Chapter 187

Amid the clattering of the train and the low murmur of children, the magical steam train gradually left the British Isles, heading toward the European mainland.

As the chatter faded, Harry drifted into sleep, dreaming that the Death Eaters were practicing Animagus transformation—Voldemort turned into a snake, Bellatrix into a venomous spider, Malfoy into a weasel, and the massive Crabbe and Goyle into a tomato and a potato. Only then did he realize this was just a nonsensical dream, unrelated to the real Death Eaters.

In the morning, Harry opened his eyes and immediately shook Ron awake, dragging him to the window; both stared wide-eyed at the magical scenery.

Before them stretched an endless sea; the train glided smoothly across the water's surface, morning sunlight spilling over the churning Atlantic. Harry opened the window, feeling the sea breeze rush against his face—cool, faintly salty—and it snapped him fully awake.

"Is this the sea? I've never seen the sea before," Ron murmured, stunned.

"Me neither—and this is my first time leaving Britain," Harry said, equally captivated by the ocean view.

"Are you awake?" Zhang Qiu's voice came from outside the door.

"Come on, let's wash up and get breakfast," Harry said, pulling Ron out.

On this train filled entirely with seventh-year students, the three of them naturally formed a small group, sharing a mediocre breakfast in the dining car, then lounging in their carriage, chatting idly as the Channel breeze drifted through.

"Speaking of makeup, it's truly astonishing," Harry said, changing the subject. "The other day I saw Pan Xi—she actually looked normal, like an ordinary girl."

"Of course—she's become our living advertisement," Zhang Qiu said, ignoring Ron's disgusted grimace. "Even someone as ugly as her can become lovely with makeup; girls are all imagining how beautiful they'll look after theirs."

"But there's one group it won't work for—I mean, those who are severely overweight," Zhang Qiu continued. "They have to lose weight first."

"By the way, I heard the headmistress of Beauxbatons weighs over nine hundred pounds," Ron said. "Hard to imagine—she probably needs a Levitation Charm just to walk."

"But I heard she's a strong, confident woman—far better than Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang," Harry said. "He's a Death Eater, and a notorious one who betrayed his own to save himself."

"Do you think he knows the Dark Lord has returned?" Luo Si asked.

"Given that he hasn't fled, maybe he doesn't," Harry scratched his chin. "But there's another possibility—he's cooperating with us so fiercely because he hopes we'll defeat the Dark Lord and let him keep living in the light."

"If he truly does that, you should see him as someone who has turned from darkness to light," Zhang Qiu interjected. "Anyone who does the right thing deserves praise, no matter their motive."

"Who else is competing? Tang Nade represents Ilvermorny—we already know that," Luo Si continued. "But what about Kudofuski? I know absolutely nothing about them."

"Their headmaster is a close ally of Yanayev—Fedot Yefragovich Vaskov, commonly called Headmaster Vaskov," Zhang Qiu stated what she knew. "Most teachers are middle-aged women, and students are mostly female. Oh, and they're divided by specialization."

"Divided by specialization?"

"Yes. In third year, students choose one of six major fields and receive a corresponding curriculum. But the colleges aren't vastly different—only the courses vary. Everyone still wears the same uniform and lives in the same dorms—though you can apply to switch dorms; the school is very flexible about that."

"What are the six fields?" Ron asked.

"The most popular is the Institute of Ritual Magic—that's the Soviet Union's top magical technology," Zhang Qiu said without hesitation. "Then come the Colleges of Potions and Herbology, Charms and Mathematics, Magical Creatures and Transfiguration, and Soul and Spirit."

"That's only five," Ron counted on his fingers.

"Oh, the last one is the Marxism College," Zhang Qiu said with a complex expression. "It doesn't teach magic entirely—just barely scratches the surface."

"Then what do they teach?"

"How to manage wizards. Almost all Soviet magical officials graduate from that college," Zhang Qiu winked at Harry; he instantly understood—last year, she'd likely been assigned there, learning almost no useful magic.

"But don't they teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" To a Hogwarts student, this subject was deeply significant.

