harry had into getting that vase, and he would save it. There didn't need to be some kind of give and take. You could have him win, he didn't need to lose that dagger, anyone here could tell it meant so much to him. And so Harry kept his eyes on the dagger, until it suddenly disappeared.

There was a reason that full grown Goblins rarely went out into the world, for they were a dangerous creature, and while they could respect the power of a Wizard, especially with their great numbers, they could not bear the arrogance, and a single Goblin, especially with surprise on their side, could very easily start a colossal incident. Luckily, few adult Goblins went out into the world, and while Harry had heard stories about this, knew it rationally, that adult Goblins were dangerous and to be given respect, and that they did not suffer arrogance, for it had been that which consigned their Gods to be cursed and exiled, he hadn't really known it until now.

One split second the knife had been in his sights and in the next he was facedown in the dirt, feeling a small trickle of blood along his back, but somehow, no pain, though he assumed he had been cut. Next to him was his competitor, staring, shocked, at Harry and his knife, which had been sliced into pieces.

Harry only had a moment to figure out what exactly had happened to him before he was hoisted to face the visage of the female Officiator. "An individual had better choose his actions wisely. An impossibility when one is so new and naive", was hissed into Harry's face. "Do not presume too much, individual, you know little." And with that she threw Harry back down onto his back, the cut that he had presumed to be there suddenly flaring with pain. The circle of Goblins behind and around them just stared.

The female Officiator was then joined by the male Officiator and while neither seemed very pleased, they still both smiled, showing teeth, "You are now both individuals. Learn this well: You will struggle in life, and you will fail. This first time, you have finally wrought something of your own, and it was good, but now it is nothing. This is the cycle of things. For while creation lies within Evomere and Eluvies it is Essum who is most powerful." And with that they both walked away, leaving two shell shocked Goblin adults behind, still surrounded by a circle of their, now, peers.

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It was the second week of school and Hogwarts loomed over the representatives of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, its great doors like some sort of cavernous mouth, though the cheery torches and the countenance of one Hagrid, Game Keeper, kept it from seeming too ominous. Still, while the bright young children of Britain might see Hogwarts as a home away from home, its hallways comforting, the portraits hilarious, and the food delicious, to foreigners it was a monument to the perceived superiority of Britain's wizards and witches. And they were all there to try their best to combat that image.

Each child of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang knew the history of Britain, their meteoric rise with Dumbledore at the helm and the crash and fall of Europe under Britain's other stars, Grindewald and Voldermort, the former having waged such destruction upon Europe that it had only seemed fair that the second Dark Wizard to come from Britain's shores should, at the very least, stay there. Sure, there had been sympathy, gifts, and kind words, but it also seemed right and fair. Finally a dark wizard from the island nation had kept his fury and wrath local, rather than spreading it globally.

Some blamed the outpouring of Dark Wizards from Britain on the abandonment of their more progressive wizards, who had left the stormy shores of England for the expansive stretches of the Americas, giving up the fight for a more modern English wizarding world. And while it was unclear if that had been the right decision for the, now, American Wizards, it had certainly rocked the European community, as the rising star of British Wizardry had gone hand in hand with the notions of Pure Blood, Ancient and Noble Houses, and the cementing of ways that may have benefited greatly from new and creative ways of thinking.

Other thought that maybe it was simply a curse of the British Isles, to be so great and so temperamental. For Merlin had come from there, but so had Morgana, and it was a favorite place of the Queen of the Seelie, Titania, but in her wake followed the treacherous and cruel Mab. And most recently it had been Voldermort, and the hidden and mysterious Boy Who Lived, all of it under the gaze of the great Dumbledore, who, while gifted, had seemed to cloister himself away as simply a headmaster. It was an oddity.

For even Dumbledore, whose kindness was just as famous as his power, seemed stuck in the mire and mud of old traditions. Those reportedly closest to him whispered that he was simply biding his time, while his enemies accused him of being a dunderheaded, old fool, but those who loved him said that he had no wish to once again try to enforce his beliefs upon a population, for he had tried that, once, and it had not gone well. Most people though, they believed the closest to him, and they feared him for that. But the children of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang feared nothing, and so they stepped into the mouth of Hogwarts, ready to fight with fire and ice and to win the cup and to show... that even stars fall.

