On the first morning of the new school term, almost all the boys finally understood what Professor McGonagall had meant by her warning the previous day.
A lucky few rubbed their eyes frantically that morning, wondering whether they were hallucinating.
Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion who had participated in the Triwizard Tournament, had actually appeared at their school that day.
And she had even eaten breakfast with them in the Great Hall.
At one corner of the long table, Fleur elegantly and precisely cut the food on a silver plate with a knife before eating it alone. She completely ignored the students' burning gazes and left as though nothing unusual had happened once she finished her meal.
All that remained was endless daydreaming.
Did she transfer here?
That was the first thought that came to many people's minds.
But that didn't make sense either.
Both schools had seven-year programmes. Beauxbatons had been able to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, so Fleur couldn't possibly have repeated a year, could she?
By the time she was in fourth year, she had already completed the equivalent of seventh year at Beauxbatons.
If only one person claimed to have seen her, it might have been dismissed as a hallucination.
But it was impossible for an entire group of people to hallucinate the same thing.
More than one student swore that they had seen Fleur in the Great Hall.
That meant it was real.
Although her signature long silver hair had been tied up and concealed beneath a white nurse's cap, her captivating, almost magical deep-blue eyes remained as alluring as ever.
The white nurse's uniform accentuated her graceful figure while adding a dignified air to her appearance.
The combination of allure and purity created a kind of poisonous magic.
She had arrived at the Great Hall very early that morning, but even so, a few boys had managed to see her.
That alone was enough to cause a stir.
The news spread like a virus.
It did not take long for everyone to learn that Fleur was now working as a medical worker at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, caring for patients in Hogwarts' temporary hospital.
At lunchtime, Ron sat at the Gryffindor table, chewing on a beef pie while cutting into a beef leg with a knife and fork. He chattered away without restraint.
"I really wish I could catch a cold right now. Then she might have to take care of me."
"You might have to get one of your legs amputated first."
Hermione replied sarcastically.
"If we can bring her back, it would be worth it."
Ron said it without the slightest shame.
"Mrs. Weasley might hear that and actually break your legs first."
However, the wish was beautiful.
Unfortunately, to everyone's disappointment, Fleur did not appear at lunchtime.
She seemed to know that her appearance would cause another riot.
That was not what she wanted.
She was there only as a nurse.
Seeing patients groaning in pain made her feel inexplicably sad.
Although the work was difficult, she seemed to have gradually come to understand that some things in this world could be both painful and joyful.
As for those burning gazes, something that might once have been a source of boredom and amusement could now simply be ignored.
"Mr. Moody, your injuries have mostly healed."
Fleur spoke formally.
The hospital ward was filled with the smell of disinfectant.
Moody lay on a hospital bed beneath a thin blanket, wearing a blue-and-white striped hospital gown. His scarred face no longer looked as fierce as usual. Instead, he appeared pale and somewhat weak.
"After a period of rest, you should be able to undergo the surgery."
"The prosthetic leg is almost completely ruined. Of course, that's not the only injury I've suffered, but it's a miracle I wasn't bitten."
Fleur's gaze remained on the medical record in front of her as she made notes, speaking to Moody as she worked.
"The next step is the surgery."
Fleur nodded and casually slipped the quill she had been using into her front pocket.
"Mr. Moody, what material would you like for your prosthetic leg? We have peach wood, apple wood, walnut, rosewood, and so on. You previously used elm, which is relatively hard…"
Fleur stood beside Moody's hospital bed and asked the questions with practiced ease.
"You decide."
Mad-Eye Moody sounded impatient, his eyes closed.
"Then let's use elm again. Although it may be slightly harder, you'll probably be more comfortable with something you're already accustomed to. What do you think, sir?"
"I'm a professional at catching Dark Wizards and dangerous creatures. You're the professionals when it comes to healing people."
"I don't like interfering in areas I'm not good at."
Although he intended to express his trust in the medical staff, Moody's tone was somewhat anxious.
Perhaps he had been lying in bed for too long and was beginning to feel bored.
This was supposed to be the time when he was needed.
He suddenly coughed several times.
"Sorry."
Moody apologised abruptly, seemingly aware that his response had sounded impatient.
"It's no trouble at all. It's what I should do."
Fleur replied politely before turning to leave the ward and begin planning the surgery.
"It's not because of that."
Moody sat up, shifting from lying flat to leaning against the headboard. His gaze remained fixed on Fleur, whether through his ordinary eye or his magical, all-seeing eye.
Fleur, however, felt no unease.
She had committed no crime and had no reason to fear punishment.
As for disgust?
She had seen countless things far more disgusting over the past few days.
Her inner strength had already been forged into something formidable.
"It's the same problem I mentioned before. As an Auror, I didn't even realise…"
Moody began bringing up the matter of the Goblet of Fire.
"I don't remember anything about it, sir. If that's what you're asking about, it would be better to discuss it after my memory returns."
Fleur shrugged gracefully, smiled, and then left the ward.
She sat down on a bench outside, removed her other white glove, rubbed her temples, and drifted into memories from not long before.
It had happened near the end of the holiday…
The sky had been dark, and the clouds looked like layers of cotton candy sprinkled with ink, rolling endlessly across the heavens.
A herd of sturdy Abraxan horses stood in orderly rows, pulling the carriages. Their wings beat steadily as they flew through the sky, weaving between the clouds and gliding through the air, their agile forms carrying them swiftly towards Britain.
Most of the patients were asleep inside the carriage.
The Abraxans flew so smoothly that the passengers barely felt any turbulence, ensuring their comfort throughout the journey.
Almost all the decorative furnishings inside the carriage had been removed because they took up valuable space.
Only a chandelier remained to provide lighting.
Numerous wide blue-and-white striped cloths had been supported by iron frames, forming a series of cubicles for hospital beds.
Near the fireplace on one side, a small coffee table and two chairs had been placed in a relatively empty area.
After settling the final patient, Fleur covered her mouth and yawned softly before sitting down on a round stool beside the coffee table.
Madame Maxime was already sitting in one of the chairs waiting for her.
Her towering figure forced her to bend forward and awkwardly fold her long legs just to fit into the chair.
On the round coffee table, steam rose from the spout of a rough pottery teapot, while the aroma of tea gradually filled the entire room.