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Stand Tall - The Rise of Harry Potter
Chapter VII
Of Allies and Enemies
Harry glanced around the room. The three boys present had moved all of the tables and chairs in the abandoned charms classroom on the sixth floor of Hogwarts. It was far enough away from any of the common rooms that it wasn't likely that patrolling professors would catch them, and either way, Harry already had the Marauders Map out for them to monitor.
In the meantime, Hermione had patrolled the room setting up various charms that would help them tonight. Cushioning charms on the walls and floors, protections around the valuable furniture and, Harry was interested to note, simple temporary runes to deaden noise and encourage passers by to ignore the rune. It was nothing that would stop a Professor from finding them, but it would hopefully deter the more irritating prefects.
Finally, the room was ready. Hermione insisted that the charms would hold for quite some time, but Harry was determined that they find a way to speed the entire process up, as it ate up valuable practice time. He, Neville and Ron glanced at the girl, all assuming she would be guiding their sessions. Harry thought she saw his bushy haired friend suppress an eye-roll.
"So," she started, sounding like a poor impression of Professor McGonagall. "We're all here to improve on our defensive skills as, let's face it, they are currently not up to scratch. Not for our OWLS, and certainly not when it comes to actually defending ourselves. So we've decided to right that. Normally, I'd love to be leading a group like this," here she paused, and locked eyes with Harry, who smelt the coming danger from a mile away. "However, I'm not the best person here at defense, nor do I have the best instincts when it comes to being in actual deadly situations." Harry thought of the Devil's Snare in first year, and found it hard to disagree - no matter how much he wanted to. "Harry, you're a far better person to be leading us through this. I'll happily help with research, but in teaching spellcasting, I can't hold a candle to you."
Harry knew that it was hard for Hermione to admit something like that, and it was for that reason as much as any other, that Harry traded places with Hermione to address his friends.
"Right, er- Hermione was right that our defense professors have been pretty rubbish so far. Professor Lupin was great, but his focus on dark creatures means our actual wandwork needs a hell of a lot of, well, work." Harry started pacing the front, as much to relieve his nerves as anything else, as the others watched, focused. "I had actually been thinking about this earlier. It was really tempting to go and research a bunch of new spells and start learning them, but then I thought - when's the last time any of us actually worked on Expelliarmus, or even Flipendo? These are basic building blocks, and I tried earlier and I know my disarming is worse than what it was."
"So," he continued with a deep breath, "I thought we should really be starting there. What are the very basics we would need to fight back if attacked - actually defending against the Dark Arts? The disarming charm, the stunning spell, the shield charm and something with a bit more bite - I was thinking the reductor curse."
Hermione had actually raised her hand, something so on her mind that she had an intense look of consternation on her face. Harry ignored her, feeling as though he already knew what she was going to ask.
"I know some of those spells we don't learn until next year or the year after. We need to prioritise though - give ourselves the ability to defend us and eachother, then we'll worry about the curriculum. So, today let's focus on the disarming charm, because it's the absolute bare minimum of what we need."
Hermione seemed mollified, and Ron and Neville were pretty ready to start casting, so Harry got Hermione to talk about the theory of the spell, whilst Harry demonstrated. Essentially, the disarming charm boiled down to intent. Hermione talked for a while about proper wand movements and such - useful in their own right, but not really the crucial point - before Harry demonstrated. He got Hermione to attempt to disarm him.
Standing across from someone as good as Hermione, even for Harry was a little nervy, but he looked far more at ease than Hermione, who appeared incredibly reluctant to cast at him.
It showed.
Hermione cast a picture perfect expelliarmus at Harry, and the spell careened violently towards his wand. Harry's wand arm was jerked back from the impact of the spell, but vitally, he still held his wand.
