While Maurise was intently focused on eating a pumpkin pasty, the students around him continued to discuss the Triwizard Tournament with fervent enthusiasm.
Kyle was no exception. He was currently debating with a few girls over who was the most likely to become the Hogwarts champion.
Marietta said, "Hufflepuff is convinced their Cedric Diggory has the best chance. A portion of Gryffindor supports Harry Potter. And then there is Slytherin, they have a few candidates of their own."
Having said this, she intentionally cast an expectant glance toward Maurise.
Although he was only a fourth year, Maurise was undoubtedly the most outstanding student in Ravenclaw. His looks and his grades were absolutely impeccable. Aside from the particular brand of magic he favored and his somewhat eccentric hobbies, he was practically the perfect Ravenclaw.
Well, perhaps his personality also had a few quirks. For instance, right now, while everyone else was engaged in a heated debate about the potential champions, Maurise was entirely focused on devouring a pumpkin pasty.
And not just any pumpkin pasty. The boy had sprinkled a lethal dose of sugar on top of it. He truly was a terrifying individual...
Maurise noticed the piercing gazes directed at him and suddenly spoke up. "I will win the tournament. That is, if they choose me to compete."
"Ah, I knew you would say that," Marietta laughed.
"Me too," Kyle nodded in agreement.
Maurise always spoke like this, his confidence so absolute it felt entirely natural. It was just like after every single set of exams. If someone asked him how he did, he would confidently state he was first in the year. And he was always right.
At that moment, Kyle suddenly took a deep breath, as if making a firm resolution. "I am going to put my name in as well."
However, no one paid him any mind.
Only Maurise reached over, patted him on the shoulder, and said, "Good luck."
"...Thanks," Kyle muttered. His newfound confidence suddenly began to waver.
---
Amidst the restless atmosphere, the day's classes concluded smoothly.
As evening approached, Maurise followed the Ravenclaw line out the front doors of the castle.
The professors and the students from the other houses had already lined up in their designated areas. Everyone stood shivering in the cold wind, waiting for the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to arrive.
Maurise knew absolutely nothing about Beauxbatons, but he had looked up some information on Durmstrang. The school was located somewhere in Northern Europe and was open to accepting international students. He had even heard that Dark Arts was included in their curriculum.
He had once entertained the thought of transferring there. Unfortunately, Durmstrang strictly refused to admit Muggle-born students.
Of course, Hogwarts was wonderful. Maurise had grown quite attached to the place by now, and unless absolutely forced to, he had no intention of leaving...
"Mr. Black, what is that in your mouth?"
"A pear drop, Professor McGonagall."
"Spit it out!"
"Oh."
Maurise quickly chewed the hard candy to pieces and swallowed it down.
Professor McGonagall gave a curt nod. She paced back and forth in front of them like a cat patrolling its territory, her expression severe. "Straighten yourselves up! The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving any moment, and I will not have them seeing Hogwarts students slouching about looking untidy."
Her tone suddenly reminded Maurise of his high school disciplinarian from his past life. Perhaps because of that, no matter how strict Professor McGonagall was, she always made him feel a sense of familiarity and fondness.
---
As the sky grew darker, the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang finally arrived, one after the other.
The Beauxbatons contingent descended from the sky in a powder-blue carriage drawn by twelve gigantic Abraxan winged horses. Their headmistress, Madame Maxime, was a woman even taller than Hagrid. Maurise highly suspected she also possessed giant blood.
Durmstrang, on the other hand, abruptly emerged from the depths of the Black Lake. It was a massive sailing ship, its hull encrusted with barnacles and draped in seaweed, looking exactly like a legendary ghost ship. Their headmaster, Karkaroff, was tall and thin, sporting an incredibly ugly goatee.
"One from the sky, one from the water," Kyle evaluated in a low voice. "Not bad, but I think that ship falls short compared to your Ship in a Bottle, Maurise."
Maurise did not answer. He was staring intently at the Abraxan horses being led away by Hagrid. Those horses were massive and powerfully built, roughly the size of adult elephants. Their skeletal structure had to be absolutely fascinating...
"Inside, all of you. The feast is about to begin," Professor McGonagall's voice rang out from the front, abruptly cutting off his dangerous train of thought.
Everyone flooded into the Great Hall. The warm glow of the candles instantly banished the biting cold wind.
Beauxbatons and Durmstrang only brought about two dozen students each. Hogwarts had not arranged designated seating for them, so they dispersed and sat among the four House tables.
A Beauxbatons student sat down right next to Maurise. The person was heavily bundled up, leaving only a few strands of silvery-blonde hair exposed—a rather uncommon hair color.
"Hello," Maurise offered a brief greeting before turning his full attention to the entire row of exquisite French pastries materializing on the table. The house-elves had truly outdone themselves this time.
Kyle spoke from his other side, "Why do the desserts always appear in front of you first?"
Maurise offered a faint smile. Desserts were traditionally served last, but he had personally paid a visit to the kitchens and persuaded the house-elves to bring out a portion of the sweets early just for him.
Two minutes after the feast began, the Beauxbatons student beside Maurise stood up, left the table, and quickly returned carrying a bowl of bouillabaisse.
By now, she had removed the scarf covering her face. Silvery-blonde hair cascaded down to her waist like a waterfall, and her facial features were so exquisitely beautiful they almost looked unreal.
Kyle stared at her, completely dazed for a moment. He nudged Maurise, who was intently focused on his food, and whispered, "Look beside you."
Maurise turned his head and gave her a glance.
'Ah, I see.'
This Beauxbatons student almost certainly possessed Veela heritage. Half? Or perhaps a quarter?
It was likely for this exact reason that numerous boys at the Ravenclaw table were currently turning their heads to stare at her.
Maurise felt a spark of interest. He set down his fork and turned to the silver-haired girl. "Hello, I am Maurise Black."
The girl seemed to have fully expected his advance. She offered a polite, practiced smile. "Fleur Delacour."
Her tone was somewhat dismissive, making it clear she had no desire for a lengthy conversation.
Maurise didn't bother beating around the bush. He went straight to the question he was most curious about. "Miss Delacour, do you happen to have Veela heritage?"
This was, quite obviously, a rather offensive question to ask right off the bat.
Kyle coughed violently beside him and hurriedly interjected, "My apologies, Miss Delacour. Maurise is just trying to say you are very beautiful."
Fleur completely ignored Kyle. Her expression instantly turned freezing cold. She flipped her hair and snapped, "And what business is that of yours, Mr. Black?"
Kyle felt a wave of despair. 'It's over. He ruined it.'
He knew Maurise meant no harm, but his way of speaking was just too stiff and blunt. Who in their right mind would open a conversation with a question like that?
If it had been anyone else, Kyle would have sworn they were intentionally trying to pick a fight.