Harry Potter : Bloodraven-Chapter 77: The Tournament Begins (I) (CH - 97)

The week passed without much fanfare, though the castle buzzed with activity as preparations for the interschool Quidditch tournament continued.

Maverick, meanwhile, carried on with his lessons as usual, teaching alchemy to the first years and muggle science to the sixth years.

Outside of his teaching duties, he was preoccupied with the tournament organizing committee, working tirelessly to ensure every detail was perfect for the arrival of the visiting schools. After all, this was his proposed event, and he was intent on making it flawless.

As for his recent advancement in rank, he hadn't mentioned it to anyone, though he no longer had any intention of concealing his strength either.

And so, time slipped quietly by, and before anyone realized it, the first Saturday of November arrived.

Morning broke with the sun casting a golden glow through the clouds above the towering spires of the Castle. The grounds sparkled with a light frost, the air was cool and damp, and it carried the faint scent of pine drifting from the Forbidden Forest.

The Great Hall, already alive with the hum of students enjoying their breakfast, felt different today. It seemed larger, grander, as though the very walls had stretched to accommodate more, and rightly so for such an occasion.

Three extra-long tables had been added, their polished surfaces gleaming under the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the cloudy sky outside. The usual house banners had been replaced with the unified colors of Hogwarts, and the room was a buzz of eager anticipation.

Over at the staff table, a similar scene unfolded, with additional space seemingly added in preparation for the event.

However, a few professors were notably absent—Dumbledore, Maverick, and Professor McGonagall were nowhere to be seen.

...

The morning air was sharp and cold near the Great Lake, the surface of the water rippling faintly under a light breeze. Three figures stood by the shore, their breaths forming soft white clouds in the chill.

The lake lay still, its surface reflecting the pale sky like a polished mirror. Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes swept across the horizon, his hands clasped behind his back in quiet contemplation. Beside him, Maverick stood with his usual calm demeanor, and McGonagall, ever practical, adjusted her emerald robes and stole a quick glance at her wrist watch.

"They should be arriving any moment now," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying a note of quiet excitement. "I do hope the arrangements are to their liking."

"I'm sure they will be, Albus," McGonagall replied briskly. "Though I must say, I'll be glad when the formalities are over..."

Maverick let out a low chuckle as he watched the Deputy Headmistress looking nervous. But who could blame her? Hogwarts' reputation was on the line, and this was her beloved school. It wasn't every day they welcomed guests from other institutions.

"Everything should go smoothly," he said at last, turning his head toward her with a reassuring smile.

Just then, a faint ripple of magic stirred the air, drawing their attention as all three turned their heads in unison. In the distance, the sky seemed to rip open, the edges stretching wider and wider until they formed a vast, gaping rift, its surface an inky black void.

The three of them showed no outward reaction, merely waiting expectantly. But they all had a pretty good guess as to who it might be. After all, only Hogwarts and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic had Arch-Magi as their headmasters.

And sure enough, not long after that, a magnificent carriage emerged from within the rift, drawn by a team of majestic winged horses. It descended slowly and gracefully, its silver and blue colors gleaming in the light. The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic's crest was proudly displayed on the side, unmistakable for all to see.

The carriage landed softly on the grass, and moments later, the doors opened to reveal a towering, striking woman—Olympe Maxime.

Maverick's expression remained calm, though he couldn't help recalling their less-than-pleasant previous encounter. This time, however, he didn't feel the same tension—things had changed considerably since then.

With regal poise, she stepped out, her presence as elegant and commanding as ever. She wore a stunning gown, the fabric shimmering faintly in the light, with intricate lace detailing along the edges. Over her shoulders, a luxurious velvet coat draped elegantly, its deep blue hue contrasting beautifully with the silver embroidery that traced its seams. The coat flowed gracefully behind her as she moved, completing her sophisticated and imposing appearance.

Behind Maxime, the Beauxbatons students disembarked in an elegant procession, a mix of boys and girls dressed in sleek, pale blue uniforms that shimmered in the morning light. Among them was a young witch who Maverick was almost certain was Fleur Delacour. He could sense the Veela magic the moment she stepped out, but to someone like him, it didn't matter in the slightest. Still, she stood out even among such a distinguished crowd, her elegance and composure clear for all to see.

But she didn't seem to be part of the Quidditch team. Instead, she appeared to be simply accompanying the half-giant witch. Maverick had read somewhere that Delacour was Maxime's direct apprentice, much like how he was to Edward.

The towering witch and her students approached the trio, her eyes fixed on the headmaster. As she reached him, her expression softened into a warm smile. "Albus," she greeted, her voice smooth with a melodic French accent. "A pleasure seeing you again."

"The pleasure is mine, Olympe," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling with his characteristic warmth. "Welcome to Hogwarts." He then turned slightly, and gestured to the two standing beside him. "May I introduce, Professor McGonagall and Professor Maverick... the heart and the brains behind all of this... as I mentioned in our meeting months ago."