"The most important thing with this spell - morse so than the wand movements and theory, is intent. You have to want the wand in your hand. As much as you can imagine yourself wanting anything. Harry focused in on Hermione, concentrated everything he had on getting her wand - on defeating his friend until he could practically feel the magic inside him begging to do what he wanted.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry cried, and a much more vibrant - much more fierce blast of light flew at Hermione. She was knocked for six and sent sprawling, but her wand, found it's way straight to Harry's hand.
In defensive magic, intent was everything.
They paired up, focused on disarming eachother in turns - Ron and Hermione, him and Neville. It wouldn't have been unfair to suggest that Neville needed some work. It wasn't so much the wand movements - his were pretty much as good as Harry's - it wasn't even the intent, not really. Neville wanted it so much that Harry could practically feel it himself. Neville's issue, Harry quickly realised, was confidence.
You can want a thing to happen with your magic, but if you didn't believe it was possible, wanting it just wouldn't be enough. Neville was so down on himself, he didn't even believe that he could ever disarm Harry.
The last Potter changed tact. Instead of talking to Neville about intent and what he could work on - Harry praised the things he saw were right. 'Good wand movements, Neville' and so on. Rapidly, Neville began to show hints of improvement. His charm started packing more wallop - he knocked Harry's arm further and further back. As Neville's confidence grew, the potential power the last Longbottom could bring to bear started to become more and more obvious and Harry grinned as he fought harder and harder to keep his wand - until, an hour in, he couldn't any more. Harry's wand, rather than returning to Neville flew across the room rattling airily as it bounced across the room.
Even Ron and Hermione paused their practice, not quite believing what they were seeing. Neville was bright red, but Harry was absolutely beaming, and rushed to congratulate Neville.
They carried on for a few moments more, before Harry reconvened them. It was time to really see where they were at - it was time to duel.
Neville stood opposite him, shifting nervously. Harry was more relaxed - side on, remembering the stance Snape took when duelling Lockhart - but infinitely less worried. Hermione indicated they should start and Neville rushed into a disarming spell, but Harry was already moving out of the line of fire. He snapped off a spell he was confident in - flipendo, or the knock-back jynx - at Neville's left leg, sweeping it out from under him. Off balance, Neville was already falling as Harry tagged him with a light expelliarmus.
Ron was to go against Hermione next, and the Weasley had a confident grin on his face as he sauntered into position across from a gradually more ticked off Hermione. Ron had already made his first mistake - he was underestimating Hermione enormously. Harry signalled that they should start and Hermione didn't even move as she started firing spells at Ron. Most of them Harry wasn't ashamed to admit he didn't know, but he did recognise the crimson of a stunning spell and realised that Hermione was studying very far ahead.
Ron had to scramble to avoid the magical barrage that was coming his way, and managed to find the time to fire off an easily dodged expelliarmus. What Hermione didn't count on was that Ron had followed that spell with a very fast pair of jelly-legs jinxes either side of Hermione, and suddenly the girl was staggering to the side unable to keep her balance.
Ron made his second mistake. He paused to smirk at Harry and celebrate. Trouble was, Hermione was well aware of the counter-curse to the jelly-legs, and suddenly Ron was hit by three seperate stunning spells. They were weak - you could tell that Hermione had learned them just for today - but they did the trick, and Ron was out cold on his arse.
Neville pointedly refused to duel Hermione after that, stating that there would be no benefit, so Harry stood across from the ridiculously knowledgable girl - just a touch more alert than he had been against Neville.
Harry had no illusions about Hermione's skill level compared to his. If he wanted to win today, he'd have to fight for it.
Hermione led with a stunner as Harry sized the girl up, trying to catch him off guard, but Harry was already moving. It had struck him during the previous duels just how static everyone had been - how easy to hit they were for a bunch of kids who didn't even know the shield spell yet. The vivid red bolt of stupefy sailed past him, splashing harmlessly against the warded walls and Harry was casting quickly as he went. This was his advantage. Hermione had variety, Harry knew what he knew like the back of his hand and could therefore cast it as he sidestepped whatever Hermione was doing.