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Fleur Delacour concentrated. She was always concentrating. She had to be, for if she did not, if she grew distracted or passionate or fearful then she would entrap those around her. She would snare them in the power that grew from her heart, that cold center that spread its icy fingers and rather than repeal those with its frosty tips, it would bring them in closer, numbing them to everything else, until the cold filled them. She had never had anyone else describe what they felt around her as cold. But she knew that was what it really was.

It was cold itself. For it was only in the deepest of winter that people who would lie down and sleep and die, unable or unwilling to feel the danger. Heat would make people back off, it would scare and incite action, but what she had, it did not push people away, no that was her, what she had drew them in, and when they were drawn in they ceased to live, ceased to be, or at least be themselves, and that was as good as death.

It also made her quite lonely.

It did not help that she had been born beautiful, and while she had no qualms with her attractiveness, except that many around her seemed to equate it with qualities that she did not possess. She was not innocent nor was she not powerful, she did not like gossip nor did she want to be gossiped about, and yet her skin, the most superficial part of her, the tip of the iceberg that lurked beneath was what seemed to color the views of those around her. Her blonde hair said to others, "I don't know much, could you teach me?", her blue eyes, "I've never done a bad thing in my life", and her slender figure, "I need protection", and all the while as they came closer the Veela part of her heritage ate them up.

And so she concentrated. She stepped into the halls of Hogwarts, decked in jackets and their warmth, her grip on her abilities meant she contained the cold, and so she was very nearly always wearing a furs or jackets. She was so very rarely warm, an additional cost to not making those around her fearful or fools.

Behind her came the rest of the Beauxbaton students, and behind them all the great stature of their Headmistress, a person whose physical abilities paled in comparison to her wit and strength of mind, but who was to forever be judged by the outside.

She was one of Fleur's only close friends. Her not so secret heritage having some manner of resistance to what afflicted Fleur, although privately Fleur always thought it had so much more to do with the extreme character and tenacity of her Headmistress.

Fleur stepped forward, past the halls, into the great mouth of Hogwarts, letting it swallow her up. Around her, the thrum of the magic that breezed through the fortress was relentless, and she felt herself relax slightly. Enough ambient magic in a place could run as a slight buffer with her own, implacable siren song. It couldn't block it totally nor could it remove its effect from someone, but it would let her at least halfway enjoy this experience. Although she had heard that it could also amplify it, but that seemed like a much rare occurrence. It was a strange feeling though, as if the school's own energy was consuming hers, the energy that surrounded and lived in it reducing her own.

Beauxbatons was a newer, well, relatively newer, place of schooling, so while it certainly was a powerful place, it did not have the near sentient thrum of Hogwarts. It had yet to gain the quirks of a nearly living building, no switching staircases, no floating lights, and no changing paths. And so Fleur made her way through the hallways, to where Hogwarts led them, its tingle as it reduced her aura's power a welcome respite, despite the feeling as the darkness of its halls spread across her shoulders.

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Viktor Krum walked on the balls of his feet, ready to leave the ground and soar, let the fire that burned in him take him up and up and up to the Sun where he belonged, where any true progeny of the Krum family would find their solace, as his father and his father had said before him. They could, he had heard the stories, trace their ancestry to the great Daedalus, and with that greatness came the desire to ascend, to touch the fire that held itself aloft in the starry sky. He had been ecstatic to leave the ship that had brought them here, the infernal contraption traveling underwater, rather than in the open air, gliding along the sea, as he had assumed they would travel. But apparently it had been quicker to go underneath, and his Headmaster was, if anything, concerned about efficiency.

The physicality of Hogwarts was incredibly imposing, but it was lessened by the sheer warmth that seemed to exude from its walls. As Viktor made his way inside, the warmth swept over him, like being high in the sky on a warm day, the bright sun shining, and he felt surprisingly at home as he stepped into the cavern that was Hogwarts main entrance.

