(Gilderoy Lockhart)
Sunday, October 30, 1994
Ordinarily, I do not come to Hogwarts on Sundays.
A man requires rest. Time for reflection. Space to appreciate life's finer things.
And now, more importantly than ever, I had a daughter at home who clearly benefited immensely from her father's presence.
Frankly, I was already becoming indispensable to her development.
After all, every child deserved daily exposure to exceptional cheekbones.
Unfortunately, duty called.
Today, the foreign delegations participating in the Triwizard Tournament were scheduled to arrive, and Dumbledore had declared the attendance of all staff mandatory.
A tragic assault on my weekend.
Still…
I supposed I could spare an hour or two and allow our guests the rare privilege of basking in my splendour.
Generous of me, really.
I adjusted the sleeves of my robes as I crossed the Entrance Hall, making certain every fold sat perfectly.
Presentation mattered, particularly on international occasions.
Outside, the October air was crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of rain and autumn leaves. The grounds had already been prepared for the delegations' arrival, lanterns floating neatly along the pathways while enchanted banners bearing the Hogwarts crest fluttered proudly in the breeze.
Students crowded the stone steps and courtyard in tightly packed groups, buzzing with excitement loud enough to rival an agitated beehive.
Naturally, many conversations stopped the moment I appeared.
Several younger students straightened immediately, and one Ravenclaw girl nearly dropped her camera.
Yes, yes.
Contain yourselves.
I offered a gracious smile and continued forward.
The teachers were already gathered at the front of the assembled crowd.
Minerva stood ramrod straight with her tartan robes pulled tightly around herself, looking as though she were personally prepared to turn anyone who stepped out of line into an ornament.
Flitwick bounced lightly on the balls of his feet in visible excitement.
Sprout was chatting warmly with Hagrid, who had somehow managed to comb his beard into something almost respectable for the occasion.
Snape looked like he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the shadows.
Sirius, meanwhile, looked profoundly uninterested in ceremony and deeply interested in seeing how many students he could confuse by pretending to be an escaped convict again.
"Think if I growl at the Beauxbatons students they'll send me back to Azkaban?" he asked conversationally as I approached.
"Only if they possess excellent judgment," I replied.
Aurora stood nearby, elegant as always, though her eyes immediately softened the moment she saw me approach.
"Well," she said lightly, "look who decided to grace us with his presence."
I placed a hand dramatically against my chest.
"My dear Aurora," I said, "you speak as though Hogwarts can function without me."
Behind her, Minerva muttered, "It managed for centuries beforehand."
I chose to generously ignore that.
Aurora smiled faintly and stepped closer to adjust my collar.
"You left before sunrise," she murmured quietly. "Gienah was upset."
I immediately looked stricken.
"She was?"
"She yawned once and went back to sleep."
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.
"You enjoy emotionally manipulating me."
"A little."
I sighed tragically.
Nearby, Hagrid suddenly leaned toward Sirius and whispered far too loudly,
"Yeh reckon the Durmstrang lot'll bring any dangerous creatures with 'em?"
Sirius grinned. "With luck."
"Please no," sighed Flitwick.
The gathered students shifted excitedly as the afternoon wore on.
Every few moments someone pointed toward the sky or lake, convinced the delegations had arrived.
False alarms, all of them.
Though admittedly, anticipation was building rather nicely.
The Triwizard Tournament had not been held in centuries.
And while most people focused on the danger, the glory, or the international cooperation…
I was primarily interested in seeing whether the visiting schools possessed anyone stylish enough to compete with me aesthetically.
Thus far, prospects seemed unlikely.
A gust of wind swept through the courtyard, rustling cloaks and scarves.
Then suddenly, Dumbledore stepped forward.
He didn't even need to raise his voice, and yet silence spread through the crowd almost instantly.
Remarkable.
The man could probably command armies by politely clearing his throat.
"The delegations," he announced calmly, blue eyes twinkling behind his spectacles, "are about to arrive."
Excitement rippled through the students immediately.
I straightened my posture slightly and adjusted my grip on my staff.
Showtime.
…
The first sign of Beauxbatons' arrival came from the sky.
A distant shape emerged through the clouds, growing steadily larger until the collective murmur among the students rose into outright amazement.