Flipendo. Flipendo. Expelliarmus. Jelly legs. Body bind. Expelliarmus. Hermione was nimble enough even without the dynamism that Harry had. Not really athletic, but still managing to stay just ahead of Harry's spells as they traded them without really moving much at all. In the background Harry became aware that Ron had stirred awake in the background of their fight, and was now watching them. His stare was oddly intent, and Harry got the impression it wasn't in a good way.
He felt the tell-tale 'fizz' of the Jelly-Legs Jinx and his legs gave out under him. From his position down on his arse he could see Hermione ready herself to press her advantage, and a rapidly cast expelliarmus, followed immediately by a stunner was sent his way. Harry had lost. He knew that, as did everybody else in the room. He had no way out, and only one solution came to mind. It was half baked and stupid. He had read about the spell. Briefly. There was no way he'd be able to cast it first time in a million years.
Harry felt a smile find it's way onto his face even as he brought his wand up to meet the incoming fire. The impossible or defeat. Success or death. The situation now was so far away from that it wasn't even funny.
But was it? Really? Draw a tight circle with the tip of your wand, using mostly your wrist. Both margins were tightrope thin, and Harry walked them often. Visualise a muggle shield. The clearer and more vivid the better. Time slowed as defeat spiralled towards him, much as the Basilisk had nearly two years prior; and despite the lack of real danger, Harry found his heart raced just as much as it did then. That feeling - was it fear? It couldn't be, not really. Fear was locked in a cupboard. Fear was doing nothing. Fear was inertia and confusion. Fear was defeat. He wasn't defeated - not yet. Will your shield to protect you. Willpower is critical to success. Don't wish it to protect you - ensure that it does.
"Protego!" Harry bellowed, his eyes focused to a razor point upon the spells coming at him. He could see them both hitting his shield and being dispersed like water balloons. He had to make it happen.
Faintly, a golden circle shimmered into existence in front of him like a viking buckler, and the disarming spell struck it with much more force than Harry was expecting. He had to fight but the spell dispersed violently into a cornucopia of colour and Harry felt the elation of success as he realised what he'd done.
He barely noticed just how quickly the stunner turned his first ever shield spell into wizarding confetti as his world fell to black around him.
A week passed since she had beaten Harry in their duel, and the group had met twice since. Harry had been typically effusive in his praise for Hermione when she had won but Hermione just couldn't bring herself to internalise that praise. Harry had been winning plain as day. She had spell variety, but her casting and reaction time was slow. She never should have been able to hit Harry.
Their impromptu tutor had been distracted by Ron's awakening. That normally wouldn't have been enough to put Harry off though, and Hermione had wracked her brains since to try and work out what had done it, but come up short. Harry only said that distractions were part of a dangerous situation and you had to learn to cope with them so his defeat didn't matter.
Didn't mean Hermione had to like it, however. Especially since Harry's final spell had been a shield charm not even on this year's defense curriculum - Hermione never did ask the boy when he'd even had time to practice that. Of course, that could well have been the first time. She wasn't sure whether that would be more or less galling.
Still, the practices were easing her anxieties considerably. Yes, she was in danger as a muggleborn witch at Hogwarts - especially being friends with Harry. However, now they were doing something about it. Hermione hated to admit it, but an evening with Harry and her disarming charm was so much better, and duelling the boy himself had been eye opening. Harry's level of fitness meant he had a huge advantage. From what she had been able to glean, wizarding combat was a rather stationary affair and Neville had confirmed.
Harry had simply said that standing still when there was a spell coming at you was stupid, and they had found it quite hard to disagree in the end.
At last, the target of her thoughts walked in, an easy, lopsided smile on his face. "Hey Hermione." He said, awfully chipper for someone that wasn't her entering the library. He sat down and without much preamble, the pair got to work. Between them, they had polished off McGonagall's transfiguration essay without much fuss (Hermione couldn't help but notice she barely had to change a thing about what Harry had already completed - a huge shift from last year), and they moved quickly on to the true purpose of their meeting. Now Harry had an idea of what they needed, Harry wanted a plan as to how to proceed and what should be prioritised for their little group. Shield charms were definitely next - especially since Neville could now actually cast expelliarmus to an acceptable standard. What came after though was more difficult.