He had briefly gleamed a quick look at the quidditch pitch before stepping foot in the stone hallways, and it looked…. adequate. The one he practiced on with his team was by far larger and had several smaller fields near it, where you could practice specific plays on a smaller field, allowing for quick scrimmages between 3 or 4 players, while the rest might ease themselves upon the grass, content with being on the ground and relaxing. Viktor had even had them build a specific course just for him, where spelled wooden dummies would throw things at him, balls would fly at inhuman speeds and he would have to catch him. Only their premiere chaser had been able to also complete the course. And he had never wished to do it again. Viktor did it every week (although he did not always make it through), and he would miss its treacherous claws against the bright blue sky.

The fellow Durmstrang men around Viktor stayed away from him, walking a couple of feet to the side of him or in front of him or behind him. People tended to stay away from him, on the ground because he wanted to be in the air, and in the air because he never wanted to be back on the ground. He had a quick temper, but then again, who wouldn't being forced to walk and crawl and live under earth like a mole? It was not the way of the Krum family, even his mother spat on the ground, cursing it for its heaviness and thickness and brown color. For while all of his family longed for the air, the warmth, especially the warmth, they were always thrown to the ground, like Daedalus before them. Reaching for the sky comes with its own set of problems, the main one being no one could stay up there, close to the sun and its bright rays, for to get too close would bring you down, and it was this cycle that had given birth to the Krum temper.

Only his family truly understood, and that was why the Krum family was so very large, because if you couldn't find friends, then it was best that you make them. And Krum women were very good at making Krum babies, although more often than not it ended with tragedy, the majority of their wives and mothers having forced themselves to be as near to the sun as possible during birth, a complicated obstacle even for accomplished wizards. Viktor himself had been born in free fall, and he had nearly died as his first bout of accidental magic had been to propel himself forward, feeling the air and sun on his newly revealed skin. His mother loved telling that story, and he loved to hear it.

He would miss his mother's stories at Hogwarts, but he didn't think it would be a huge deal, at least he'd finally have some interaction with women again. The Men Only School of Durmstrang had been a difficult transition for him. Krum men were a rarer breed, simply because they tended to be a bit more arrogant, and the sun and wind has no tolerance for such things.

Krum walked forward and stepped into the shadow of Hogwarts.

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Harry sat in his room, provided by the Headmaster. It was sparse in its furniture but colorful, even exceedingly so, in regards to the wall. He had requested it be sparsely furnished, not needing much, and with the concern that something might have been assigned to him, he wanted it to be as little as possible, although Hogwarts at this point might forgive him, he didn't want to make any unworthy moves against the ancient construct. But, while the Headmaster had certainly followed through in regards to the furniture, it was the walls where you could see his touch.

The walls were nearly covered in 360 degrees, with paintings, both that moved and didn't, as well as inspirational posters, splashes of color, and all manners of things. He hadn't yet tried to discover what several of the gadgets did, although he suspected they were for play rather than a spy network or something equally as sinister. The Headmaster knew well enough that such an invasion would not be well looked on.

Sitting as his desk, he had penned a letter to his Artisan, describing his first week, his expectations, and his continued work towards their goal. Things maybe had not progressed as far as he had liked, the continued classes in Charms being a huge disability to him, simply because he tended to leave the class burning and ashamed, the perversion of the items that they practiced on too much for his current constitution. The entire thing involving the train and his current relationship with the Weasleys might be beneficial it might not. He suspected that it all had to do with how things turned out, the current status of the Twins and himself could really lend itself to either side.

The most pressing matter was the balance. And luckily, for the most part, the contrary side of him had required little acting. It was a bewildering world that the wizards and witches lived in, one that seemed to ignore the noble properties of the environment around them. And while he had always felt that the Goblin's concerns about the wizards' arrogance must be exaggerated, he could, now, assuredly say that, if anything, they had not been concerned enough. It was quite staggering.