Madame Maxime inclined her head gracefully. "A pleasure seeing you again as well, Minerva..." she said, glancing at McGonagall first before finally settling her gaze on Maverick.

"So, you are the man causing such a stir all over the wizarding world recently," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly as she sized him up with both her gaze and her magic. "Mr. Caesar... oh, no... it should be Master Caesar."

Maverick didn't flinch and smiled naturally, his expression calm. "A pleasure, Speaker. Welcome to Hogwarts."

"I cannot sense any magic from you, monsieur," Maxime remarked, her tone both curious and probing. She tilted her head, her eyes studying him intently as though trying to read something beyond his calm exterior.

"Professor Caesar has always been like this, Olympe," Dumbledore interjected smoothly. "He has exceptional control over magic and a habit of keeping it suppressed at all times." He shot Maverick a knowing glance, before turning his attention back to the visiting headmistress.

Maxime briefly glanced at Dumbledore when he spoke, then turned her attention back to Maverick. A wide, unreadable smile spread across her face. "The pleasure is mine, young genius," she said smoothly, without missing a beat. "If you ever consider changing employers, Beauxbatons' doors are always open to you."

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Dumbledore quickly turned to McGonagall and said.

"Minerva, would you kindly escort Principal Maxime and her students to the Great Hall for breakfast? We wouldn't want the students to think we've forgotten our manners," Dumbledore said, glancing at his deputy with a knowing look.

"Of course," McGonagall replied, stepping forward promptly.

Fortunately, no other interruptions occurred, and Maxime seemed to have set aside her curiosity for the time being.

The reason Maverick suppressed his magic, despite deciding not to hide his strength any longer, was simple: he didn't want to cause a scene. He wasn't sure how Maxime would react if she sensed his magical signature, and he was certain she would recognize it as belonging to Bloodraven. For now, discretion seemed the wiser choice.

And so, the Beauxbatons delegation arrived first, and McGonagall led them to the Great Hall, where preparations were already in full swing for all the visiting schools to enjoy breakfast together.

No sooner had they departed than another surge of magic filled the air. This time, it came from two directions at once. From the north, a massive, ornate sleigh appeared, gliding over the ground as though pulled by invisible forces. It was Koldovstoretz, the Russian school of magic.

The sleigh was adorned with intricate carvings and glowed faintly with runes, its arrival accompanied by the faint sound of bells. The students, clad in fur-lined robes, stepped out with an air of quiet confidence, their headmaster—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick beard—leading the way.

Simultaneously, from the south, the Durmstrang delegation arrived in dramatic fashion. A massive ship rose from the depths of the lake, its dark sails billowing ominously in the breeze. As the ship glided toward the shore, it docked with a low, creaking sound, and the students began to disembark. They wore heavy crimson robes that looked almost militaristic, marching down the gangplank with the kind of precision that made it clear they had been trained for discipline.

At their head stood Igor Karkaroff, a figure Maverick instantly recognized. Karkaroff was the headmaster of Durmstrang, but he was also, as Maverick recalled, a self-serving, opportunistic coward and a former Death Eater who had once followed Voldemort during his reign.

However, that was the story from the original timeline, and Maverick wasn't sure how much of it applied here. Regardless, it didn't matter, because he sensed the man to be only at a mediocre Great-Magus level—not even close to peak, like McGonagall.

He watched as the man approached Dumbledore, and beside him was the dean of the other school. They both came to a stop at the same time in front of Dumbledore and him.

"Albus," Karkaroff greeted first, his voice smooth but carrying a hint of formality. "It has been too long."

"Indeed it has, Igor," Dumbledore replied warmly. "Welcome to Hogwarts. And you as well, Victor." He turned to the Koldovstoretz headmaster and greeted the same.

The man's name was Viktor Volkov. Like Karkaroff, he was a Great-Magus, but Maverick could sense that his magical power far surpassed Karkaroff's. What made Viktor Volkov particularly notable, however, was his lineage—he was the younger brother of Russia's only Arch-Magus, Alexey Volkov.

The Russian marquis responded to Dumbledore's greeting with a polite, deep, and accented voice. "A pleasure," he responded courteously.

Dumbledore gestured to Maverick. "This is Professor Maverick. He has been instrumental in organizing this tournament."

Volkov and Karkaroff both acknowledged Maverick with polite nods. A master alchemist was a master alchemist, after all, and both men understood the significance of such a title. The respect and courtesy they showed seemed genuine, if brief, before their attention shifted back to Dumbledore.

"Shall we proceed to the Great Hall?" Dumbledore suggested with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm sure all the students are eager to refresh after their journeys..."

At Dumbledore's words, both Volkov and Karkaroff nodded in agreement, and the group began to move together, heading towards the grand doors of Hogwarts.

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Author's Note:

Just a quick update — up to Chapter 130 is already available on P AT r30n!

PAT r30n [.] com / RyanFic