Most duelling texts seemed to indicate that stunners and the Reductor curse were a duellists bread and butter. However, the reductor curse was starting to push the boundaries of what Hermione thought was an acceptable risk without a professor being involved, and for some reason Harry insisted that they kept their little arrangement a secret. They needed things they could practice relatively safely, things useful for the fights that were in the future, and no less importantly, spells that they needed to know for their OWLs.
Hermione loved a challenge, and if she loved anything more than a challenge, it was a study plan. A colour-coded study plan. With post-its. And a nice folder. Harry really had no idea what he was letting himself in for, even after several years of knowing her.
Still, it took them several hours of reading and making drafts, but they finally came up with something that satisfied them both for the rest of the year. A table of Ravenclaws across from them left just as this happened, sparking something in her memory that Lavender had been babbling about in the common room.
"Hey Harry - did you hear about Betteridge?"
"No," he said, but a small frown appeared on his face either way. "What happened?"
"She had to do a stint in the hospital wing. Apparently she was out in the hallways after curfew and got cursed in the back." Harry sat up, and regarded her with a intense look.
"What house is she in?"
"Ravenclaw."
Harry started to speak but stopped himself, a hard glint in his eyes and Hermione sat forward keenly. She knew that look far too well - Harry had worked something out about this, either by instinct or by intellect, and was somehow involved enough to act.
To be quite honest 'involved enough' covered just about anything that could possibly happen, but that was neither here nor there.
"I don't know enough to say anything for certain, but there's something happening in Ravenclaw, and I don't like it one bit." Harry proceeded to tell her everything he knew - apparently he had plied one of the boys in Ravenclaw for information about what was happening to a girl called Luna, and had discovered a mess of bullying that nobody seemed to be able to unravel. Hermione's blood boiled that nothing had but done but regardless, Luna now had the both of them onside, even if she didn't really know it.
The day crept by for Harry once he and Hermione had finalised the plans for their little group. Once again, there were things going on at Hogwarts that were keeping him incredibly preoccupied. Their group, Luna Lovegood and Betteridge and Voldemort all stole his thoughts at various times - and that was without counting the so-called Triwizard Tournament looming over him like a shadow.
Of course, he was the only one that regarding it like this. Hermione was too busy obsessing over the history of the thing and the chance to watch the next chapter unfold in front of her. Ron couldn't get the idea of being in it out of his head. He had tried valiantly to play it down, but Harry knew his best friend. The idea of winning the tournament, having something that set him apart from his high-flying siblings - above them even - had captured his imagination. The rest of the school was caught somewhere in between those two viewpoints. Some were excited to take part, to be the school's champion. Some were excited at the chance to watch.
Harry was just hoping he wouldn't be involved. Fortunately, Dumbledore had somewhat seen to that, creating a magical age line around the Goblet of Fire. One had to place their name written on a piece of paper inside the Goblet to nominate themselves to compete and the age line prevented anyone outside of seventh years from doing so.
Of course, to Fred and George Weasley, the idea of a magical barrier cast by Albus Dumbledore meant only one thing. A Challenge. Harry, Ron and a crowd of mostly Gryffindors (with some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws thrown in the mix) had gathered around the twins and the age line about an hour before dinner to watch the twins varied attempts to beat Dumbledore's spell.
Naturally they all failed, and the teachers who had begun to walk by to get to the Great Hall didn't even bother to stop their antics (Harry could have sworn he saw a wry smile on McGonagall's face, but he could have been wrong). At one point Dumbledore himself turned up and chuckled softly as Fred ate what looked like a custard cream - only to transform into an overlarge, buttercup yellow canary and try to fly across the line ('it was designed to stop humans not birds!') only to be bounced back and sent sprawling across the floor, dazed and Fred Weasley once again.
