Harry Potter with Technology System

Following days went by in a blur, and weeks melted into a month. The school buzzed with constant chatter, and everywhere you went, the Triwizard Tournament dominated conversations. Anticipation wasn’t just about the tournament itself; there was also the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations to look forward to. The notice went up on the common room boards about the upcoming arrivals, sending a fresh ripple of excitement through the students. It wasn’t just Hogwarts pride on the line anymore—there were foreign students coming, and with them, a chance to size up the competition.

By the morning of October 30th, the air was electric. Excitement hummed through the corridors as students bundled up in scarves and cloaks, their chatter louder than usual as they made their way outside. The notice had instructed all students to gather in the snowy garden to welcome the arrivals, and now the entire school was being herded out like a pack of overly eager sheep.

“It’s bloody freezing,” Ron muttered loudly from the Gryffindor group ahead, rubbing his hands together as he trudged through the slushy snow.

“Stop whining, Weasley,” Draco said smoothly from a few steps behind Harry. “You sound like a Muggle who’s just seen frost for the first time.”

Ron whipped around, his ears reddening—not entirely from the cold. “Oh, shove it, Malfoy.”

“Do try to keep it civil, boys,” Hermione chimed in without looking up from the scarf she was adjusting around her neck. “It’s a school event, not a boxing match.”

Harry smirked to himself but stayed quiet. The groups of students eventually clustered together in the garden, each house gravitating toward its own area. Snow coated the ground in uneven patches, and a chill breeze made some of the younger first-years huddle closer to their friends. Above them, the sky was a flat, heavy gray, threatening more snow as they waited.

“Why do these things always have to be so dramatic?” Tracey muttered, standing next to Harry and pulling her cloak tighter. “Couldn’t they just... I don’t know, walk in through the front gates like normal people?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Pansy replied, grinning. “If we’re going to have a tournament, might as well make it a spectacle.”

“Besides,” Daphne added, brushing a stray snowflake off her sleeve, “it’s tradition. And you know how wizards get about tradition.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Like you don’t enjoy a bit of theatrics, Greengrass.”

She smirked. “I never said I didn’t.”

Ahead of them, Professor McGonagall was attempting to organize the students into neater rows. “Everyone, stay behind the line!” she called out sharply, gesturing to a faint marking in the snow where the professors had charmed a boundary. “We want to make a good impression, not crowd them like a pack of hooligans.”

“That’s half the fun gone, then,” George Weasley muttered from somewhere nearby.

“You would think they were royalty or something,” Fred added, elbowing George as they both craned their necks to look around.

Soon, a Ravenclaw looked over to Harry and his group, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Hey! You lot are faking it. You’re not cold at all!” She pointed toward Astoria and Luna, whose exaggerated hopping as if to stay warm didn’t quite match their rosy, unaffected faces.

The surrounding students turned, their eyes landing on Harry. He groaned audibly, “Fine,” he muttered. Drawing his wand, he made a wide, sweeping motion through the air. Instantly, a wave of warmth spread outward, the icy chill replaced by a pleasant spring-like breeze.@@novelbin@@

The reaction was immediate. Students nearby stopped shivering, several sighing in relief as their frozen hands and red noses thawed out. Someone in the crowd muttered, “Show-off,” but no one was complaining too loudly.

A Gryffindor twirled around, beaming. “It’s like a holiday in Spain! Why didn’t you do this earlier?”

Harry shrugged, his tone completely nonchalant. "Difficulty builds character. I thought you lot enjoyed it."

The surrounding students groaned or rolled their eyes in response. Professor McGonagall, however, had stepped closer, her sharp gaze fixed on the faint shimmer in the air where Harry’s spell lingered. She tilted her head, inspecting it as though trying to decipher its intricacies. “Mr. Potter,” she said, her voice crisp, “is this one of your inventions?”

Harry shook his head. “No, Professor. Selena’s. She taught me last summer.”

She nodded, "Ah, Ms. Rosier. Madam Goshawk's student. As expected."

Harry gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, but before he could reply, gasps rippled through the gathered students. Heads tilted back, pointing to the sky where a massive flying carriage, nearly the size of Hagrid’s hut, was descending. The pale blue carriage gleamed even against the dreary gray sky, its surface decorated with delicate golden accents. The sight was grand enough, but the creatures pulling it stole the show. A team of enormous Abraxans, their wings spread wide and shimmering faintly in the weak daylight, glided effortlessly through the air.

“Merlin’s socks, look at the size of those things,” Ron muttered loud enough for half the school to hear.

“Those are Abraxan winged horses,” Hermione said quickly, her tone prim and full of information, as usual. 

It was a strikingly dramatic entrance, exactly what you would expect from Beauxbatons. Tracey, standing just beside Harry, tilted her head, watching the carriage with narrowed eyes.

“Do you reckon they’re compensating for something?” she asked dryly.

Daphne, arms crossed, gave her a sidelong glance. “If they are, they’re doing a good job of it. Look at that polish—it probably costs more than the entire Gryffindor Tower.”

“Let’s not get too jealous, Daf,” Harry said lightly. “You’ve still got the family manor to fall back on.”

Before Daphne could retort, the carriage landed with a soft thud on the snowy ground, its massive wheels leaving deep impressions in the slush. A collective hush fell over the gathered students as the door of the carriage swung open with a slowness that could only have been intentional. The first figure to step out was tall, broad-shouldered, and so imposing that even Hagrid seemed to shrink slightly as he stepped forward to greet them.

Madame Maxime, the headmistress of Beauxbatons, descended the steps with the kind of grace that seemed impossible for someone of her size. She was dressed in flowing robes of deep lavender, her hair styled in a way that seemed to defy gravity. Behind her, a line of Beauxbatons students began to emerge, their light blue uniforms standing out sharply against the snowy background.

Dumbledore called from the front as he began to walk toward the Beauxbatons carriage, “Mr. Potter, come with me, please. I need your spell.”

Harry gave a brief nod, stepping away from his group. As they approached the carriage, Harry’s attention shifted to the students emerging one by one. Their uniforms were elegant, light blue with silver accents, but they looked more suited for spring gardens than the biting cold of a Scottish winter. Some of the Beauxbatons students were visibly shivering, trying to wrap their cloaks tighter around themselves, though it did little to help.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You would think they would check the weather before packing,” he muttered under his breath.

Dumbledore gave him a sidelong glance, his lips twitching faintly as though suppressing a smile. “Perhaps they assumed their charm would keep them warm, Mr. Potter.”

“Seems like a poor strategy,” Harry said flatly, pulling out his wand. With a practiced flick, he cast the same warming charm he used earlier. The spell spread quickly, creating an invisible dome of warmth that covered the area around the carriage.

The effect was immediate. The Beauxbatons students stopped shivering, their tense shoulders relaxing as they realized the biting chill was gone. A few of them exchanged curious glances, one girl whispering something in French to a boy beside her.