"I can't even imagine what the grounds would look like if Hagrid hadn't managed to keep those Blast-Ended Skrewts under control..." Hermione said worriedly.

"Very good," said Madame Maxime to Dumbledore. "Might I remind your professor that these horses drink only single malt whisky?"

"I was wondering why those unicorns seemed so fond of alcohol," Cohen muttered irritably. "Turns out it's a species-wide vice…"

"I'll make sure he knows," Dumbledore replied with a courteous bow.

Madame Maxime led her students into the castle, leaving the horses behind with the Hogwarts staff as they waited for Durmstrang to arrive.

Time passed, and quite a few students had begun to murmur discontentedly—the grounds were still quiet, with no sign of Durmstrang.

Then suddenly, a deep, muffled rumbling echoed from across the Black Lake.

"The lake!" someone shouted.

Since the castle stood higher than the grounds, they had a clear view of the Black Lake.

The previously calm water began to churn, and enormous splashes rose from the surface.

A whirlpool formed at the center of the lake, as if some giant plug had been pulled from the lakebed.

From its heart, a long mast slowly emerged, followed by sailcloth fluttering in the wind—finally, a massive, ghostly gray ship surfaced completely.

It was moving smoothly—until, quite suddenly, it began to accelerate madly.

"It's not going to crash into the castle, is it?!" Harry asked, horrified as the massive ship looked like it was charging straight at them.

"Nope,"

Cohen understood why the ship had suddenly sped up.

"Their engine—or whatever they're using—must've disturbed the giant squid. It's chasing the ship."

It was hard to ignore the massive creature thrashing behind the ship, with a soul force of at least fifty points—and even harder to ignore the irritated tentacles that lashed the stern.

Looked like something straight out of Azur Lane, or maybe some… tentacle manga.

Seconds later, the ship reached the shore—quite literally.

It scraped across the Hogwarts lawn, leaving a deep gash of churned-up mud in its wake.

Dumbledore's usually cheerful expression looked a bit strained now.

People began disembarking—or rather, getting off the "vehicle."

At first glance, their shadows looked huge, but as they drew closer it was clear their size came from their thick fur cloaks, not their stature.

Leading the group was a tall, thin old man in a silver-white fur cloak, with a goatee that curled at the tip.

"Dumbledore!" he called warmly as he made his way up the slope. "My dear old friend, how are you?"

"I smell fear," Cohen said ominously.

"Why would he be afraid of Dumbledore?" Harry asked curiously.

"Karkaroff's a Death Eater," Ron whispered, lowering his voice. "Dad told me about him. If that's their headmaster, the Durmstrang students can't be much better—"

Ron abruptly stopped speaking. For original chapters go to N0v3l.Fiɾe.net

Because Karkaroff had taken one of his students by the arm and was introducing him to Dumbledore.

"Krum!" Ron said, all disgust forgotten, replaced with wide-eyed awe. "I can't believe it—it's Viktor Krum! Cohen, Harry, that's Viktor Krum!"

"You should change your name to Ochumelov," Cohen muttered, lip twitching.

"Ochumelov? Who's that?" Harry asked. "Sounds Russian."

"He's a character from a Russian short story," said Hermione. "My dad bought me a Chekhov collection once—but that's not the point. Ron, you're overreacting. He's just a Quidditch player."

"Just a Quidditch player?" Ron stared at her. "Hermione, he's the best Seeker in the world! I can't believe he's still in school—"

"Would you rather have a girlfriend, or have Krum?" Cohen asked dryly.

"Krum, obviously," Ron said without hesitation. "I can't believe I didn't bring a quill—Cohen, do you have one in your magic pocket? He could sign my shirt!"

"This is ridiculous," Hermione said with a scowl—as several girls nearby had already started fighting over a tube of lipstick.

"Nope. My magic pocket only has canned emotions and a pile of yarn," Cohen replied. "But if you really want his autograph, I could arrange a kidnapping."

"Seriously?"

Ron took a deep breath, eyes shining.

"Ron, calm down!" Harry said, grabbing him before he could do something insane. "And you—Cohen—stop encouraging him!"

As they walked into the Great Hall alongside the Durmstrang students, a mob of Hogwarts students crowded around, bouncing and craning their necks for a glimpse of Krum.

Dumbledore remained his usual cheery self, but Professor McGonagall's lips were pressed into a thin line.

Back at the Gryffindor table, Ron deliberately picked a seat facing the entrance, keeping an eye on Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students, who were still deciding where to sit.

"Is he always like this?" Cohen asked Harry, clearly embarrassed to share a House with Ron. "Or has he been hit with the Imperius Curse by some weirdo?"

"Over here! Sit over here!" Ron tried to call out to Krum in a raspy whisper, both desperate and shy. "Here! —Hermione, move over, make some space—"

"What?" Hermione said sharply, not looking pleased.

"Too late," Ron said with a sigh. Krum had chosen to sit at the Slytherin table. "Wait—hang on—he looked over here—"

And he had.

Krum was indeed looking their way, but not at the red-faced Ron. His eyes lingered on Harry and Cohen.

He then leaned over to say something to Malfoy, who eagerly whispered something back.

"Ugh, of course," Ron said bitterly. "Malfoy's sucking up to him. I bet Krum can see right through him… Honestly, people must be throwing themselves at Krum wherever he goes… Do you think they'll sleep in our dorms? I could sleep on a camp bed if we have to make space—"

"If they step foot in the dormitory, I'll sleep with the basilisk for a night," Cohen said flatly. "I'm not letting some random, older guy with unknown preferences into our room."

"Don't be such a spoilsport," Ron protested. "It's Krum!"

"Hmph."

Hermione gave a disapproving snort.

"They look like they're enjoying themselves," Harry noted, comparing the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. "The Beauxbatons lot seem kind of put off by Hogwarts…"

"French people," Cohen shrugged. "Their school's probably decorated like the Louvre or something."

(End of Chapter)