"Wish I knew a way past that thing." Ron said suddenly, distracting him from the antics of the twins. "You got any ideas mate?"
"I have no idea how I'd even begin to get past a spell that Professor Dumbledore had cast. Sorry mate." And it was true, Harry couldn't imagine ever breaking past defenses that Dumbledore had set, despite all of the extra defense work he'd been doing. The man was almost untouchable as far as Harry could see - there was nothing he couldn't do with magic. Still, he could pick up on the disappointment in Ron's demeanor - his best friend wasn't exactly subtle with his emotions and Harry knew full well the pressure that Ron put on himself to live up to his brothers. A distraction was in order.
"How about we ditch watching your brothers do this to themselves and go for a fly. No quidditch doesn't necessarily mean no flying." The smile that broke out over Ron's face told him he'd made the right call, and within a few minutes the boys were up in the air soaring through the crisp moonlit evening. The pair darted about for a time, barrel rolls and dives aplenty, Ron somewhat slower on a school broom but Harry adjusted his speed for his friend so as to make the difference unnoticeable. Eventually, Ron pulled up alongside him red and sweaty as he was, and grinning broadly.
"What a brilliant idea, mate." Ron gasped out, and Harry returned the grin. Ron was getting pretty good on his broom. Harry knew he wanted to be a keeper, but quite frankly, it was a waste of his control - he'd do well as a chaser calling the plays and dictating the tempo of games. Ron wasn't the best flyer, but he knew the game better than anybody. Playing against him at the Burrow was a nightmare truth be told. Harry was faster, more skilled but Ron just seemed to always be in the right place to intercept or block. It was uncanny, and reminded him far too much of how the red-headed boy played chess. The comparison, even this far up in the air ignited his curiosity.
"Hey Ron, do wizards duel on brooms? Like in proper battles and stuff?"
Ron scrunched up his face in concentration but in the end only shrugged his shoulders. "Not that I've heard of - it'd take a madman to do it though. One hit at height and you'd be a goner, even from a stunner."
Harry nodded, "I suppose, I was just kind of picturing it a bit like a quidditch strategy, you know? Impossible to hit, raining down spells in formation and stuff. You'd almost have to call plays to make sure everyone knew what they were doing."
Ron looked pensive but the conversation ended there. It had gotten too cold even with a weak warming charm, the brisk evening beginning to give way to a chill that hinted at the winter nights to come, and it was starting to get uncomfortably close to curfew. The boys headed back inside together, Ron giving Harry a play-by-play of a Cannons game that Harry was pretty sure he had heard before.
He listened with rapt attention anyway, and very quickly they had made it back to Gryffindor Tower and their beds.
Flitwick's classroom was a unique place in the castle. The wall were lined with piles off books of various ages and sizes, towered crookedly up to the high ceilings; and the desks were staggered in an oddly disorientating manner around the room. No pair of students really lined up with another in a remotely logical way, and objects filled empty spaces at random. Draws and cabinets full of feathers, balls of string and a whole assortment of magical and mundane objects were scattered around the place in no discernible pattern.
The professor however, seemed quite at home in all the chaos. Not once had Harry ever seen him not remember where a thing was, or stumble even a little as he bounced around the room busily observing his students' wand work.
The work itself also seemed unique to Harry. It was all embedded in theory, but they focused on the practical to the extreme. If Snape's class had no foolish wand waving, then Flitwick's was entirely that. As a result it was almost always the most consistently interesting - and useful - class they had. Harry knew well and good how to deal with a grindylow - an aggressive water demon that resided at the bottom of lakes and rivers - but was never likely to come across one. The summoning charm however, was immediately and obviously useful in a multitude of ways and happened to be today's subject of study.
He gave a snappy flick of his wrist, moving his wand in a sharp upwards curve, "Accio feather."
