Chapitre 507: 0506 Influence
The crisp October air hung heavy with anticipation as the assembled crowd stood there waiting. Following Dumbledore's reminder, the gathering of young wizards finally spotted their target. High above the ancient Forbidden Forest, where towering pines swayed gently in the autumn breeze, and against a magnificent backdrop of snow-capped mountains whose peaks pierced through wispy clouds, a mysterious black speck materialized in the vast sky.
The gathered students watched in joint astonishment as the object moved with astonishing pace, its size doubling and redoubling with each passing moment. The speck transformed into a blur, then into a more substantial shadow that darted through the air with remarkable elegance despite its growing mass.
"What in Merlin's name is that!" Justin Finch-Fletchley, from Hufflepuff with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, exclaimed with excitement. "Could it be a giant flying carpet?"
His imagination, like those of his fellow students, ran wild with possibilities.
Standing nearby, Hermione wore her characteristic expression of academic disapproval. Under normal circumstances, she would have launched into a detailed lecture about the illegality of flying carpets in British magical territory, complete with records from the relevant Ministry regulations. However, the extraordinary nature of this occasion blocked her usual instructive impulses, and she maintained an uncharacteristic silence.
The young wizards tracked the enormous object's trajectory as it cut through the deep blue sky, its approach accompanied by an increasingly audible whistle. Dennis Creevey, his small body practically vibrating with excitement, even compared it to a house dashing through the air.
The truth was very close to Dennis's description.
When the mysterious object finally revealed itself fully as it soared over Hagrid's hut, the sight drew gasps of amazement from the crowd. There, suspended in mid-air, was a huge powder-blue carriage pulled by a dozen magnificent winged horses– each of those was a pure Abraxan, similar in skin tone to palominos but as big as an elephant in their sizes.
The carriage's landing was also spectacular. To counter the tremendous momentum built up during its flight, the massive vehicle touched down with an earth-shattering impact that sent tremors through the ground.
The sound was like a clap of thunder, causing many of the younger students to cry out in alarm. Professor McGonagall, though visibly startled herself (her emerald-green witch's hat had been knocked askew), quickly restored order with a sharp command for propriety, reminding the students of their duty to represent Hogwarts with dignity.
As the dust cloud slowly dissipated, it revealed a deep furrow in the previously spotless grounds, stretching well over a hundred feet across the lush grass. Filch observed this damage to his meticulously maintained lawn with dismay, his facial features creasing into deep furrows of disapproval.
The moment Madame Maxime emerged from the carriage; Bryan could hear the predicted chorus of astonished gasps from the students behind him. Despite their preparation for meeting foreign wizards, few had anticipated encountering someone, apart from trolls who could rival Hagrid's extraordinary height.
Led by the professors, a round of enthusiastic applause erupted outside the castle. This warm welcome visibly pleased the tall woman who had stepped into the golden light spilling from the castle's entrance hall. Her face softened into a gracious smile as she walked forward to greet Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson, extending a hand that glittered with many sparkling jewels.
The difference in height between the visitors and hosts created an almost comical scene during the formal greetings. Even Dumbledore, who stood quite tall himself, had to just incline his head to kiss her hand in the traditional greeting, while Professor Watson was forced to rise onto his tiptoes to accomplish the same courtesy – a sight that drew several poorly concealed smiles from the watching students.
As Hogwarts' figurehead, Dumbledore took the lead role in these formal proceedings, with Bryan respectfully stepping back to stand beside the Headmaster after the initial ceremonial greetings.
However, Madame Maxime had other ideas. After exchanging the expected pleasantries with Dumbledore, she turned her attention to Bryan, her large, dark eyes, which held a curious quality, fixed upon him with intense interest.
"I 'eard about zat terrible attack at ze Quidditch World Cup Final, Watson—" Madame Maxime's voice reverberated with a deep, melodious quality that seemed to fill the entire courtyard. Her French accent, though noticeable, only added to her air of sophistication. "I 'ad several students who were present at ze time. Zey returned to Beauxbatons with ze most extraordinary tales. Zey described ze scene to me in vivid detail – your magical power is truly awe-inspiring, Watson—"
A hushed silence fell over the grounds as students strained to catch every word of this conversation. The pride radiating from the Hogwarts students was almost tangible as they heard their professor being praised by the headmistress of Beauxbatons. Many straightened their backs and lifted their chins, as if they themselves had received the compliment.
Bryan's response was modest, his lips quirking into a slight smile as he observed the gigantic headmistress.
"Yes—" Bryan said, genuine surprise coloring his tone at her choice to raise this topic in such a public setting. His eyes sparkled with barely concealed amusement as he continued, "You've already witnessed my abilities in Paris, haven't you, Madame? I'm quite skilled at creating impressive illusions."
"Oh, not at all!" The protest came immediately from several Hogwarts girls, their voices rising in unified disagreement. Their defensive reaction to their professor's modesty drew knowing smiles from both Dumbledore and Madame Maxime, the latter looking particularly pleased with this display of loyalty.
As Madame Maxime stepped aside, she revealed her students to the waiting crowd, and the contrast between the two schools became immediately apparent.
