Professor Caesar, you can't be serious," McGonagall said dryly, raising an eyebrow. "Of all the grand entrances we could make, you're suggesting we hop on a Muggle bus?"
In the Hogwarts staff room, the professors sat around the long table, joined by the Headmaster and his deputy, deep in discussion about the upcoming Inter-School Quidditch Tournament at Beauxbatons—now only a weeks time away.
The fireplace kept the staff room warm, but it wasn't the flames causing the heat.
McGonagall had a plan—something bold, theatrical, the kind of entrance that would make every other school whisper about Hogwarts.
Maverick, however, had suggested something very different.
Muggle transportation. Trains, planes... maybe even a cruise ship. That was Maverick's proposal—to let the students experience the Muggle way of getting around. Besides, who said you couldn't be flashy without tearing a hole in space?
He received mixed comments—some supported, a few stayed neutral, and the rest disagreed. The debate dragged on for a while until Dumbledore decided it was time to settle things democratically.
"Shall we put it to a vote?" he proposed. "Travel by Muggle means, as Professor Caesar suggests... or do we go with Professor McGonagall's idea and arrive in magical carriages... complete with Thestrals, emerging from a spatial rift at Beauxbatons' front gates?"
Hands went up around the table. And by a narrow margin—just one vote—Maverick's proposal won.
Even Snape had raised his hand in Maverick's favor, to his quiet astonishment. He couldn't quite figure out what had crossed the brooding bat's mind, but he didn't bother to ask.
Dumbledore looked at him with that familiar twinkle in his eye. "I do support giving our students a taste of the Muggle world's means of transportation," he said warmly. "But I'd rather not have Hogwarts seem too... ordinary, either. You understand, of course."
Maverick nodded with an unreadable smile. If you want me to flex, old man, just say so.
"Completely," he replied aloud, and Dumbledore's eyes sparkled in return.
Whatever passed between the two of them, the rest of the staff missed it. But Dumbledore knew exactly what Maverick was capable of when it came to spectacle.
Maverick turned to McGonagall and said, "Well, Professor, I think we'll need to hold a separate meeting of our own."
She raised an eyebrow, still a little stiff from being outvoted, but gave a curt nod. At the very least, she'd gathered from that last exchange that things weren't going to be as dull as she had thought.
---
Over the next few days, Hogwarts was practically humming with excitement. News had spread like wildfire that the Quidditch team and the supporting group of students weren't heading to Paris in enchanted carriages or via any magical means at all.
They were flying. On a Muggle airplane, of all things.
Naturally, this sparked debate across the castle. Some students thought it was brilliant. "Dead fun," the Weasley twins declared, already imagining the chaos. Others scoffed at the idea. Why on earth would anyone pick a metal tube with wings over a perfectly good Portkey?
Still, the decision had been made, and now preparations were in full swing.
On Friday morning, Maverick, Coach Steven, and Professor McGonagall gathered the group and led them through the bustling halls of Heathrow Airport. For most of the students—aside from a few Muggle-borns—it was a completely new experience.
Wide-eyed and full of wonder, the young witches and wizards gawked at the endless streams of travelers, the conveyor belts swallowing luggage, and the glowing screens flashing unfamiliar codes and distant cities. A few tried to maintain their composure, but it was impossible to hide the awe that crept into their expressions.
Their excitement only grew when they stepped onto the tarmac and saw what was waiting for them.
A sleek, heavily customized A330 stood proudly under the morning sun, its polished surface gleaming like a metallic beast ready to take flight. But what truly stole their breath was the paintwork.
The body was a deep midnight blue, with the Hogwarts crest boldly displayed on the tail. Along the fuselage, four banners stretched toward the wings, each representing a house—scarlet and gold for Gryffindor, green and silver for Slytherin, blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, and yellow and black for Hufflepuff. It was truly, a sight to behold.
And just below the cockpit, in elegant gold script, the words Hogwarts Unity Flight were etched with care. Nothing about the aircraft screamed magic—but that wasn't what made it stand out. It was the sheer majesty of the plane itself. It radiated pride, the kind that turned heads and left a lasting impression.
Since it was a private flight, the students were allowed to roam about freely. They fiddled with buttons, adjusted their seat recliners, and pressed their noses to the windows as the sprawling city of London grew smaller beneath them. The hum of engines and the smooth pressure of take-off had most of them wide-eyed and grinning.
Some students spent the flight comparing it to wizarding travel, while others simply stared out the windows, mesmerized by the sight of the world from thirty thousand feet above. Food and snacks had been thoughtfully arranged, and somewhere between bites and sips, McGonagall took the opportunity to share a brief overview of the French magical world—their customs, their Ministry, and most importantly, Beauxbatons Academy.
---
The journey, supposedly, was to take about two and a half hours. They had left London just after sunrise, flying beneath a stretch of clear blue, and soon reached the edge of Paris, its elegant streets and old-world rooftops sprawling like a painting beneath them.
The students assumed they would be landing at the Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport—after all, that was the announcement they'd heard before takeoff. But when the plane soared straight past the city without even descending, a quiet ripple of confusion spread through the cabin.