He also spent a generous amount of time cursing that he had to be here, doing this, but it was more to vent. He understood the stakes, and it would definitely all be worth it. He hoped. He really hoped so. And with that last thought, he sat in his room, staring at the walls that burned with garish colors and waited for dinner.

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Dinner was a particularly exciting affair, although so far ever dinner had been exciting. There wasn't a day that passed that didn't culminate in a dinner at Hogwarts where everyone just lost it, and either started a food fight, propelled, dangerously, by boisterous magic, descended into a shouting match between two or more Houses (except for the time that Gryffindor somehow had a shouting match all by itself, and no one could tell who it was attributed to), or just gossiped like it was the last day on Earth. (The Gryffindor shouting match was summarily blamed upon the Twins, and had snuggly ascended into a bit of a legendary event, either of brilliance (according to the Twins) or idiocy (any Slytherin)).

And tonight was absolutely no exception, especially considering the introduction of a bunch of foreigners who were all new, shiny, interesting, and pretty/hot or just as wired as the rest of Hogwarts due to them embarking to an unknown place so saturated with magic that the very paths that they walked twisted and bended willy nilly, like some sort of four dimensional mobius strip.

The Hogwart students had been told beforehand that at dinner the representatives from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be formally introducing themselves, and in a society where there was a mixture of magic and ancient customs, this was interpreted as probably going to be, as a particularly brave Hufflepuff put it, "totally badass". This was firmly agreed upon, although many were surprised that a Hufflepuff had voiced it.

And so, the Hogwarts students, at their tables waited for what passed as quiet among them, eager to see what amounted to a show that would present new and fresh, intelligent meat for them to gossip about, learn about, and maybe even sloppily make out with. "Teenagers with magic", sighed every Professor except the twinkling and grinning Dumbledore.

Suddenly the doors of the Great Hearth crashed open as the fire clad students of Durmstrang rushed in. Their Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff led them, a wreath of fire clung to his shoulders, increasing the breadth of his already large shoulders. Across his eyes were goggles, charcoal black and silver, sitting heavily on his face, leaving after images of ash as he swung his head to regard the entirety of the space. He was pale, snow and ice, but in his eyes the same flames that burned across his shoulders lived, and while it was clear magic was being used to accentuate the effect, though some of it was himself, alone. Heavy footsteps rang out, as the collective gasp of the Hogwarts students seemed to attract the fire to them, and so, Karkaroff plowed forward, wisps of steam coming from his boots.

Behind him, matching his pace, the men and women and teenagers and small, adorable kids of Durmstrang followed behind him, ordered in age, various enchantments having been cast upon them, that had a variety of effects, from their hair appearing to be on fire, to creating a billowing cloud of ash that molded itself into fierce and creative shapes. Lynxes, goats, and yetis, all made of ash, burst from the clothes, boots, and hair of the Durmstrang representatives, clawing their way forward to the students seated only to, at the last moment, extinguish themselves, revealing the sigil and sign of Durmstrang, a flame undying in a torrential storm, the contrast of it heavy in the warmth and protection of Hogwarts' great hearth.

Three fourths of the way into the hearth, Karkaroff and his students stopped, the last child in the lineup producing one more ashen beast, a small house cat, that simply rubbed against the child's leg, before poofing in a cloud of ash that made her sneeze, the quiet that had followed Karkaroff's halt of motion broken by the sound, as well as her sheepish grin that followed. Karkaroff looked back, sternly, although some caught the edge of his lips curl in a slight smile before resuming his air of seriousness, the flames on his shoulders still not abated, despite the enchantments on the other students having been removed or drained of all their power.

Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, stood up, face serious, eyes in mischief, and began to welcome those who had come to his home. He looked at Igor Karkaroff, who had charges like he had charges, and he looked into his eyes, behind the charcoal and silver goggles, and he saw nothing beyond them.