"No," Zhang Qiu said. "Because it's a school. Most boys prefer joining the military, where they learn magic related to Dark Arts or defense."

"That makes sense. Very Soviet," Harry commented.

"Hey, that's good news—so Kudofuski's champion probably doesn't know how to duel at all," Ron said cheerfully. "We've got a big advantage."

"You're overestimating," Zhang Qiu doused his enthusiasm. "Most girls have at least one brother who served in the military. That'll be Harry's real rival."

"Right, and Krum—he's no pushover either," Ron added.

"I have a way to handle Krum," Harry evaded the topic vaguely—after all, match-fixing wasn't something to be proud of.

After lunch, the train emerged from the sea onto the European mainland and arrived at its destination—Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in southern France—before dinner.

Harry saw a magnificent palace-like complex surrounded by lush forests, serene and beautiful under the bright sunlight.

"Dear students, we have arrived at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic," Dumbledore's voice echoed throughout the train. "Please change into your formal attire and wait in your carriages. We will enter Beauxbatons together at dinner."

The Hogwarts Express stopped on the lawn behind the palace, adjacent to Beauxbatons' surrounding woods. Harry instinctively felt this might be the Forbidden Forest, and curiosity stirred in him.

As he gazed at the lake within the forest, something strange happened: a dark, pole-like object slowly rose from the center of a whirlpool, followed by sails, masts, decks, portholes, and a massive skull carving at the bow.

Finally, with a thud as the anchor dropped, the group stepped onto shore via a wooden plank. At the front stood a man in a silver-white fur cloak, placing his wand against his neck and shouting loudly: "Dumbledore! My dear old friend, how are you?"

"Splendid, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore called back. "Now, let's all enter together with our students!"

Soon, Dumbledore directed the students to disembark one by one, lining them up from shortest to tallest. Naturally, the smallest—Harry and Zhang Qiu—stood at the front; Ron stood behind Harry. His height should have placed him further back, but Dumbledore didn't mind the slight mismatch.

The Durmstrang students stood beside them; Harry noticed they all wore fur cloaks with coarse, tangled fur—not as smooth as Karkaroff's. At the front of their line stood a boy with a prominent hooked nose and thick, bushy eyebrows. He didn't need Ron to jab him; Harry instantly recognized the figure: Viktor Krum.

"Beautiful Beauxbatons," Karkaroff said, walking beside Dumbledore to the front of the line. "It's wonderful to be here, Dumbledore—so good to see you…"

As they exchanged pleasantries, Harry noticed Karkaroff's voice was smooth, cloying, dripping with flattery. When he stepped directly before Harry, Harry saw a tall, thin man with short white hair and curly goat-like whiskers—perhaps old, or perhaps, judging by his sunken chin, yellowed teeth, and cold, sharp eyes, a middle-aged man prematurely aged by Dark Magic.

The two headmasters led their students through the palace's main entrance, past fountains and ice sculptures, into the Great Hall. Harry noticed it resembled Hogwarts' Great Hall—same enchanted ceiling, same long tables. But Beauxbatons showed no clear house divisions; students all wore identical elegant silk robes, sitting at the tables and watching the newcomers curiously.

"Oh, Harry, did you notice?" Ron whispered. "Their girls wear high heels."

"And their socks are so thin—they look like adult silk stockings. I can't believe first-years wear these," Harry marveled.

"Are your eyes only on girls?" Zhang Qiu snapped. "Pay attention to the professors."

Harry guiltily turned his gaze to the staff table. He then realized the rumors about Madame Maxime weighing nine hundred pounds might be true—she towered even above Hagrid, her massive face dominated by large, watery black eyes, a sharp nose, and a black silk robe adorned with precious opals; she was strikingly beautiful.

This headmistress, nearly twelve feet tall, rose to her feet, casting a shadow over most of the staff table. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, elves—and especially, our esteemed guests," Madame Maxime smiled warmly at the student line. "I welcome you to Beauxbatons with great joy, and I hope and believe you will find your stay here comfortable and pleasant."