Ruskin showed no surprise at Adrian's unexpected arrival, and her tired face broke into genuine smile.
"Well then, Professor Westeros," She said with enthusiasm, wiping her hands on a cloth that smelled faintly of expensive whiskey and horse feed, "I suppose I'd better give you the grand tour of our floating palace. Can't have a Hogwarts professor thinking we French don't know how to live in style."
She gestured grandly toward the corridor leading deeper into the carriage's interior.
After the two professors had left on their tour, the parlor fell into a pensive silence broken only by the gentle tinkling of the self-playing piano and the soft whisper of steam from the ever-brewing tea service.
It was then that Fleur finally found the opportunity to voice the question that had been building in her mind.
"Madame Maxime," She began, her melodious voice having a tone of curiosity, "did you extend an invitation to Professor Westeros yourself?"
"Hmm?" Madame Maxime looked up from her teacup with mild surprise, as if the question had pulled her from deeper thoughts about dragons and tournament preparations.
"No, ma chérie, the invitation didn't come from me." A knowing smile appeared across her lips as she turned her attention to the youngest of their group. "This was your sister's idea."
"Gabrielle?" Fleur's eyebrows rose in astonishment.
During the past several days, her focus had been spent utterly by preparation for the tournament's challenges. The intensive training sessions, strategy meetings with Madame Maxime, and mental preparation for facing unknown dangers had left little time for the kind of sisterly attention she normally poured on Gabrielle.
It had been Professor Hill who had been taking care of her during these days.
So, when had her sister gotten involved with a Hogwarts professor?
She moved across the carpet, sitting into the crouch in front of Gabrielle's chair so that their eyes were side by side. Her expression carried mixture of concern and gentle reprimand.
"Gabrielle," She said, her voice soft but tinged with obvious displeasure, "I thought we had discussed the importance of not being close with strangers, particularly adult strangers. You know how dangerous that can be for people in our... unique situation."
"But Professor Westeros is a good person," Gabrielle pouted with dissatisfaction. "Professor Hill said so too, you told me to listen to her."
Fleur released a soft sigh. She certainly trusted Ruskin's judgment about people, after all, they had known each other for a long time.
But she and Gabrielle's identities carried innate dangers that few people could fully understand. Their half-Veela legacy made them extremely valuable to many evil dark wizards, those who focused in doing breeding experiments to create more powerful magical bloodlines, who sought to understand and exploit Veela magic, and collectors who viewed rare magical beings as trophies to be acquired and displayed.
This was precisely why she had made the decision to send Gabrielle to Beauxbatons at such a tender age, years before most children began their magical education. Their academy's ancient protective wards and security protocols provided protection that few could match.
"Sister," Gabrielle said suddenly, "Professor Westeros is very nice to me. He even shared some important information about the competition with me."
"What competition?" Madame Maxime's voice sharpened with immediate attention, her teacup freezing halfway to her lips as her eyes focused intently on Gabrielle.
"The Triwizard Tournament, of course," Gabrielle replied directly. Her blue eyes blinked with innocent honesty. "Professor Westeros told me that the first task will involve dragons."
As soon as she finished speaking, Madame Maxime and Fleur exchanged glances, both seeing disbelief in each other's eyes.
'This...'
Madame Maxime sighed.
So, all the effort she had put into extracting information from Hagrid was useless and unnecessary?
Meanwhile, Adrian was leisurely touring the interior of the carriage with Ruskin.
As they paused in front of a window that somehow showed views of the French countryside despite their current location in Scotland, Adrian showed a small smile of satisfaction. By now, Gabrielle would certainly have shared the dragon intelligence with Madame Maxime and Fleur.
He had, of course, been aware that Madame Maxime had already obtained detailed knowledge about the dragons through her midnight expedition with Hagrid. So, revealing the news to Gabrielle would not have any issue.
Besides, Gabrielle was truly a good child.
November 24th, The day of the Tournament.
Since yesterday, probably because they all knew the content of the competition, the champions from all three schools had stopped appearing in public, tacitly preparing for the competition. Even Harry was the same.
The professors had tactfully excused Harry and Cedric from classes, allowing them to properly adjust their state of mind. Even Snape had done likewise.
At noon, Harry was absentmindedly eating roast beef in the Great Hall.
The competition would start in less than two hours.
To say he felt no nervousness would have been a pathetic lie. Despite his confidence in his training and abilities, the thought of representing not just himself but all of Hogwarts pressed down on his shoulders. Every student in the Great Hall would be watching, judging, hoping for his success or failure depending on their house and personal feelings about his unexpected participation.
The excitement radiating from his fellow students was obvious. Students passed by his table in seemingly casual paths that brought them close enough to give encouragement, pat his shoulder, or simply study his face for signs of confidence or fear.
Even students from other houses approached him. Cho Chang from Ravenclaw had stopped by earlier, her presence made his heart perform acrobatics that had nothing to do with tournament tensions.
Her words of encouragement had been kind and genuine, though he could barely remember what either of them had actually said during their brief conversation.