The Durmstrang students and Headmaster were seated quickly, a table already prepared for them, bearing their sigil and sign, starting with the youngest first, who had scrambled quickly for her seat, blushing heavily due to her sneeze, the red of her cheeks seeming appropriate to the fire that had and was so part of her school. Chatter was also emboldened, once seats had been taken, and many of the older students were incredibly impressed by the magic that had been unleashed, in such a casual way. Some wrote it off as illusion, others that Karkaroff was a demon, but a few noticed that where Karkaroff had tread the stones themselves were singed, and they wondered at the power it took to wash the very stones of Hogwarts, a castle that had stood for a millenia and more, into the shape one desired, using only their boots.

All musing was interrupted by the slow movement of the great doors that led to where the students sat and dined, a slight wind seemed to move them, though the doors that moved were exceedingly heavy, and from behind them stepped the enormous Olympe Maxime, but her feet made nary a sound, and she seemed to melt and glide through the doors, behind her the students that were under her care also glided in, none of their feet seemingly touched the ground, the boys were just as graceful as the girls, the young ladies as the young men, but all of them, despite their dainty approach, wore the markings and dressings of knights, full armor with swords and spears none of it seeming to encumber them and, in total, 30 of them. The armor was magnificent in its construction, though no one could tell if it was real of an illusion. Those that carried it seemed to do so as naturally as they others might carry their books, and had they not been practically dancing their way through the hall it might have been menacing. With their strides into the room came the barest hint of cold and winter and bits of frost seemed to catch the light on the tips of their weapons or the glinting armor on their their banner was a young boy, near the back, and on the banner, shining in magical light, the crest of Guillaume de Montauban, and as the Professors and Headmaster of Hogwarts saw that, some smiled, some frowned, but only a few noticed.

Madame Olympe and her students walking lightly, suddenly began to walk up into the air itself, a cold gust of wind propelling them softly upwards, as if travelling on a road that no one could see, their movements became more graceful, their steps becoming a sort of dance, that slowly picked up, the armor they were clad in providing no resistance. Up and up they went, swirling around, some used their weapons as part of the dance, beautiful in its clarity and poise, but at some point in the dance, those of Beauxbatons began to form lines, the child holding the banner in the middle back, those with spears beside him, and the eldest of the group arranging them besides Madame Maxime and Fleur Delacour, who had unsheathed a brilliant blade at some point during the dance wielding it as a part of her intricate dance. And then they were lined in ranks of battle, hovering above those seated, nearly 8 feet in the air, all still, the air, the swords, the knights, the banner, and those who watched.

And suddenly with a sharp smile from Maxime, they all dropped from the air, their armor and swords and frames suddenly heavy as they crashed to the ground with a heavy booming that filled with the space with sound, only to be suddenly overpowered by a heavy battle chant that came from the Beauxbaton students. The ground rumbled from the force of it, no dainty steps or frilly dance in the stance or eyes of the French students, as Madame Olympe Maxime stood proud at her full height and weight, her bearing of power, as the wind, that had been gentle and slightly chill before, suddenly rattled those in the hearth, nearly freezing everything in its whirlwind but the fire that burned in the chant of the knights of Beauxbatons, in Combat of the Thirty, shouted together, "Bois ton sang, Anglais, la soif te passera."

Many of the students jumped at this, and only some understood, but their fright was quieted when Dumbledore again rose and spoke his words of greeting to the knights arrayed before him, still poised for combat, until their Headmistress and General nodded her head and smiled upon her soldiers, who relaxed at her countenance. And yet, when Dumbledore tried to catch Maxime's eyes, all he could see was the wind and cold that belied their fiery entrance, coming from both Fleur Delacour, who remained at her General's side, and the General herself. Ignoring the intrusion the part Giantress, who walked with heavy steps, went to the table set for her and her students.

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It wasn't until much later that night that the two Headmasters joined by the Headmistress gathered around the roaring flame of the Goblet of Fire. They stood silent for a moment, the shadows casted by the flames of the Goblet twisting their shadows around the room, and if one of their eyes had strayed from the flames, they might have seen their shadows writhe and fight, Dumbledore's shadow fighting a shadow so much like his own, twins on opposite sides, and the space between them so far, or Karkaroff's shadow which wrestled what appeared to be a mountain, dwarfed by its immense size but seemingly unconcerned with such a disparity, and finally Madame Maxime's which turned upon itself, tearing and gnashing its own teeth, only to become larger, more full, more vibrant, and then begin the process over again.