The feather on the smooth oak desk in front of him trembled slightly, but nothing more. He scowled at the dull white object that hadn't moved much more than that in the twenty odd minutes of trying. There were perhaps four other people in the room who had managed to coax a tremble out of their feather so he supposed that he should be satisfied in his relative progress, but he couldn't summon anything besides irritation at his own perceived failure.
For such a practical class, Flitwick assigned a heap of homework for this charm. A few books to read, and several rolls of parchment in preparation. It was scarily reminiscent of McGonagall's homework habits. It still confused Harry how the different disciplines of magic seemed to require different things for success. Transfiguration needed precise clarity on the how. You needed to understand the flow of magic, what it was doing as you transfigured an object, and also a knowledge of the thing you are transfiguring to. It was why, McGongall had once explained, she was particularly proficient at transfiguration into and from cats. As a cat animagus, she had an inherent understanding of what made a cat what it was to match her brilliance with the theory. Precision and visualisation on this level made all the difference for success. It was why they started with simple, incredibly mundane objects in their First Year.
Defense however, had a completely different approach. It was all about intent, your will as the caster to ensure the magic did what you wanted it to do. Visualisation was important still, but an understanding of the theory seemed to make little to know difference. You just had to know what you wanted and the confidence that you could. Charms seemed to straddle the line between the two other disciples. It was heavily practical, intent based magic. You had to have the will and belief, absolutely. The theory however was just as important. How are you going to get your magic to do what you want it to do?
He raised his wand once more, a familiar tingle running through his fingertips almost as though magic itself was anticipating being used. Visualisation. He could see the feather in his mind's eye come to him. But there was more - it came quickly, but not so quickly that it would be difficult to deal with, almost as if it were a gently thrown ball. Did it spiral or spin, or was it clean and true? No, no spin at all felt wrong when he tried to keep that image in his mind. At span in a steady barrel roll, like a muggle drill moving at half speed.
He could almost see an ethereal shimmer of magic as he performed the spell in his mind, reaching for the feather and bringing it to him. He controlled the speed, he controlled the spin. The magic followed his desire, and therein sat the willpower aspect of the spell. His will, his determination that the magic do what he needed it to do. There was no room for questioning or doubt. It simply would.
Precision. A sharp twist of his wrist created a curved wand motion. "Accio feather."
Focus. Every step needed to be held together for the duration of the spell - until it had achieved its desired purpose. The feather trembled, and raised from the well worn surface that it rested, and started to hover towards him; the gentle spin exactly as he pictured, the pace exactly what he saw in his minds eye. He felt elation creep in before the feather was even halfway to his hands and the feather had hit the ground before he could do anything about it. Focus.
"Marvelous Potter! I was not expecting such progress from anybody here today! Excellent precision with your wand, and the movement of the feather suggests you were visualising correctly. Care to hazard a guess as to why you only partially completed the spell?" The squeaky professor questioned, and Harry was suddenly very aware of the eyes of the class upon. Defense aside, he had never been known for being the first to do something. There were always a good five or six others that managed it before he could.
"Erm-" He started hesitantly, "I lost focus Professor. I was so happy it began to move properly that I stopped concentrating on actually making it happen."
The professor nodded earnestly. "A good enough explanation, and one that I agree with. Remember, learning a spell requires constant focus and attention until you have achieved a degree of familiarity with the magic involved. You will find Potter, that the next time getting to this point will be far easier. The more you perform the spell, the more familiar you are with it, the focus required falls away from all but the most complicated of spells. Well done!"
Harry smiled, grateful for the praise but frustrated all the same. He had been so close and had been celebrating when he should have been making sure he finished the job. He practiced for the final ten minutes of the lesson with varying success, but his growing frustration meant that he never matched that initial success. Flitwick simply patted his shoulder reassuringly, and advised him to take a break from trying the spell so he could come back to it later with renewed vigor.
Charms was the final lesson of the day and despite lingering disappointment over the summoning spell, Harry eagerly took himself to the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, hunger overtaking other thoughts.