Heaven knows how nervous he had been at that moment.
Finally, inevitably, Professor McGonagall's familiar figure appeared through the Great Hall's main doors. She approached his table with the behavior of someone delivering news she wished she didn't have to share.
"Mr. Potter," She said softly, "the champions are required to report to the tournament grounds immediately to complete the first task. I trust you feel adequately prepared."
Harry nodded with more confidence than he actually felt, then turned his attention toward the Hufflepuff table where a similar scene was happening.
Adrian stood beside Cedric and spoke in low tones that seemed final instructions or encouragement.
After Adrian completed his conversation with Cedric, he led him toward the Great Hall's exit.
Harry also followed Professor McGonagall out of the Great Hall and stepped outside.
Although snow had not yet begun to fall, the wind that struck them immediately upon leaving the castle carried a bone-chilling cold that seemed to find every gap in their clothing.
Their route took them past Hagrid's hut, where smoke rose cheerfully from the chimney and warm light glowed in the windows. They followed the familiar path that neighbored the Forbidden Forest's edge.
The dragon enclosure, when they finally reached it, had been transformed since Harry's midnight investigation. The hastily constructed wooden barriers remained, but now they were supplemented by what appeared to be professional arena seating that rose in concentric circles around the central space.
A medium-sized canvas tent had also been erected near the entrance, its sides flapping gently in the wind like his nervous breathing.
"Enter quickly," Professor McGonagall urged, though her voice gave up the worry that her composure had concealed. "I believe the other champions have already arrived, and Mr. Bagman will provide you with the specific details of your challenge."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied, surprised by how steady his own voice sounded despite the chaos of emotions churning in his chest.
The interior of the tent was dimly lit and considerably warmer than the unpleasant air outside, though the atmosphere was filled with tension that seemed to press against his skin. Just as Professor McGonagall had said, the other three champions were already present, each lost in their own private preparations for the test ahead.
Fleur sat on a low chair, her face somewhat pale, clearly from nervousness. Krum looked gloomy, just as he had during his Quidditch matches.
As for Cedric, when he saw Harry arrive, he nodded slightly at him.
Harry returned the gesture with a smile.
It seemed everyone was the same like him, although they all already knew they would face dragons, they were still somewhat nervous.
Ludo Bagman and Professor Westeros were also in the tent. Bagman practically vibrated with excitement, his round face was flushed with the enthusiasm. Adrian, by contrast, maintained calm composed demeanor.
After Adrian confirmed that all participants were present, he nodded to Bagman with a subtle gesture. "Everyone's here. It looks like I should go."
"Of course, go and enjoy yourself in the spectator stands, Professor Westeros," Bagman said, rubbing his hands together with delight. "And thank you once again for your vital assistance in creating the dragon models. Your expertise saved us considerable time and expense."
"The pleasure was entirely mine," Adrian replied with professional courtesy.
As Adrian moved toward the tent's exit, he paused beside Harry's chair for just a moment. His voice, when he spoke, was so low that only Harry could hear the words.
"Remember, just get through the competition. Don't hurt that dragon."
Harry looked up sharply, ready to ask for clarification or express his doubts about his ability to harm such a magnificent creature even if he wanted to, but Adrian had already left the tent, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his cologne and a dozen unanswered questions.
'Don't hurt the dragon?' Harry thought with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. Professor Westeros seemed to have a remarkably generous assessment of his magical capabilities.
Although he had never fought a real dragon before, Harry suspected that his spells would be mostly ineffective against them. His success against Adrian's Transfigurated dragon during training had been largely accidental. Real dragons possessed natural magical resistance that made them nearly immune to most spells.
"Right then, champions," Bagman announced with dramatic enthusiasm, clapping his hands together to focus their attention on the present. "Please direct your attention to these remarkable specimens, would you?"
The tent seemed to brighten as all four competitors turned toward the tournament official.
"Your task today is elegantly simple in concept, though rather more challenging in execution," Bagman continued with the showman's flair for presentation. "You must snatch a golden egg from each of these magnificent creatures. The egg represents a dragon's most precious possession, and they will defend it accordingly."
As he spoke, Bagman clapped his hands. The sound seemed to activate some kind of magical trigger, because several incredibly lifelike dragon models suddenly jumped to life from a wooden crate that had been near the tent's center.
Each miniature dragon stood around one meter in height. Their scales gleamed with metallic luster in the tent's dim lighting, and their wings folded and unfolded in their back. Every breath they took caused their chests to rise and fall with organic rhythm that was utterly convincing.
Except for their size, they were almost indistinguishable from real dragons.
Harry had the feeling he had seen these dragon models somewhere before.
Bagman observed the champions' surprised expressions with obvious satisfaction, clearly pleased with the effect his surprise had produced.
In fact, these dragon models had all been created with Adrian's help.
Of course, that wasn't important.
What was important was that a considerable sum of Galleons had been allocated from above for this purpose.
And with Adrian's help, that sum of Galleons had barely been touched.
What?
You ask where that sum of Galleons went?
Well, naturally it went into someone's pocket.
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