All magic schools play at 466th Quidditch tournament, this year its held at Hogwarts.
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@mellieThe autumn wind carried the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke across the Scottish Highlands. The Great Lake lay still and dark beneath a slate-grey sky, its surface barely rippling as the first of the international delegations began to arrive.
The Beauxbatons carriage descended first—a magnificent pale-blue confection drawn by a dozen winged Abraxan horses. It landed with barely a whisper on the shore, the gilded wheels sinking slightly into the damp earth.
Students in silk uniforms of powder blue stepped out in formation, their Headmistress leading them with an elegance that seemed almost choreographed. They moved toward the castle in perfect synchrony, not a single hem dragging in the mud.
Then came the Durmstrang ship, rising from the depths of the lake like some great leviathan breaking the surface. Water cascaded from its black hull as it settled against the shore, the vessel's timbers groaning with the weight of its journey.
The Durmstrang students emerged in heavy fur cloaks, their boots thudding against the wooden gangplank. Their Headmaster, a broad-shouldered man with a beard like a storm cloud, barked orders in a language that carried across the water.
From the castle, the great oak doors swung open. A figure in emerald robes descended the stone steps, flanked by a small contingent of Hogwarts staff.
Minerva McGonagall
Heads of schools, welcome to Hogwarts. The tournament grounds have been prepared, and your accommodations await within the castle.
But before she could finish her greeting, the sky itself seemed to split open.
A shimmering portal of blue and gold light tore through the air above the Quidditch pitch, and from it emerged a flying vessel unlike any other—a sleek, eagle-shaped craft with wings of burnished bronze that caught the fading sunlight.
The Ilvermorny ship circled once, twice, before descending with practiced precision onto the eastern edge of the pitch. The eagle's beak opened, and a ramp extended downward with a soft hiss of released magic.
At the top of the ramp stood a figure in navy and crimson robes, a golden eagle emblem gleaming on their chest. Behind them, a team of students in matching uniforms waited in disciplined rows, their postures straight, their eyes forward.
The Ilvermorny captain descended first, boots striking the ground with purpose. They surveyed the castle before them—the towers, the moving staircases visible through the windows, the crowd of Hogwarts students gathering at the doors.
Somewhere behind them, a member of the Ilvermorny team let out a low whistle.
Ilvermorny Team Member
Well, would you look at that. Hogwarts.
The captain didn't turn. Their gaze remained fixed on the castle, on the history that awaited them, on the tournament that would define their final year.
Behind them, the other ships continued to arrive—Castelobruxo's vibrant green vessel emerging from the Forbidden Forest, Koldovstoretz's ice-encrusted carriage descending from the clouds, Mahoutokoro's delicate paper boat gliding across the lake, and Uagadou's floating mountain of stone settling into the valley beyond.
The grounds of Hogwarts had never seen such a gathering. Flags of eight nations snapped in the wind above the Quidditch pitch, and the air hummed with the combined magic of hundreds of young witches and wizards.
Minerva McGonagall
raising her voice to carry across the growing crowd If all delegations would please follow me to the Great Hall, the welcoming feast shall begin shortly. Your team captains will be briefed on the tournament schedule after dinner.