But maybe they had already seen such visions, for the three magic users kept their eyes on the flames, and at some unspoken signal, unleashed from their various persons their wands. Dumbledore's swept a series of intricate, interlocking circles, all directed directly at the flames, Maxime's movements were wide, varied, utilizing her reach and height to come from all the most of obtuse angles, and finally there was Karkaroff, who got up close to the Goblet, punching his spells, light, agile, swift, and even with feints, the way a boxer might attack. Whatever the purpose of the spells it seemed that they produced acceptable results from those gathered, and from there the atmosphere relaxed, an old cloak (it appeared) was thrown over the Goblet of Fire, lights were raised, and tea brought in, from some dark corner.

Three of the most powerful pillars of education in the world sat together and ate some biscuits and sipped some tea, each enjoying a period of silence that so rarely comes in their line of work.

"And what of the Fourth in this contract", Igor demanded, breaking the silence, "have they also worked their own spells over the Goblet? Are they satisfied?"

"They did not. They said that it was to be trusted that wizards as esteemed and powerful as us would be more than enough to make sure that the tournament was fair and equal." Albus quietly spoke, his nose deep into his tea, reveling in the warmth of it. Igor huffed at that, downing his tea in a large gulp, only to look at his empty cup and sigh briefly, forlorn.

"I should hope that their words find us to be as powerful and esteemed as they seem to think we are", Olympe chuckled, sipping her tea quickly before it cooled down from the winter that clung to her. "And what of the child who will represent the Fourth in this? Will he be up to the task?"

"He is... angry, scared, combative, uncaring, and repulsed by our 'arrogance' and magic, but he has passion, and I do not think he would like to lose." Albus looked down at his tea, smiling, "I suspect that he will surprise us all."

"Have you ever suspected differently, Albus? You never change." Igor's words were accompanied by a wave of his hand. And with some quiet chuckling, the three continued to sit, as the next day started, and the TriWizard Tournament, now made Quadric, officially began.

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A/N#2

Pretty minor changes, mostly flavor.

Author Notes:

Almighty Odin in the sky, gals and guys, as well as those whose gender identity has more to do with glitter and sequins, this shit took a right long time to get out. Deep, unending apologies of a dark and depth kind for that, I had a really difficult time figuring shit out for this.

I'd like to thank TMNinjaGinga for his/her/their review. It made me all tingly inside, and it also got me to fucking sit down and write some more. TMNinja was the most recent, but they are certainly not the one I love above all others. I'd gladly rub any of your genitals all over my face for the amazing thought and effort you put into any review that you may have sent me, even if all it said was, "this good. me like." Send me your genitals*, I will rub them on myself, and then I will send them back. I won't even make you pay for postage. Straight up, homies. You know who you are.

Anyway, I should also mention that once I've completed ten chapters I will be going back and editing all the previous chapters, mostly because I think I'm pretty bad for this, and then also because oh my god, chapter 1 is shitty as fuck. So yeah, look out for that in the coming years. : /

Oh, right, quick note. Karkaroff is in charge of a bunch of children. If he was super evil and liked to eat/kill children, people probably wouldn't send their children to his school. He can't be all bad, but he can certainly have a very different philosophy that will cause friction, tension, sexy-tension, and problems. Evil villains who are one dimensionally bad do not oversee 11 year olds who then go on to become not-corpses. Or, at least, that is what I think, then write, then you read, and now you have to think it too. Power, power, power.

Also, if you so desire, please send me your thoughts on what you think is going to happen in this story. I am really interested, and if you actually want me to, I'll probably answer any questions you have. But I will double check, cause I don't really mind giving out spoilers, but I won't give out everything, and I will try not to give you things you don't ask for. 3

*I might do other weird shit to your genitals. You'll never know.