Chapter 676: A Flood of Arrivals
"Uuuuuhhh…" The Deep Red Train let out a long, mournful whistle, exhaling thick plumes of steam as it slowly rolled into Hogsmeade Platform. The train lurched once, then came to a stop.
In an instant, every interior door slid open with a smooth hiss. Hundreds of wizards, dressed in a dazzling array of styles, stepped down from the train.
A Bulgarian wizard in an indigo silk robe marched forward with pride, his head held high. An Egyptian wizard wrapped in a camel wool cloak shimmered with gleaming golden jewelry. An Indian witch’s sari fluttered in the wind, while Brazilian rainforest wizards arrived draped in emerald green cloaks, their necks adorned with flowers that shifted colors with every breath.
"Make way! Excuse me, please!" A deep, resonant voice called out. People turned to look—two giant elk, pulling a carriage, were lumbering slowly down the path. The voice had come from one of the elk.
A group of Russian wizards in crimson-collared uniforms strode past, their bear-fur boots crunching loudly on the wooden platform. One of them had a snow owl—its eyes sharp and piercing—perched on his shoulder.
The owl was instantly familiar to Hagrid. A grin spread across the half-giant’s face as memories of his first meeting with Harry flooded back. "Hogwarts welcomes you all!" he boomed, waving his arms. "Follow me—carriages are waiting up ahead!"
"Oh, Pull the gods above!" exclaimed a wizard in a white robe, staring at Hagrid’s towering frame. "You’re enormous, sir!"
Hagrid chuckled sheepishly, then suddenly recalled Madam Maxime’s furious voice: “It’s just my bone structure!”
"Please, ladies and gentlemen, follow me."
Stepping off the platform, the guests were greeted by over a hundred carriages, each adorned with unprecedented elegance. The pitch-black leather was embroidered with silver constellations, delicate wind chimes and lanterns hung from the sides, thick yellow carpets covered the seats, and even the wheel spokes were tangled with holly vines.
"Truly magnificent carriages," said an elderly witch, climbing aboard with a playful sigh. "I might just send my child to Hogwarts now."
"These carriages are beautiful," a young red-haired wizard murmured, glancing around. "But… how do they move? Do we need to cast a spell? Or do we ride them like broomsticks?"
His words were cut short by a ripple of kind laughter.
"Child," said an old wizard with a goat-like beard, reaching into the air as if stroking something invisible. "The horses are already here. You just can’t see them."
The red-haired wizard strained to see, feeling only the phantom sensation of something being brushed—then faint sounds: animal breath, the flapping of wings.
"Those are Night Kneazles," explained a Peruvian wizard kindly. "Only those who’ve witnessed death can see them."
"Unbelievable…" muttered a Kenyan wizard, equal parts awe and envy. "Even the carriage horses are rare Night Kneazles… and there are so many of them…"
One by one, the carriages filled with guests and swayed forward toward the distant castle.
But not everyone took Hogwarts’ carriages. Some rode on their own flying carpets or broomsticks. Others chose to walk slowly through the grounds. And among them, a few odd figures rode strange, ancient magical creatures—there was even a boar.
Along the way, the occasional crack of apparition echoed through the air—wizards who had arrived directly, skipping the train entirely.
From all directions, wizards poured into Hogwarts, each proudly displaying the colors and adornments of their homeland. For many, it was a gesture of national pride—elaborate robes, intricate jewelry, distinctive headwear.
At that moment, the ancient castle seemed like a living miniature painting of the entire magical world. The chatter of different languages, bursts of laughter, and the occasional spell cast in passing wove together into a magical symphony.
Thanks to the widespread use of streaming mirrors, even wizards from distant lands—speaking different tongues—could easily communicate, gesturing, laughing, and sharing stories with gestures and smiles.
…
In the Great Hall, most students were aware that a large audience would be present at the final event. But few truly grasped the scale of it. For now, they were simply enjoying an unusually lavish lunch.
"Try this, Mom," Wade pushed a colorful pudding toward Fiona. "We rarely get this at school—only during the Christmas feast."
Fiona scooped a spoonful and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes immediately crinkled with delight. "Mmm! This is amazing! How’s it made?"
"The house-elves used their own magic," Wade explained softly. "They made the pudding softer, more delicate, and light as air."
Ferdinand sipped his pumpkin juice and raised an eyebrow. "Texture’s good… but you clearly don’t like it, do you?"
He knew his son disliked the thick, cloying feel of pumpkin juice.
"I’ve got this," Wade said, tapping his own drink. The liquid was a clear, vibrant green, sparkling with freshness.
"Ah…" Ferdinand glanced around. Not a single other glass on the long table—nor on the adjacent ones—held a beverage quite so clear.
He understood instantly. A slow, deep "Oh~" escaped him—part wonder, part quiet pride.
His son, once so withdrawn and distant at school, now seemed to have unexpectedly unlocked the art of friendship at Hogwarts?
The meal ended on a joyful note.
Dumbledore stood, tapped his glass, and the hall fell silent.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in just five minutes, I shall invite you all to the Quidditch Pitch to witness the final event of the tournament. Champions—please follow Mr. Bagman to the stadium for preparations."
Wade felt his mother’s hand suddenly tighten around his. Warm, trembling. He stood, then gently embraced his parents.
"I’ll keep my promise," he whispered. "Once the tournament ends, I’ll return home soon."
"Good," Fiona said, her voice bright despite the shimmer in her eyes. "We’ll be front-row supporters, cheering you on!"
"Take care, don’t push yourself too hard," Ferdinand added, patting Wade’s back. "On the field, don’t overthink. Just do what you can. That’s enough."
"I understand," Wade murmured.
He turned and hurried toward the Great Hall entrance, where Bagman waited for the champions.
Just before stepping through the door, Wade paused. He raised his arm and waved.
Sunlight streamed through the high windows, stretching his shadow long across the stone floor.
(End of Chapter)
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