The aircraft veered eastward, gliding above the sunlit rooftops and wide boulevards of Paris before the city gave way to open countryside. Farmland stretched out in neat patches, slowly blending into rolling hills and clusters of forest. The chatter faded as the students pressed their faces to the windows, watching the scenery shift. Roads thinned out, swallowed by thick woodland, and then—through a faint shimmer of mist—they spotted it.
Tucked away in a valley ringed by sharp mountain peaks and wrapped in layers of enchantment, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic appeared like something out of a dream. The graceful towers of its chateau gleamed in the sunlight, and the wide, spiraling grounds below looked so flawless they almost didn't seem real. The aircraft curved into a smooth loop overhead, giving everyone on board a stunning view they wouldn't forget.
At the helm of the plane, grinning to himself in the cockpit, was none other than Bucky Barnes. The former Winter Soldier wasn't just skilled in the art of assassination—he had plenty of other talents too. Piloting a passenger aircraft was hardly a challenge for him.
Maverick had filled him in before the trip—where to go, which route to take, what to do, and what to avoid—and Bucky had taken the job with more enthusiasm than expected.
After all, flying a plane to a secret wizarding school wasn't exactly your average assignment, and that made it all the more exciting.
For Maverick, it was also the perfect excuse to introduce Bucky to more of the magical world. And escorting a team of Hogwarts wizards to France in a Muggle jet was certainly one way to start.
As for airport security and the long list of clearances required for the Hogwarts team, that was never really a concern. Not when they had an Archmage on board who could cast illusions convincing enough to fool all five senses.
The only reason Maverick made everyone go through the motions was to give the students a taste of what it's like to cross borders in the Muggle world.
---
Some time earlier...
The grounds of Beauxbatons Academy were bathed in sunlight, the air crisp and cool as it swept down from the surrounding mountains. Below, the valley was alive with colour and sound. Rich tapestries floated between flagpoles, enchanted to billow gently in the breeze, while golden birds wheeled in slow circles overhead.
A long stretch of lawn had been transformed into a grand reception area. Tables, weighed down with delicious food and drink, lined the edges, while students from Durmstrang and Koldovstoretz mingled across the grass in their school robes.
Most of those who had visited Hogwarts the previous year were among the scattered crowd, already familiar with one another. As a result, the atmosphere was relaxed. The students from the visiting schools settled in easily, laughing and chatting animatedly, while others gathered in small, quiet circles.
The Quidditch pitch stood just a short distance away, empty for now. The real festivities—the opening ceremony and the first match—were scheduled for the afternoon. For the moment, it was only the welcome reception—for the schools to meet and settle in before the Tournament began.
At the head table, a few high-backed chairs were arranged on a raised platform, shaded by a wide canopy. Archmage Olympe Maxime sat at the center, draped in her fine robes, exuding authority and grace. To her left lounged the Dean of Koldovstoretz, while on her right sat Igor Karkaroff, the Durmstrang Headmaster.
The Dean of Koldovstoretz swirled his drink and spoke with a hint of impatience after the long wait. "That old man's taking his sweet time, isn't he?"
Karkaroff let out a soft, mocking chuckle. "If he's even coming. I've been told it's his deputy leading their lot..."
Maxime paid them no mind. She knew full well that neither of them—least of all Karkaroff—would dare speak so boldly if Dumbledore were actually present. Even if whispers claimed he was not in the best of condition, no one had yet dared to challenge the man's standing as the most powerful Archmage alive.
Not that it mattered to her. Whether Dumbledore came or not was of little concern. What she was truly waiting for... was someone else.
Setting down her goblet, she tilted her head back, gazing up into the bright, cloudless sky. There was nothing out of the ordinary—just an expanse of open blue, calm and still. Yet, her sharp eyes narrowed, and her fingers tapped once on the armrest of her chair.
Then, the corner of her lips curved up ever so slightly before she muttered softly, "They're here."
The other two followed her gaze, puzzled, seeing only the clear sky. But Maxime could feel it. Something... massive, had just entered the boundaries of her magical senses.
And then, a moment later...
VROOOM
Is that...
The three of them saw it, no—they heard it first. A deep, guttural roar rolled across the sky, starting as a distant grumble before swelling into a deafening crescendo. It was the unmistakable sound of a jet engine, loud and jarring, something that had no place in the quiet heart of a magical academy.
And then they saw it.
A mechanical behemoth burst into sight from behind the mountains, flying dangerously low, slicing through the sky like a steel arrow. It surged forward with relentless momentum, then swept over the school in a low, deliberate pass. Its wings tilted with eerie precision as it banked gracefully around one of Beauxbatons' tallest towers—like a predator in flight, casting its shadow over the gathering below.
Every head in the courtyard was tilted skyward now.
The massive aircraft, after its first slow pass, banked again—circling like a hawk surveying its prey. And this time, it was low enough that the lettering on the hull became unmistakable, bold and gleaming in the sunlight.
HOGWARTS!
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Murmurs turned to exclamations.
Finally, they had arrived.
But as the great behemoth thundered overhead, a single question settled in everyone's mind.
Unlike the British, the other schools weren't strangers to everyday Muggle technology. They knew exactly what they were looking at—an aircraft, monstrous, roaring with power. And that made the thought all the more urgent.
How in Merlin's name was that thing going to land?
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