The last traces of the sunset's orange glow were swallowed by the biting chill, and the sky darkened rapidly, as if soaked in ink. Even the distant outline of the Forbidden Forest blurred into a deep, shadowy black.
The students had already lined up in the entrance hall, with the heads of the four houses and prefects checking their appearances one by one.
Professor McGonagall used her wand to gently straighten a Gryffindor student's crooked tie.
Snape, frowning, scanned the gaudy badges pinned to the Gryffindors' chests, his expression a silent warning.
Professor Flitwick, standing on tiptoe, adjusted a Ravenclaw student's crooked glasses.
Professor Sprout gently reminded the Hufflepuffs to tuck stray hairs behind their ears, repeatedly stressing that no glowing earrings were allowed—everyone needed to look dignified.
When a sliver of the moon finally peeked over the Forbidden Forest, casting a faint silver glow, the students followed their teachers out of the castle.
On October 30th, the Scottish Highlands were already steeped in the chill of late autumn.
As soon as they stepped out of the castle, a gust of cold wind swept through, carrying dried leaves and the crisp scent of autumn. It stung their cheeks.
Many students instinctively tucked their chins into their collars, hands either stuffed into sleeves or crossed over their chests, their breath forming clouds of white mist.
Even so, no one could tear their eyes away.
They stood in neat rows, their gazes darting between the sky, the Forbidden Forest, and the Black Lake.
Some craned their necks, scanning the clear night sky for any sign of flying carriages or a flock of broomsticks.
Others watched the edge of the Forbidden Forest, wondering if a magical creature-drawn vehicle might emerge.
A few stared at the Black Lake's surface, searching for the faintest glimmer of a ship beneath the water. Even the usual petty squabbles between Gryffindor and Slytherin were momentarily set aside.
Dylan glanced at Hermione beside him, noticing her curiosity and the scarf loosely draped around her neck. He reached over to adjust the wool scarf, making sure it was snug.
It was a red scarf with an apple pattern, one he'd knitted himself—well, knitted with magic, to be precise. He'd given it to her as a gift.
Whenever it got cold, she'd wear it.
"You cold?" Dylan asked.
"Nope," Hermione said with a slight shake of her head, blowing warm air into her reddened hands. "See? This warms me right up."
"Alright, then," Dylan said with a shrug, not bothering to cast a warming charm on her.
Hermione's eyes landed on the scarf around Dylan's neck—the one she'd given him. Seeing him wear it made her eyes sparkle.
"I never asked—how's that scarf treating you? Comfy? The one you gave me is super warm. When I made yours, I wanted to make sure it'd keep the wind out."
Dylan nodded. "It's plenty warm. Honestly, I wasn't even planning to make a big deal out of my birthday, but you always remember and get me something."
His gaze drifted to their surroundings, waiting patiently.
The night grew darker.
There was still no sign of movement in front of the castle. The tight lines of students began to loosen, and whispers started to ripple through the crowd.
Ravenclaw's Michael, head tilted back to stare at the sky, let out a yawn with a puff of white mist. Leaning toward Terry, he whispered, "I bet Beauxbatons shows up first."
"Not necessarily," Terry said, pushing up his glasses and glancing toward the Black Lake. "Beauxbatons will probably get here soon, though."
Anthony jumped in. "I'm going with Beauxbatons! Their flying carriage is so obvious—you'd spot it from miles away. No way they're keeping it low-key."
"Then I'll pick Durmstrang," another Ravenclaw said with a shrug. "I heard their ship can sail underwater. Maybe it's already in the Black Lake, just waiting to pop up."
The chatter grew more fragmented, with even the Hufflepuffs starting to place quiet bets.
The Gryffindors were the loudest—Dylan's ears were practically ringing from the noise.
But he didn't mind the buzz. After all, he was a student, too.
School life didn't always have to be a whirlwind of excitement, but moments like this, shared with classmates, were rare.
He suddenly felt like he should savor it. Once he graduated and got lost in his research, he might forget what it was like to just be here.
The Slytherin line stayed relatively quiet, though their eyes betrayed the same eager anticipation.
Harry and his friends were busy debating which school would arrive first, throwing guesses back and forth.