The hall was full of the humdrum of pretty much the entire student body talking and eating at once and Harry eyed the completely full staff table at the very front of the hall. Still, dinner was good and Harry more than ate his fill which was the norm for him at Hogwarts, if not so much at the Dursley's. Harry and Ron chatted easily about the qualities of various brooms, and Hermione interjected every so often with a tidbit that she had picked up from Quidditch Through the Ages. Before long, they were broken from their conversation by a gentle twinkle of a fork being tapped against Dumbledore's goblet. It was a soft sound that still seemed to somehow cut through every conversation in the room with ease, bringing the entire room to silence.
Oftentimes, Dumbledore would simply stand if he needed to say a few words to the student body. That motion alone served to take a vice like grip upon their attentions - the fact that Dumbledore chose to do otherwise had the whole school on tenterhooks.
"It is my pleasure to announce that, in thirty minutes time, the entire student body is invited into the grounds to welcome students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons schools to our school for the Triwizard tournament. Of course, we are to compete as a school against them; however, we are to do so in the spirit of friendship and co-operation and mutual respect. As such, it is naturally expected that we welcome these guests to our school - our home - as warmly as possible." Dumbledore smiled softly, and his eyes seemed to sweep across every single person looking back at him in turn.
None were able to look away, nor did they show any sign of disagreement - not even the Slytherin children from the more prejudiced families showed any sign of rebellion under the scrutiny of the Headmaster.
Desert was a swift affair after the announcement. Treacle tarts, ice cream and trifles alike were demolished at speed by the entire student body, which had began to filter quickly outside. Ron looked perturbed at having to leave the hall with so little pudding actually eaten, but he wolfed his pudding down and left with Harry and Hermione regardless.
Magical travel by nature tended to adhere to strict timings - magical trains and buses ran to perfection, and the instant nature of portkeys, apparition and floo meant timings were easy to get right - so as the promised time grew nearer, the noise of the Hogwarts crowd faded into tense anticipation as the student body strained to catch the first glimpse of one of the arriving schools. Almost exactly thirty minutes from Dumbledore's announcement, the first excited whispers broke out from the students at the very front of the crowd and soon spread backwards.
It only took Harry a moment before his sharp, quidditch trained eyes caught their own glimpse.
A carriage in the sky came bursting out of the clouds. It loomed ominously over the grounds shrouded in black by the moody night sky. What was clear however, was that it was being pulled by twelve enormous horses, winged and the size of elephants. Then, the carriage caught the light emanating from Hogwart's towers and windows, and it seemed the school as a whole drew breath at the sight.
Ornate golden trimmings adorned a powder blue carriage the size of a house, but designed like the most opulent of European palaces. The carriage swooped towards the ground for a majestic landed, only for the school's attention to be drawn be the cry of a fourth year Hufflepuff who was pointing desperately at the Black Lake. It's surface was bubbling violently and was suddenly pierced by the bough of a dark galleon, awe-inspiring and terrible, as the ship rose slowly from the waters as though it was a shipwreck being winched from the bottom of the sea.
Murky water cascaded down the sides and decks of the enormous ship, running off to the waters they had originated, reflecting the haunting yellow glow of the lights coming from the ship's portholes. The skeletal ship began to glide silently along the surface of the lake, but strangely didn't create a single ripple in it's water's. Harry gulped reflexively, unable to tear his eyes away from the ship's lights, their glow reminding him vaguely of the eyes of some alien deep sea creature he'd seen on a documentary at the Dursley's.
The ship and the carriage seemed to arrive simultaneously at the destinations, the ship docking at the shore of the lake just as the carriage came to a halt on the lush grass that covered most of Hogwart's immediate grounds. Harry's breath caught in his throat as both ship and carriage stilled simultaneously and it seemed that even the early evening chill of the Scottish Highlands was frozen in time, waiting for movement from either vessel. Suddenly, a wooden gangway began to fold itself out from the Durmstrang ship, unrolling like a brand new carpet and solidifying into a hard wooden bridge from deck to land. As if to compete with the other, the Beauxbaton carriage doors flung open to the sound of grandiose trumpets, and the student body suddenly found themselves torn between which spectacle to pay attention to.
