A/N: Finally, the things we are all familiar with begin. Perhaps I should do this stupid Disclaimer routine for once: So for all the illiterate sods that have never heard this before – all the good and interesting characters belong to the genius JKR. I fell, though, that at least some part of Fleur does belong to me (and who would not love this idea?). R&E&R!

Chapter 7 – Hogwarts

Oct. 30th, 1994

We're on our way to Scotland! As I'm writing this, we are approximately 3 km above Lyon, going north-northwest. Mme Maxime says it will take about three more hours until arrival.

After a very emotional good-bye from a rather tearful Charmaine (I never realised she likes me that much), I got my backpack with Grisabel already in it, and went down to meet the others in the drive. It was a the sort of mild autumn day that is so typical of southern France, with the sun in the pale blue sky spreading that kind of golden mist I love so much. Everybody was rather nervous, trying to hide the fact more or less successfully.

After we had been waiting for a couple of minutes, venturing guesses about the means of transportation ("Portkey? Too complicated for so many people." – "Apparating? Don't be stupid you can't apparate here." – "Dragonriding? Rubbish that's a silly Muggle story."), a rumbling noise from the sky made everybody look up.

And it was an impressive sight, indeed, and the idea of dragons did not seem so far fetched for a couple of seconds. Black against the bright afternoon sky, the silhouette of a carriage came into sight, drawn by a dozen winged horses. As they came nearer, their enormous size became apparent: Each horse as big as an elephant, and the carriage the size of a medium house. The rumbling noise increased to thunder until finally with a tremendous thump the horses touched the ground and the carriage came to a standstill exactly in front of the pinewood doors of the chateau. Now, with the sun no longer in my eyes, I could see more details. In spite of their intimidating size, the horses were beautiful – golden palominos with blindingly white mane and tail, their vast wings now folded on their backs and glittering in iridescent hues. They were harnessed with golden bridles to the pale blue carriage that looked even larger now, at close quarters.

Now Mme Maxime appeared from the castle, and next to her, the horses and the carriage suddenly fell back into fitting proportion. She signalled imperiously to Armand, a boy from Maison Salamandre, who hurried over towards the carriage. He had to stretch his arm and reach high above his head to grasp the latch and open the door. A couple of golden steps appeared, and Maxime went up to the entrance. Right in the door, she turned to us and with a wave of her hand, which, as I noticed, was full of rings with a variety of stones, ordered us to follow her in.

As soon as the door had closed, there was a mighty jolt, and the carriage started swaying, thus showing that we had already taken off the ground.

The room inside the carriage where we are still sitting is much smaller than the thing looked from the outside, and there are a couple of doors, too, so I imagine there will be more rooms. Also, I cannot see our luggage anywhere. The room itself looks similar to a salle commune at Beauxbatons, only smaller, with a number of easy chairs and one sofa on a carpeted floor, even complete with a fireplace, without a fire, of course. A crazy idea, really, a fireplace inside a carriage!

"You can find a seat," Maxime told us, when the first shock at the departure had died down. "The journey will take about four hours, and we are due at Hogwarts at six. Take care not to crumple your robes, I expect everyone to look their very best."

With that, she deposited herself in an enormous armchair, muttered a spell and disappeared together with her chair.

Xxx

It's late at night, and I'm sitting on my bed inside the carriage, which has turned out to be a most remarkable invention and contains at least four bedrooms in addition to the salle commune and some assorted bathrooms and things, being similar to a house in more ways than just its size. I'm sharing a room with Margaux and Iphigenie Durberville, a rather shy girl from Maison Undene. I don't think I have spoken more than a couple of words to her yet, - I'm a bit surprised she entered into the whole Tournament thing and even made it as far as this, but what do I know, perhaps her parents pressured her into this, after all, there are other parents who do this sort of thing. Well, I guess I'll find out.

Oh dear, I'm rambling; I suppose I'd better start from the beginning.

Except for a narrow escape from a collision with a Muggle air travelling contraption (a huge colourful globe with a small fragile looking basket hanging from it, - I really have no idea how they can make it fly without magic, it looks far too big), our journey was uneventful, everyone trying to kill time as best they could.