Dylan and Hermione didn't join in.
Hermione stood close to Dylan, and even with the chilly wind sweeping dried leaves across her cheeks, she didn't feel cold at all.
"What's taking so long?" someone in the line muttered, stomping their feet to stay warm.
"Maybe they're planning a big entrance, like at the Quidditch World Cup final, with mascots and all," another student replied, eyes gleaming with excitement.
The whispers were just starting to pick up when a massive dark shape appeared in the distant night sky.
It was enormous, its outline faintly visible in the moonlight, dotted with tiny specks of light like scattered stars, slowly moving toward the castle.
Dumbledore's gaze locked onto the shadow. He stroked his silver beard and called out, "Children, quiet down—they're here!"
The shadow moved quickly, swooping toward Hogwarts and stirring the air enough to rustle the dry grass below.
"It's our friends from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic!" Dumbledore announced, his voice warm with a hint of amusement.
The shadow cleared the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the students finally saw it clearly.
It was a powder-blue flying carriage, massive—about the size of Hagrid's hut. Its walls were carved with intricate patterns that glowed softly in the moonlight, looking like something built for giants.
Pulling the carriage were four enormous silver-maned horses, each nearly as tall as an elephant. Their silvery manes flowed in the wind, and their hooves left faint sparkles in the air as they trotted through the sky.
The carriage's flight came with a low, rumbling sound, like distant thunder. As it slowly descended onto the castle lawn, the noise faded.
The Beauxbatons crest was embedded in the center of the carriage door: two golden wands crossed in an "X," each tip emitting three silver stars, simple yet elegant.
The Beauxbatons students wore light blue silk robes, far too thin for the chilly autumn wind.
When the carriage door opened, the first student to step out shivered as the cold hit, shoulders hunching instinctively.
He quickly steadied himself, reaching under the carriage to pull out a folded golden staircase.
The staircase unfurled and settled firmly on the ground, its steps carved with the same patterns as the carriage.
When a black high-heeled shoe adorned with pearls stepped onto the first stair, the Hogwarts students collectively held their breath.
A woman as tall as Hagrid emerged from the carriage, her deep blue velvet gown trailing behind her, embroidered with silver star patterns.
Despite her towering size, her face was strikingly refined, with an air of authority. This was Madame Maxime, the headmistress of Beauxbatons.
Dumbledore stepped forward, offering an elegant hand-kissing gesture, his eyes warm. "Dear Madame Maxime, a warm welcome to Hogwarts."
Given her height, he barely needed to bend to perform the gesture—just a slight tilt of his head sufficed.
"Dumbledore, I hope you're well," Madame Maxime said in a low, magnetic voice, casually adding, "We're not the last to arrive, are we?"
"Durmstrang should be here soon," Dumbledore replied with a smile, stroking his beard. "They're coming by water, so a bit of delay from rough seas is to be expected."
Madame Maxime nodded, then waved toward the carriage, raising her voice slightly. "Children, come on down."
The Beauxbatons students stepped out one by one, each shivering as the cold wind hit their thin robes, hands clutching the fabric tightly.
Dumbledore noticed and quickly said, "Let's head into the castle. The Great Hall has a fire going—it'll be much warmer."
"That would be wonderful," Madame Maxime replied with a nod, though her gaze lingered on the silver-maned horses with a hint of concern. "It's just my horses… they're not used to this cold."
"No worries," Dumbledore said reassuringly. "Our Care of Magical Creatures professor, Hagrid, is very experienced. He'll take excellent care of your precious horses, ensuring they rest in a warm stable."
"They're quite strong," Madame Maxime said, her brow furrowing as she glanced at the horses again, her worry unchanged. "It'll take someone with real strength to handle them. Most people can't even hold their reins."
"No problem at all!" Dumbledore said confidently. "I assure you, Hagrid is more than capable."
"He's dealt with all sorts of magical creatures for years and has incredible strength. He's even managed giant spiders—he's perfect for the job."
"That's a relief," Madame Maxime said, her concern easing. She gave a slight bow of thanks, then added, "Please tell Hagrid these horses only drink single-malt whisky—nothing else."