Beauxbaton's students left first, twelve girls marched out of the carriage and into a formation just before it, dressed in light blue dresses and over the shoulder things that Harry could only really call capes. He wondered why just twelve students had come, and why he could feel an incredibly familiar pull of magic. He could feel his attention being drawn to the students. It was forcible, nigh on irresistible, but he knew it and knew that he wouldn't succumb. Part of the pre-match entertainment at the Quidditch world cup had been veela - magic beings who had a natural 'allure' that mentally affected the opposite sex. It was a simulated attraction and a very simplistic form of unintentional mind control.
Harry had felt it, but been able to resist. The Weasley's on the other hand... A glance to Ron confirmed his suspicion. The Weasley was wide-eyed and scanning the girls with a dopey, vaguely leery, smile. Beauxbaton had at least one veela amongst their number. That fact didn't really bother Harry, though he hoped those affected by their allure would be able to adjust. Hogwarts' champion might have some difficulty if he were badly effected.
The girls marched up to Dumbledore and the gathered students and curtsied in unison to them all. A single one of their number stepped forward, and Harry immediately recognised her as the cause for his friend's distraction.
"We thank you for you welcome and hospitality, Professor. We hope the tournament will be a shining representation of unity and competition among allies." She spoke in a thick French accent, but her voice rang sweetly like a bell and Harry wondered for the first time whether he was completely immune to the girl's allure. She performed her own curtsy to Dumbledore himself, who smiled and nodded back respectfully, before returning to her place with an unnerving grace.
A large woman that reminded Harry all too much of Hagrid, dressed in what seemed to be an incredibly valuable beige fur coat, ambled up to Dumbledore with a tight smile and shook his hand.
"Welcome to our school, Madame Maxine," Dumbledore said with just a hint of pride, "I hope you will enjoy your time with us."
The woman seemed to be preparing a haughty sniff - something he knew well from spending years living with his Aunt Petunia - when they were interrupted. A deep and ominous gong rang out across the grounds like a colossal wave crashing onto and cascading around a cliff-face, and those that could break themselves free of the girl's allure turned their attentions eagerly to the Durmstrang ship.
A low chant began to echo forth, rumbling across them like the beginnings of a major earthquake. The Gregorian tremors were joined in a moment by the sound of heavy set boots meeting wood in firm unison, before the Durmstrang students appeared over the top of their gangway, marching down as Beauxbaton had. They looked stern and fierce, the very picture of some twenty young men marching into battle, yet losing none of the grace that the girls of Beauxbaton had shown. Durmstrang had bought a mix of girls and boys for the competition, in contrast to the French Academy's all-girl selection and Harry couldn't help but be curious at the reasoning.
The Durmstrang headmaster, again in contrast to his French counterpart, led his pupils from the front; those from his school stood at the base of the gangway, appearing to not notice the crowd arrayed before them as their headmaster greeted Harry's own with a tense handshake but no words. The man was tall and gangly, but seemed to have an impressive rigidity about him, as well as steel grey eyes that reminded him of Sirius' when he had been looking at Peter Pettigrew. His dark and whispy beard stood in stark counterpoint to Dumbledore's own full and snow-white beard, ever tucked into his belt, and Harry couldn't help but notice that both Snape and McGonagall were the very picture of coiled tension either side of the ever relaxed and smiling Headmaster.
Belatedly, Harry realised that he hadn't actually noticed the Headmistress of Beauxbaton until she was actually within handshake distance of Dumbledore himself and he frowned. Nobody moved like that unintentionally. Spirit of co-operation his arse - both school's had come to make a power play. They were here to show that they were better than the famed Hogwarts, that they ran better school's than the Albus Dumbledore.
Harry couldn't help but wonder if the school was up to that kind of challenge.