Dusk was already setting, when the motions of the carriage indicated that we were nearing our destination, and finally, with an almighty crash, first the horses' hooves and a second later the wheels of the carriage, bouncing heavily once or twice, touched the ground and came to a halt.

With a popping noise, Maxime suddenly appeared among us. (It's a miracle really, with her bulk, that she didn't squash one of the students.)

"We have arrived," she stated rather unnecessarily. Then she signalled to Armand again, who eagerly rushed over to the carriage door, opened it and jumped out into the gloomy dark that was a weird contrast to the brightly lit interior. A chilling draught could be felt through the open door.

"Grab some shawls or things," Margaux whispered to me.

In that regal gait of hers that the uses at special occasions, Maxime descended the steps, after waving to us to follow her.

It was quite dark already, and the first thing I could really see was the enormous silhouette of a many-turreted castle outlined harsh against the starry, velvety blue sky. The forbidding pitch-black skyline, however, was strangely balanced by the rows of innumerable brightly lit windows, which gave the building an almost cosy look.

A crowd of people, who could only vaguely be discerned, were standing in a half circle, obviously expecting us. Maxime had walked up to a tall old man with long silver hair and beard, obviously one of the Hogwarts staff, and was talking to him, as her back was turned, however, I could not understand the words. The crowd gave us a round of applause.

"I do wish they'd cut the formalities," Iphigenie muttered, her teeth chattering, "I'm freezing." And I must say she never spoke truer word. I noticed some of my companions had, like me, wrapped some shawls around their heads, but in spite of this, we were shivering like everybody else, little frosty clouds rising from our mouths.

Luckily, Maxime finally motioned to us again, and we proceeded in her wake, through the crowds, up some stone steps, and through enormous carved oaken doors into the brightly lit hall.

Hogwarts is really very different from Beauxbatons; although the two castles seem to be similar in size (from what I have been able to see in these few hours), there is a tremendous contrast between the elegant, almost dainty rococo interior of Beauxbatons, and the heavy, Romanesque arches and pillars, and the staircases crowded with suits of armour that, more often than not, could need some polishing. And the ghosts! True, some of them seem to be quite decent, but I cannot imagine Mme Maxime would allow something like this. We had hardly entered the hall (which didn't seem a lot warmer, anyway), when that huge water filled balloon exploded and everyone except Maxime got soaked. (Obviously, whatever thing had caused this had had enough sense not to make HER mad.) There was a mad cackling laughter, and a silver shadow zoomed across the ceiling and disappeared into the far wall.

"What was that?" someone gasped, and even Maxime's poise appeared slightly thin on the edges.

"Probably a poltergeist", she told us, anger in her voice. "I'll talk to Dumbledore about this, make no mistake!"

Standing in a small group, huddled together in a vast cold and draughty hall, and in a foreign country, at that, is not the best way to improve your spirits, and when you are wet to the skin, the result is quite disastrous. It was in a rather edgy mood, therefore, that we spent the next twenty minutes or so, until finally all the Hogwarts students appeared and rushed across the hall and through another set of carved doors into what appeared to be the dining hall.

Somehow, in the turmoil that ensued, Mme Maxime disappeared, and we were already starting to believe we had been forgotten, when a sullen looking man in shabby robes and with greasy hair, accompanied by a cat with large eyes, approached and motioned for us to follow him into the dining hall.

This hall is simply vast, and they have a way to enchant the ceiling so that you feel as if you were sitting under the open sky. It is really quite impressive in a straightforward, unsophisticated way, completely unlike the heavily gilded salle at Beauxbatons.

We were shown some seats at one of the four enormous tables. Like us, they have four houses here, and from what the students at our table said, I gathered that theirs was called Ravenclaw.

Soon after we had found our seats, a group of people in thick fur cloaks entered and made their way to another long table at the far side of the hall. These had to be the Durmstrang students.

"They are a clever lot, aren't they?" Margaux told me. "Wish we'd braught such furs instead of these stupid silk rags."

In an elevated part of the hall, there stood what was evidently the teachers' table. Presently a door opened behind that table, and several people all in the black Hogwarts robes, entered, last of all Mme Maxime, followed by the tall old man she had been talking to at our arrival.

"That's Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster," the girl next to me told me.

Tired, cold and wet (the normal Drying spell does not seem to work here properly), and generally in a rather bedraggled state as we were, we did not forget our manners and jumped to our feet as soon as Maxime appeared, expecting the Hogwarts students to do the same for their Headmaster.

But far from that, they remained seated in the very casual manner they had been in before, and most of them didn't even bother to stop chatting to each other. What made me quite angry, though, was that some even laughed at us. Well, perhaps the famous British manners are not quite what they are supposed to be.

When all the staff had sat down, the Headmaster, who had remained standing, cleared his throat, and now, at last, everyone shut up to listen to him. Unfortunately, my English is not as good as I'd like it to be, so I could not completely understand his speech, but I gathered that he was welcoming us and the Durmstrangs, wishing us an "enjoyable and comfortable stay".

I know of course that it was bad manners, but I just couldn't help giving an ironic laugh at this, feeling far from comfortable and considering the less than enjoyable reaction of the Hogwarts students a minute or two ago. I noticed a girl with bushy brown hair glaring at me from the table next to ours.

In the meantime, the plates and dishes in front of us started to fill with various sorts of food. Having heard some less than pleasant stories about British dishes (terms like Haggis or black pudding were flitting through my mind), I was relieved to find some familiar dishes in addition to some rather weird looking ones. There was a very good-smelling Bouillabaisse, a very nice Coq au vin and a delicious Boef Stroganoff. I did try some of the other dishes, too, and the stories about black pudding, for one, are perfectly true, it's one of the most awful things I ever tasted.

The Hogwarts students at our table were an adventurous lot, they were quite interested in tasting the foreign dishes, and so the Bouillabaise had soon disappeared. I looked around and saw that on the table next to ours, they still had a bowl of it that was almost full.

So I got up from my seat, went over to the other table and asked a red-haired boy with a freckled face whether I could have the bowl. I haveseen many idiotic reactions when addressing boys, but his was one of the most ridiculous ever. His face turned a shade of purple I've never seen before, and hopenever to see again, he opened his mouth like a fish and nothing except a faint gurgling noise came out. If it hadn't been for another boy sitting next to him, who pushed the bowl towards me, I might still be standing there.

"Yeah, have it," he said.

"Yeah" his red-haired friend finally managed to echo, "it was excellent."

(Miserable liar, I'm perfectly sure he never even touched it.)

Only when I had returned to my seat I realised that that other boy had not seemed to be affected by my appearance in any way. He had just spoken to me perfectly normally, disparagingly, if anything. Even now, looking back, I feel there is something strange about him. Not that he looks anything special, quite the contrary; he must be about fourteen, of average height, and rather skinny at that; but even though he hardly looked up when he said those few words to me, I still remember the vivid green of his eyes under that messy black hair of his. But I'm putting too much emphasis on a small episode ...

After dinner had been finished, the Hogwarts headmaster stood up again. After introducing some people, who were apparently going to be judges in the Tournament, a great wooden chest adorned with jewels was carried into the hall. After some more remarks, - only what was to be expected, about prowess, and deduction, and, of course, danger, I really did not listen too carefully, - the casket was opened and revealed a large wooden goblet, plump and undecorated, which was a strange contrast to the box it had been in. The remarkable thing, however, were the blue-white flames that were dancing in it.

We were told that the goblet would be placed in the Entrance Hall, and we could enter our name and school on a slip of parchment tomorrow. Additional emphasis was put on the fact that entries of people under seventeen would be prevented by an Age Line.

Presently, Maxime approached our table and we got to our feet and followed her out of the castle into the night that was now positively freezing, and back into our carriage.

There must be some house elves at work here, as we had a nice fire in the salle commune and also the bedroom is comfortably warm. Grisabel is already purring on my pillow, and I'm also going to bed right now. It's really been an exhausting day.

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Thanks for reviewing, it helps a lot, especially when it's more than just "great story, keep going"

THALIA – you are making some good points and I'll see what I can do about the things you mentioned stay tuned, I appreciate it.

WICKERB – Just wait and see, I think I've put a hint in this chapter. And if you're so keen on H/F, why don't you go and write some yourself instead of wasting your time with completely different fandoms?

Finally, one last try: You know the names of three of the Beauxbatons houses now, any guesses as to the fourth?