The Beauxbatons delegation stood in perfect formation, their powder-blue silk uniforms creating a glitter of movement that caught the fading daylight. Each garment had been expertly tailored to its wearer, the fabric flowing like water with every slight movement.
"They're so fancy!" Lavender's admiring exclamation carried clearly across the gathering. Her eyes were fixed on the silk uniforms that seemed to embody luxury and old-world aristocratic refinement. The difference between these elegant outfits and the practical black robes of Hogwarts was plain and impossible to ignore.
"Yeah, compared to them, we look quite shabby!"
Parvati's resentful comment followed quickly, her dark eyes darting accusingly toward Professor McGonagall, who had just ordered her to remove her decorative butterfly hairpin which was her only ornament.
"Ridiculous—" Hermione muttered, her tone quite disdainful, though it was unclear whether her scorn was directed at her classmates' superficial concerns or the impractical nature of the Beauxbatons uniforms. As her practical nature clearly found fault with the entire situation.
Harry observed the scene thoughtfully, noting that while the Beauxbatons students certainly looked glamorous in their formal attire, their choice of clothing seemed poorly suited to the Scottish climate. The silk uniforms, while beautiful, had little protection against the biting October wind. There was no room beneath the precisely fitted garments for warm woolen sweaters or extra thermal layers. Already, many of the visiting students were visibly shivering, clutching their silk scarves tightly around their shoulders in a pointless attempt to ward off the cold.
Just as the Hogwarts students were discussing the Beauxbatons students' attire.
"Meester Watson—!" A young witch emerged from behind Madame Maxime. With one elegant motion, she pulled off her scarf, revealing her face. Her hair cascaded down her back in a silvery waterfall, catching what remained of the day's light and reflecting it back with an almost ethereal glow.
Hiss—
A collective gasp erupted from the Hogwarts queues. Many students stared incredulously at the attractive female student, their eyes nearly popping out of their sockets!
"Incredible—" Ron's voice came hoarse and filled with wonder, his eyes wide with amazement. "This girl... wow, she's really something!"
His reaction spoke for many of his fellow students who seemed equally captivated by the Beauxbatons girl.
"Ah, it's you, Miss Delacour—" Bryan's lips curved into a polite smile as he addressed her. "Welcome to Hogwarts."
The formal greeting, delivered with diplomatic courtesy but little warmth, seemed to displease the young witch.
Fleur's nose wrinkled slightly, a gesture that somehow managed to be both charming and disapproving, but before she could voice whatever thought had provoked this reaction, Madame Maxime intervened with maternal affection. "We'll catch up later, Fleur—"
Perhaps because Hogwarts students saw Professor Watson every day, they don't have a deep understanding of his current status in the wider wizarding world. The Beauxbatons students, however, viewed him through a different lens entirely. The duel at the Quidditch World Cup final had elevated Bryan Watson to near-legendary status in their eyes, and their reactions made this abundantly clear.
As Madame Maxime guided her students toward the entrance hall, each Beauxbatons student who passed by Professor Watson eyed him with awe and barely contained curiosity. Those who had wrapped their heads against the cold hastily removed their scarves, not wanting to appear discourteous. Their behavior caused a surge of pride among the watching Hogwarts students, who suddenly saw their professor through renewed eyes.
"If Dumbledore were sensible enough—" Draco snickered secretly in the Slytherin ranks, "he'd step down right now."
Draco's words sparked agreement among the Slytherins. Every Slytherin student couldn't wait for Dumbledore to leave and for Professor Watson, who came from Slytherin, to take over.
"Quiet—"Snape, standing behind the Slytherin ranks, heard his house students' discussions and lazily flicked a few strands of hair from his forehead as he spoke. But there was almost no sense of command in his tone.
Only after Madame Maxime and her elegant entourage had disappeared into the castle did Ron and his fellow students reluctantly tear their gazes away from the entrance. Many of the boys released disappointed sighs, their attention now turning to speculation about the upcoming arrival of the Durmstrang delegation. Excited whispers spread through the crowd as students debated whether their next guests might arrive in carriages pulled by dragons.
The waiting continued, but the romantic atmosphere created by the Beauxbatons arrival gradually gave way to physical discomfort as the temperature continued to drop. Even students wearing their thickest winter cloaks were shivering in the biting wind. Conversations dwindled as the young wizards focused on staying warm, their earlier excitement tempered by the desire to complete the welcoming ceremony as quickly as possible.
Harry's gaze drifted longingly toward the Quidditch pitch; its tall stands barely visible in the gathering dusk. Under normal circumstances, he would have been there at this hour, completing his daily training routine. The thought of vigorous exercise seemed particularly appealing now, as he imagined the warmth it would bring to his cold-numbed limbs. Instead, he stood here with his fellow students, foolishly waiting in the growing darkness for their final guests to arrive.
In the midst of this anticipatory silence, Bryan's soft observation carried clearly to those nearby. "Madame Maxime looks no different from a few months ago, and the young wizards she brought seem very lively—"
Dumbledore's response was equally leisurely, his gentle smile was visible in the growing darkness. "I agree with your observation, Bryan—"
The grounds fell into expectant silence once more as all eyes turned skyward, watching for the first sign of the Durmstrang delegation's arrival.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone