ONCE UPON A TIME.

08. familiarité

  ⌜  cedric  ¦  amata  ⌟ 

ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 30, 1994

     IT DOESN'T REALLY OCCUR TO AMATA what the circumstances of the Triwizard Tournament implied until the day of October thirtieth. She had seen the poster, of course - the one announcing the soon-to-be arrival of the two schools - but had merely thought they'd bring one or two students per wizarding school.

     Which, of course, did not prove to be the case, as a shivering lot of Beauxbatons girls scurried in to the castle for warmth. Their arrival had been quite a spectacle: pulled in by a carriage of Abraxan horses. Durmstrang's mode of transportation wasn't any less spectacular, with a magical ship that could travel underwater.

    News got by quickly. "I can't believe I'm breathing the same air as Viktor Krum!" Terence tells Amata excitedly, gawking at the throng of girls crowding the Bulgarian Seeker. "Color me stoked," Amata shoots back as they file in to the Great Hall for the welcoming feast. She glances warily at the new-comers. "Come on, Higgs. You're holding up the line." 

     Once the Great Hall had settled down, Dumbledore arose to the platform. "As I've mentioned, this castle will not only be our home this year, but home to some very special guests as well." the Headmaster announces. "Since we are the host of the Triwizard Tournament, we will be enjoying the company of the two other schools participating in the tournament."

     "Please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their Headmistress, Madame Maxime!"

     The doors of the Great Hall swing open, and the seated students crane their necks to catch sight of the French students; even Amata, who had been set on showing a facade of interest, finds herself watching their entrance.

     The Beauxbatons delegation don't barge in so much as they practically float in; in pale blue robes made of fine silk, they leave wisps of blue magic and enchanted butterflies in their wake. As Terence and Adrian Pucey look positively bewitched, Amata shares an exasperated look with the Carrow twins. "Perhaps it's their part-Veela genes." Flora offers. 

     The girls of Beauxbatons come to a stop by the front of the Hall, curtsying to the Hogwarts students with a dignified air. As they rise to the roaring applause of the students - mostly those of the male population, predictably - Amata catches her eye. 

    Altheda shouldn't look surprised, but it passes her expression any way. "Bloody hell," Adrian breathes to Amata. "Do you know that one? Could you introduce me?" 

     Before Amata can say anything, Dumbledore silences the Hall. "And now, our friends from the North," the Headmaster calls out. "Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang, and their High Master, Igor Karkaroff!"

     However graceful those of Beauxbatons were are how disciplined those of Durmstrang enter. Donning blood red robes, the boys of Durmstrang march in with a fast-paced exhibition of fire and sparks. He runs by so fast that Amata almost doesn't catch him - Antioch takes the moment of a pause in their performance to wink at Amata, once again sending those around her in a small frenzy.

     "He's quite attractive." Hestia swoons. "Not as good-looking as Viktor! Look!" Terence hisses, unashamedly pointing to Viktor Krum. The Bulgarian Seeker walks alongside the High Master, bundled in a fur cloak and fur hat. Amata's gaze strays to Cedric Diggory, who she finds to already be looking at her.

    If he's embarrassed to be caught staring, he doesn't show it. Instead, he jerks his head in the direction of the Durmstrang delegates and cocks an eyebrow upwards. Amata realizes the question Cedric's trying to ask, which is why she instead turns her eyes away instead of humoring it. Was Antioch that obvious? 

     "Now, before we dig in to our marvelous feast," Dumbledore proclaims. "Let me introduce the judges of our Tournament . . . Mr. Bartemius Crouch Jr., and Mr. Ludo Bagman!" A smattering of applause ripples through the Hall. "And these . . ." 

     Waving his arm, Dumbledore produces two magnificent artifacts: a goblet made of chiseled stone that scales high, and a shining trophy of polished silver. "The Triwizard Cup," Dumbledore says of the latter. The Cup itself is already self-explanatory, so Dumbledore proceeds to the former artifact.

     "The Goblet of Fire." the Headmaster presents proudly. "Anyone wishing to submit themselves to the tournament need only write their name upon a piece of parchment and throw it in the flame before this hour on Thursday night."

     "Make no mistake," Dumbledore says in a moment of solemnity. "If chosen, you stand alone. As from this moment . . . "

     Tapping the Goblet, blue-white flames shoot up the edges of the stone.

     "The Triwizard Tournament has begun!"