Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class was the most serious of all courses, bar none.

This white-haired witch has zero tolerance for any lapse in concentration, whether you're from Hogwarts, Durmstrang, or Beauxbatons.

"Today's project is to turn a hedgehog into a pincushion."

Professor McGonagall stood on the podium, her sharp gaze sweeping across the class. "This is a very basic but very important Transfiguration exercise that tests one's understanding of biological structures and precise control over the output of magic."

With a wave of her wand, a hedgehog appeared on each desk.

"start."

The classroom echoed with the chanting of spells. Hermione stared at the hedgehog on her desk, took a deep breath, and raised her wand.

Just then, there was a gentle knock on the back door of the classroom.

Everyone turned to look.

Fleur Delacour stood in the doorway, her long, silvery-white hair cascading over her shoulders, a hint of apology in her pale blue eyes.

She was wearing Beauxbatons' light blue uniform with a small silver badge pinned to her chest—the school crest of Beauxbatons.

"I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall," Fleur said in English with a French accent, "I'm late. I'm lost. The staircases at Hogwarts... are very complicated."

Professor McGonagall's expression remained unchanged, but Hermione thought her lips twitched slightly. "Come in and sit down, Miss Delacour."

Furong walked into the classroom, her gaze sweeping over the seats.

Beauxbatons' seating area was on the right side of the classroom, where all her classmates were sitting, with one empty seat next to her.

But Furong did not go there.

She walked straight to the left side of the classroom—the area where Slytherin and Gryffindor students sat together.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat: "Miss Delacour, Beauxbatons' seat is—"

"I know, Professor."

Fleur politely replied, "But my classmates' French accents are too strong, and listening to them will affect my English progress. I would like to sit with native English speakers."

This reason was far-fetched. The students of Beauxbatons looked at each other in bewilderment—they usually spoke French in Beauxbatons and came to Hogwarts to practice their English, so how could it "affect their English progress"?

But Furong spoke very seriously, her light blue eyes full of sincerity.

Professor McGonagall looked at her, then at Kane.

Kane's expression remained unchanged; he simply stared calmly at the hedgehog on his table.

"...Whatever you like," Professor McGonagall finally said, turning back to the podium.

Fleur smiled slightly at Kane, then took out her wand from her bag and began to deal with the hedgehog on her table.

Her movements were graceful, like dancing, but the effect... wasn't ideal. Her hedgehog turned into a round, spiky ball.

"Kane," Fleur turned to look at him, her voice soft but clear, "why didn't my pincushion flatten out?"

Kane glanced at her "work." "Your magic output is too strong. The hedgehog's quills should become needles on a pincushion, not quills on a hedgehog ball. Relax a bit, slow down the magic injection by half."

Furong did as instructed.

This time, her hedgehog turned into a slightly crooked but basically acceptable pincushion.

"Thank you, Kane." Fleur's smile was as bright as the spring sunshine. "You always know how to help me."

Hermione's quill pen drew a long line of ink on the parchment.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, "your hedgehog is still on the table. You haven't started casting the spell yet."

Hermione looked down. Her hedgehog was looking at her innocently with its tiny, black bean-like eyes.

"...I'm thinking," Hermione said, then raised her wand and swung it forcefully.

Her hedgehog had transformed into a perfect, snow-white, flawless pincushion. The best in the class.

Professor McGonagall walked over and looked at him: "Excellent, Granger. Five points for Gryffindor."

Hermione felt no joy.

Fleur was gently poking Kane's arm with a quill pen, pointing to the pincushion on his table (which was also perfect) and saying, "Yours is prettier than mine. Why?"

"Because your magic output was too strong just now," Kane said without looking up.

"Could you adjust it for me?"

Kane finally glanced at her. Then he reached out, grasped Fleur's wrist holding the wand, and adjusted the angle slightly. "Like this. Try again."

Fleur's face flushed slightly—whether from her wrist being held or something else, she didn't know—but she didn't break free. Instead, she followed Kane's guidance and began casting the spell again.

This time, her pincushion was much smoother.

"Much better." Kane released his grip.

"Thank you." Hibiscus's voice was a little softer than usual.

Hermione's quill broke.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Ron asked cautiously.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, pulling another quill from her bag. "Very well."

Her hedgehog rolled around on the table, seemingly trying to escape the oppressive atmosphere emanating from her.

Over the course of a few weeks, the Hogwarts students gradually got used to attending classes with Durmstrang and Beauxbatons' classmates. This included:

1. Durmstrang students would collectively perform a military-style salute before class, which would always frighten the Hogwarts students nearby, making them think that the students were about to pull out their wands.

2. Beauxbatons students bring their own perfumes to class, resulting in the Potions classroom being filled with a scent that is a mixture of lavender, rose, and "indescribable French elegance," which Professor Snape described as "disgusting."

3. Durmstrang boys make loud chewing noises during lunch, causing the Ravenclaw girls next to them to collectively develop "meal anxiety".

4. The girls in Beauxbatons eat with such elegance that it's like they're in a movie, causing the boys in Gryffindor to collectively suffer from a kind of short-term amnesia—Ron is the most severe case.

"Ron, you poked your nose with your fork," Hermione said expressionlessly.

"Oh." Ron removed his fork from his nose, his eyes still fixed on the Beauxbatons table. "Don't you think the way Fleur eats is... peculiar—"

"I don't think so," Hermione said.

"I haven't finished speaking—"

I don't think so.

Ron shut up.

At lunchtime, students are free to choose their seats and are not confined to the college tables. This means that students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will mingle in different college areas and engage in "cultural exchange."

Durmstrang students seem to particularly enjoy sitting with Slytherin students—perhaps due to their shared "dark magic friendly" tendencies. Beauxbatons students, on the other hand, are scattered across the various houses, but one trend is evident: Fleur Delacour sits at the Slytherin long table almost every day, and always next to Kane.

"Are they relatives?" Ron stared in that direction, utterly perplexed. "Or did they know each other before?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, tearing a piece of beef apart with force.

"Why do you always tear apart the beef? The beef hasn't done anything to you."

"I don't eat beef."

Ron decided not to ask any further questions.