"Single-malt whisky?" Ron muttered, staring at the horses with a puzzled frown. "Those horses are picky. Drinking hard liquor?"
"They're Abraxans," Dylan chimed in, explaining. "A famous breed of winged horses. There's a whole chapter on them in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."
He paused, recalling the details. "In ancient Greece, a wizard named Bellerophon rode a winged horse to slay the Chimera. There's debate about whether it was an Abraxan or an Aethonan, but everyone agrees Abraxans love their liquor."
Thanks to her height, Madame Maxime paused as she passed the Ravenclaw line, her gaze sweeping over the students and landing on Dylan. She gave a slight nod, as if in greeting.
Noticing her gesture, a Beauxbatons student at the back of the group also stopped, following her headmistress's gaze toward Dylan.
He was bundled in a thick, pale blue silk robe, his chin tucked into the collar, only his eyes visible.
"Merlin's socks!" George whispered, staring in that direction, his voice muffled. "That's gotta be a pretty girl."
"How can you tell?" Fred asked, confused. "She's wrapped up so tight, even her hair's hidden under the hood. You can't see a thing."
"Instinct!" George said confidently, still staring. "I locked eyes with her for a second—those eyes were gorgeous, like sapphires. No mistake."
He suddenly turned to Dylan, curiosity burning. "Dylan, do you know someone from Beauxbatons?"
Fred and the others nodded, puzzled. There'd never been any public connection between Dylan and Beauxbatons—why would Madame Maxime single him out?
Their questioning looks turned to Dylan, waiting for an answer.
Dylan met their gazes calmly. "Nothing special. Maybe Professor Dumbledore mentioned me to them."
"What? You get that kind of treatment?" George said, clearly jealous.
"Dylan!" George leaned closer, his voice urgent, like he was afraid to miss something. "What about that Beauxbatons student who looked at you? Have you met her before? Any connection?"
"Nope," Dylan said flatly. "How would I know her?"
"Ugh!" George let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. "Such a shame… but I'm telling you, those eyes were something else."
Before he could finish, a strange, deep rumbling came from the Black Lake, drowning out his voice.
It was a low, murky sound, like something massive stirring underwater.
The calm lake surface tore open, a massive whirlpool forming at its center. The water spiraled downward, splashing half a meter high.
"Sounds like… a toilet flushing?" Fred said, frowning uncertainly. Ron shot him a glare.
"Shut up!" Ron said, covering his ears. "Now I'll never be able to walk by the Black Lake without thinking of that!"
Others who overheard joined in, some frowning, some laughing, and one student even mimicked the flushing sound for a chuckle, briefly breaking the tension.
Thankfully, the odd noise didn't last long. As the whirlpool spun at its peak, a rusty mast broke the surface.
The gurgling water quieted.
As more of the ship emerged, the toilet-like rumble faded completely.
It was an eerie magical ship, its misty portholes glowing with faint, flickering green light, like the eyes of a deep-sea creature.
The black hull was peeling, revealing decayed wood underneath, looking like a ghost ship freshly dredged from the ocean floor.
It sent waves rippling across the lake as it sped toward the shore, the sound of its hull cutting through the water sharp and piercing.
When the ship finally docked, a loud clatter rang out.
Heavy iron chains dragged across the deck, sparking against the wood, before a massive anchor slammed into the muddy shore, making the ground tremble.
A wide wooden plank dropped from the ship's side, forming a crude gangway to the shore.
The Durmstrang uniforms looked almost comically thick.
From a distance, their robes seemed woven from heavy wool, with fur-lined collars and cuffs. Even their hats had furry edges.
As the gangway steadied, the Durmstrang students and staff stepped onto the shore.
Each wore a bulky fur cloak—deep brown and charcoal black, with tangled, matted fur piled high on their shoulders, the edges fringed with long tufts.
When the wind blew, the fringes swayed, revealing dense underfur that looked impossibly warm.
The cloaks were so thick they made the already tall students look even broader, their figures imposing as they marched in formation.
"Man, those cloaks look cozy," Ron whispered to Harry, eyeing the fur. "Ten times thicker than our robes."
Harry nodded, still scanning for that Beauxbatons girl, and added, "Cozy? That fur looks solid—bet no wind's getting through that."