Then the carriage descended.
It was enormous.
No, enormous was understating matters somewhat.
The thing looked less like a carriage and more like a small mobile palace, painted a gleaming powder blue and adorned with golden flourishes that caught the pale autumn sunlight beautifully.
And pulling it…
Well.
The horses were absurd.
Each one was the size of a small elephant, with massive feathered wings beating powerfully against the cold Scottish air. Their hooves struck the ground with enough force to make the earth tremble slightly beneath our feet.
Several students stumbled backward.
One Hufflepuff screamed.
Honestly, fair reaction.
The carriage landed with remarkable elegance considering its size, and after a moment, the door swung open and a gigantic woman emerged.
Olympe Maxime.
Even beside Dumbledore, who was hardly a small man himself, she appeared absolutely immense. The Headmaster looked practically diminutive standing before her.
He did not even need to bend when he kissed her offered hand.
The Beauxbatons students began filing out behind her, elegant in posture and dressed in pale blue silk uniforms that were clearly designed for appearance rather than practicality.
A fatal mistake in Scotland.
The autumn wind chose that exact moment to sweep across the courtyard mercilessly.
Immediately, the French students began shivering.
Several wrapped their arms around themselves.
One girl sneezed violently.
Another muttered something furious in French that sounded deeply insulting toward the climate.
I stared.
Then blinked slowly.
Do they not have magic in France?
Honestly.
I sighed in exasperation and lightly tapped my staff against the stone courtyard.
A pulse of magic spread outward and the cold air softened instantly.
Warmth flowed gently through the courtyard like sunlight breaking through clouds, pushing away the biting chill without becoming uncomfortable.
The effect was immediate.
The Beauxbatons students visibly relaxed. Their shoulders loosened and the shivering stopped.
A few blinked in surprise.
One girl let out a delighted little sigh and held her hands up toward the magically warmed air.
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
"Oh wow…"
"Did Professor Lockhart just change the weather?"
"Of course he did."
"I wish he'd do that during Astronomy."
Several Hogwarts students looked deeply offended they had not thought of such a thing first.
Madam Maxime herself turned toward me then, her large dark eyes narrowing slightly with interest.
Beside her, Dumbledore smiled serenely beneath his beard.
"Ah," he said pleasantly, "allow me to introduce Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, our Care of Magical Creatures professor."
Maxime looked genuinely surprised.
"With magic like zat," she said in her deep accented voice, "I would have expected perhaps Charms… or Defence."
I smiled modestly.
"A tragically common assumption."
I stepped forward smoothly and took her offered hand, pressing a polite kiss against her knuckles.
"A pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts, Madam Maxime."
Several Beauxbatons students whispered excitedly amongst themselves.
Ah.
French appreciation for beauty.
A culture of exquisite taste.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Professor Lockhart," he added, "will also be assisting with the care of your horses."
Maxime raised one elegant brow immediately.
"Are you certain?" she asked. "Zey are very strong creatures. Difficult to manage."
I smiled calmly.
"That will not be a problem."
Then I gestured lightly behind me.
"Particularly with the assistance of Professor Hagrid. He is exceptional with magical creatures."
At the mention of his name, Hagrid stepped forward looking profoundly nervous.
"Er… hullo," he muttered awkwardly, giving a tiny wave.
The enormous winged horses immediately snorted and pawed at the ground.
Several students backed away nervously as one of the creatures tossed its head hard enough to shake the carriage.
Maxime looked mildly concerned.
Hagrid, meanwhile, looked delighted.
"Ahhh, beauties, aren' yeh?" he said warmly.
Then, to everyone's astonishment, he grabbed the reins with both hands and gently tugged.
The gigantic horses followed him almost immediately like oversized puppies.
The silence from the gathered students was profound.
Even I felt mildly impressed.
Hagrid beamed proudly as the massive creatures obediently followed him across the grounds.
"Tha's it," he soothed. "Easy now…"
Madam Maxime stared after him with open surprise.
"…Remarkable," she admitted quietly.
I smiled faintly.
"Yes," I said. "He truly is."
…
After the French delegation followed Filch into the castle, the lake erupted without warning.
One moment, the dark waters rested calm beneath the cloudy Scottish sky, reflecting the pale afternoon light like black glass.
The next…
A deafening roar echoed across the grounds as something enormous surged upward from beneath the surface.
Water exploded into the air.
Students gasped and stumbled backward as a massive ship burst from the depths of the lake, waves crashing violently against the shore. The vessel looked less like a school transport and more like the cursed flagship of some long-dead pirate king.
Its hull was pitch black, slick with lake water and streaked with green moss. The wood creaked ominously as though alive, while skeletal carvings decorated the sides in elaborate patterns. Tattered dark sails unfurled slowly overhead despite the complete lack of wind, and several lanterns hanging from the mast flickered with eerie blue flames.
Honestly, if someone informed me the ship occasionally ate people, I would not have been remotely surprised.
A collective murmur spread through the students, and even some professors looked mildly unsettled.
"Oh, that's cheerful," Sirius muttered dryly beside me.
The ship drifted forward with unnatural silence now that its dramatic entrance was complete, finally coming to a stop near the shore with a heavy groan of ancient wood.
Then the gangplank lowered and heavy footsteps echoed against it.
One by one, the Durmstrang students descended.
Unlike the shivering Beauxbatons delegation, these students appeared perfectly comfortable in the cold. Thick crimson and black furs draped over their shoulders, and most wore expressions ranging from stern to openly intimidating.
What an amicable bunch.
At their head walked Igor Karkaroff.
The former Death Eater spread his arms theatrically the moment he spotted Dumbledore.
"Albus!" he boomed warmly, striding forward as though greeting a beloved brother after years apart.
To my surprise, he immediately embraced the Headmaster.
And more surprisingly still…
Dumbledore allowed it with an amused smile.
If I did not know better, I might genuinely have mistaken them for old friends.
Though knowing Dumbledore, there were probably at least seventeen layers of hidden meaning behind the interaction.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Igor," Dumbledore said pleasantly once the man finally released him.
Karkaroff beamed, his sharp eyes darting briefly across the gathered crowd.
Then, quite unexpectedly, he reached behind himself and pulled a young man forward by the shoulder.
"Allow me to introduce someone very special," he declared proudly.
Now naturally, I expected Viktor Krum.
The international Quidditch sensation was, after all, Durmstrang's prized jewel.
Instead, the young man standing before us was someone entirely unfamiliar.
Interesting.
"This," Karkaroff announced, "is my nephew, Ivan Karkaroff."
Now that was new.
The young man inclined his head politely toward Dumbledore.
"Headmaster," he greeted smoothly.
His voice was calm and measured, carrying the faintest Eastern European accent.
And I must admit…
The boy was remarkably handsome.
Tall already despite his age, with neatly styled dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and piercing grey eyes that missed absolutely nothing. He resembled Igor enough for the relation to be obvious, but where Igor possessed the unsettling air of a snake pretending to be civilised, Ivan looked refined.
Dangerously refined.
The charming smile he offered was polished enough to rival my own work.
Not equal, of course.
But respectable.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled faintly as he shook the boy's hand.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Karkaroff."
"The pleasure is mine."
Smooth response.
Practised too.
Igor placed a proud hand on the young man's shoulder.
"Ivan is among Durmstrang's finest students," he declared loudly enough for nearby students to hear. "Exceptionally talented."
Ah.
So that was what this was.
Showing off.
Classic proud relative behaviour.
Though judging by the subtle tension in Viktor Krum's expression further back in the group, perhaps "proud" was not the only emotion involved.
Krum stood with the other Durmstrang students, broad-shouldered and imposing even at his age, yet oddly withdrawn compared to the theatrical display happening in front of him.
And unless I was mistaken…
He looked deeply unimpressed by his headmaster's antics.
Relatable.
"I look forward to seeing all your students participate in the Tournament festivities," Dumbledore said diplomatically.
Igor smiled broadly.
"Oh, I assure you, Durmstrang shall leave a strong impression this year."
Something in the way he said it made several nearby professors subtly tense.
I smiled pleasantly while making a quiet mental note to keep an eye on both Karkaroffs.
Because while Igor practically radiated suspicious energy like a cursed artefact wrapped in expensive cologne…
His nephew was harder to read.
And in my experience, the truly dangerous people usually were.
…