A colossal moving island glided swiftly across the North Sea.
If one looked closer, it became clear that it wasn't an island at all, but a massive whale with an enormous head. Wherever it swam, the waters roared and waves surged in its wake.
A North Sea oil tanker passed close by, so close that the waves raised by the whale splashed over its deck. Yet the sailors aboard didn't notice a thing—they had no idea that a creature of such size had passed within a hundred yards of them.
Meanwhile, a boy was lying on the whale's back, basking in the sunlight.
Jon Hart examined the small box in his hands.
It was shaped like a perfect octahedron, radiating a silvery sheen. It was light in weight, oddly textured, and Jon suspected that a dagger could probably pierce it with ease.
All eight faces were sealed shut, and there were no markings or inscriptions—no cryptic messages like "open me at such and such a time."
Jon tried several spells on it, but nothing worked. Finally, he gave up and tucked the silver box into his pocket.
At worst, he'd just have to ask Dumbledore about it when he returned to Hogwarts.
Rising to his feet, Jon began to take in the scenery around him.
The endless stretch of sea wasn't exactly much to look at.
Leviathan—the great whale—served as Durmstrang's primary means of transportation between the school and the outside world, much like the Hogwarts Express. For formal occasions, however, they preferred to use the ghost ship, since a gigantic whale might frighten onlookers.
Jon had been intrigued by the idea of traveling on a giant whale, so when Professor Vance asked if he wanted to take Leviathan to France, he had agreed without hesitation.
It had been fascinating at first, but as time passed, the monotonous view of the open sea had grown dull.
Still, Leviathan moved so smoothly that Jon felt no trace of seasickness—or "whale-sickness," in this case.
...
After several hours at sea, the distant continent finally began to take shape on the horizon.
Jon quickly gathered his belongings from the whale's back, when suddenly—
He felt himself hurled forward as Leviathan flicked its massive tail, sending him flying into the ocean.
Caught off guard, Jon flailed and swallowed several mouthfuls of salt water.
Thankfully, the sea's buoyancy kept him afloat. He surfaced, gasping, cast a Bubble-Head Charm, and began awkwardly swimming toward the shore.
Finding a quiet spot with no one around, he hauled himself onto land. His clothes were soaked through. Looking down at his drenched appearance, then back at the shrinking black silhouette of Leviathan on the horizon, he muttered,
"Couldn't that blasted fish have dropped me a bit closer?"
Still, it was understandable. A creature that size risked beaching itself if it ventured too near the coast. A thousand-year-old whale spirit wouldn't make such a foolish mistake.
"At least it could've given me a bit of warning," Jon grumbled, using the water's reflection to examine his sorry state.
If the French saw him like this, they'd probably think he was some kind of illegal immigrant.
Then again... technically, he was an illegal immigrant.
He cast a Cleaning Charm to dry and freshen his clothes, then approached a few tourists on the beach to ask where he was.
Speaking fluent French, he found them quite friendly and willing to help. Had he spoken English, they probably would've rolled their eyes and walked off immediately.
He soon learned he was in Dunkirk—a bustling port city in northern France.
Beauxbatons, however, was located far to the south—in the Pyrenees, near the border between France and Spain.
From Dunkirk, Jon traveled to Lille, exchanged some currency for francs, and spent the night there.
The next day, he boarded a train bound for Pau, the capital of the Pyrénées region in southern France.
This city—the birthplace of the Bourbon dynasty and once a famed summer retreat—was also the gateway to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
...
Around four in the afternoon, Jon Hart arrived at his destination.
Before him stood what appeared to be an ordinary horse ranch. Stable hands were busy tending to the animals, and colorful horses galloped freely across the open fields. Everything looked perfectly normal.
Curious, Jon walked further inside.
As he passed by a tent, a hand suddenly shot out and yanked him in.
It belonged to a witch dressed in silken robes—the one who had pulled him inside.
"Student?" she asked sternly.
"Yes, I'm a new student," Jon said quickly, taking from his pocket the letter he had received the day before at Durmstrang and handing it to her.
The witch read through the letter, and her expression softened.
"A transfer student from Durmstrang?" she said gently. "Reporting early, are you? Come with me."
She drew her wand and tapped three times on a pattern shaped like a winged horse near the tent's entrance.
Then she stepped outside.
Jon followed her out of the tent—
And the scene before him changed entirely.
The horse ranch remained, but the animals were no longer ordinary horses. These were golden-coated, silver-maned pegasi with fiery red eyes.
Beauxbatons' Abraxan steeds—the same magnificent creatures that had once pulled their carriage to Hogwarts.
However, the ones here were noticeably smaller than those used for long-distance travel.
The witch led Jon to one of the Abraxans and loosened its reins.
"Have you ever ridden a broomstick?" she asked softly.
Jon nodded.
"It's much the same," she said, motioning for him to mount. "This one will take you to Beauxbatons."
Jon hesitated for a moment, then climbed into the saddle.
"If you're afraid," the witch added with a faint smile, "just hold on to its neck."
Before Jon could reply, the Abraxan reared up and took off into the sky.
...
Now, soaring high above, Jon clung tightly to the creature's neck as the ranch below shrank until it looked no bigger than a matchbox.
The wind whipped past his face as the Abraxan glided gracefully through the peaks, its movements smooth and powerful. Riding it was far more comfortable than a broomstick—comparable, perhaps, to flying on a Hippogriff.
The mountains stretched endlessly toward the horizon, their jagged ridges glowing golden in the light of the setting sun, like a living painting.
Then, in the distance, something began to take shape.
A mountain—no, not just a mountain.
An inverted mountain hung upside down in the sky—a massive triangle suspended among the clouds.
Nestled atop that floating mountain, gleaming brilliantly in the evening light, stood a magnificent French-style castle.
Beauxbatons.
Built upon a suspended peak in the heart of the Pyrenees—
a castle among the mountains, and one of the most beautiful places in the wizarding world.