After lunch, Eira and Fleur decided to step outside for a little time away from the bustling Great Hall. The sunlight was soft as they walked through the castle corridors, their hands occasionally brushing against each other.
As they turned a corner, Professor McGonagall appeared, her sharp eyes immediately finding Eira. "Ah, it's good to see you, Miss White," she said. "Please come to my office. Someone from the Ministry is waiting for you."
Eira tilted her head in surprise. "Who, Professor?"
"Ludo Bagman," McGonagall replied.
Eira nodded. "Very well, Professor. I will go see him now." She began walking, Fleur falling into step behind her.
McGonagall's gaze shifted toward Fleur. "Miss Delacour, I'm afraid you cannot accompany her."
Fleur raised her eyebrows. "Why not?"
Professor McGonagall sighed. "Mr. Bagman wishes to speak with Miss White about something regarding the competition. Since you are also a participant, it is not advised that you know the details."
Fleur's expression softened. "I see. Very well then. I will go check on Madam Maxime. We will speak later."
Eira smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Alright. We will talk later, Fleur." She then turned toward McGonagall's office and walked briskly inside.
The office was quiet, lined with bookshelves and stacks of parchment. Eira took a seat as Ludo Bagman entered, his usual boisterous energy filling the room.
"Miss White, good to see you!" Bagman greeted warmly, his round face breaking into a broad smile as he attempted his trademark charm. He rubbed his hands together as though he were about to share some delightful secret rather than something dangerous. "Now, let us get straight to it. The first task of the competition has been finalized. Dragons, Miss White. Real dragons. Enormous, unpredictable, and very dangerous."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice though his eyes still shone with excitement. "That is the challenge we have chosen. Dragons. The sort of spectacle that will have the entire crowd on the edge of their seats. But here lies the difficulty: we must move them to Scotland without the Muggle world catching so much as a whisper. It is no easy feat. Magical transport, concealment spells, expert handlers—every measure must be in place if this is to succeed."
Bagman chuckled, though there was a flicker of nerves in his tone. "Perilous, yes. Complicated, absolutely. Yet it will make for an unforgettable start to the Tournament. And it does mean that every champion, yourself as the judge included, will need to be ready for absolutely anything."
Eira raised a brow, her voice edged with disbelief. "Transfer dragons? From where, and how many?"
Bagman's smile widened, his tone almost triumphant. "Four. Four dragons for the four champions. Each one matched to a single competitor. They are being brought in from Romania, where the finest handlers in Europe have been keeping them under control." He rocked back on his heels, clearly pleased with the grandeur of it all.
Then he lowered his voice a touch, as though confiding a particularly juicy secret. "Now, originally we only planned for three. That was the arrangement from the beginning, as you can imagine. Three champions, three dragons, all very neat and tidy. But then, well, you saw what happened at the selection. Four names came out of the Goblet instead of three, and that changes everything. We had no choice but to bring in an additional dragon. One more beast added to the lot so that each champion will face one of their own."
He gave a little laugh that sounded far too cheerful for the subject. "It has been a bit of a scramble, truth be told, but nothing the Ministry and the handlers cannot manage. The important thing is that the balance is kept. Four champions, four dragons. Fair and square."
Eira blinked slowly, the words settling in her mind like cold iron. "So you are telling me that four full-grown dragons will be brought here. Four." Her tone was calm, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable. "And where is Barty Crouch? Surely he would have a hand in something of this magnitude."
Bagman's grin wavered, his cheer dimming for the first time. He cleared his throat and shuffled his weight. "Ah, yes, well. Poor old Barty has not been in the best of health lately. He has taken a step back from the more demanding parts of the job. Entrusted this particular task to me, actually. Said I had the energy for it." He gave a short laugh, but it rang hollow.
Eira leaned forward in her chair, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "And what, exactly, do you expect me to do in all of this?"
Bagman hesitated, his hand creeping up to scratch the back of his neck. His smile returned, though thinner and more strained than before. "Well, you see, the dragons will be transported from the reserve in Romania, which is no small operation. They require constant supervision, feeding, handling, that sort of thing. It is a massive undertaking, and the handlers can only do so much without support." He coughed lightly, glancing aside as though the walls themselves might judge him. "And then there is the matter of cost. The Ministry, you know how it is, a little strapped for funds at the moment. Budget committees, international agreements, endless paperwork—slows everything down."
He clasped his hands together in a nervous sort of plea. "So, if it were at all possible, your… assistance in the matter would be greatly appreciated. Discreetly, of course. Nothing official. Just… a contribution to keep the wheels turning."
Eira stared at him for a long, unbroken moment, her expression unreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice was cool and steady. "Short on funds? I have consistently donated to the Ministry. Every major event, every crisis, I have provided resources without hesitation. And now you come to me, suggesting I cover the costs again? Tell me, Mr. Bagman, are you attempting to take advantage of my youth or my supposed naivety?"
Bagman's face flushed scarlet, and a bead of sweat gathered at his temple. His hands flew up in a frantic wave, as though he could bat away her words. "No, no, nothing of the sort! You must not think that for a moment. I swear it is not like that at all." His laugh was high-pitched, nervous, the kind of sound that betrayed his guilt more than it concealed it.
He fidgeted with his sleeve, his tone dropping into an almost pleading earnestness. "The truth is, Minister Fudge himself mentioned your name. He suggested that you might be willing to assist, given your… reputation for generosity. But I assured him—honestly, I did—that it would be unwise to place yet another burden on your shoulders. This is not an order, Miss White, merely a recommendation. A possibility, should you feel inclined."
He offered a weak smile, trying to recapture his earlier charm. "You see, the Ministry is walking a fine line. There are eyes everywhere, waiting for a chance to call us incompetent. The dragons must be kept safe, the Tournament must proceed without scandal, and if all goes well, no one will ever know how difficult the logistics were. That is all I meant to say. Your support would be invaluable… but not demanded."
Eira's gaze did not soften. If anything, the silence that followed only made Bagman shift more uneasily in his seat. When she finally spoke, her words cut with precision. "Minister Fudge should remember that House White is not the Ministry's personal vault. I have given more than any other family in Britain. More than enough to stabilize institutions that would have collapsed without my aid. And yet, time and again, it is my name that surfaces whenever the Ministry finds itself in want."