"Good morning!"

Persepolis Zephyr paused as the small fleet of Global Gramaphones translated her words into three languages.  "Bonjour!" "Guten Morgen!" "God morgen!"

She smiled.  This was just too much fun.   Spread out before her were a couple hundred students.  She could see Durmstrang easily, sat straight up in robes of brightest red.  And Beauxbatons in shimmering blue.  And both Hogwarts and Salem looking solemn and bold in their greys and blacks.  Now, they were all separated, sitting together in sections, but by the time the year was out, they'd be mingling in an amazing show of brother- and sisterhood. 

"It is my great pleasure to welcome you all to Hogsmeade, Britain's oldest totally Wizarding Village, and home of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"  She swept her arm wide towards the north where the castle's silhouette rose into the sky.

"My name is Persepolis Zephyr and it is my profound honor to introduce the Headteachers of our fine institutions.  Our four schools stand peerless in the world and I have no doubt that all of us will be champions before long.  Champions of friendship! Champions of academic excellence! Champions of the power of magic in our worlds!"

"I encourage you, dear students, to share with each other and also listen.  Overcome the challenges that might hold you apart and unite in this legendary display of our prowess and skill.   And finally?"

"Good luck!"

Amid applause, Persepolis bowed her head a few times before opening her arms to the next speaker. 

Herschel's dress robes were a dark shade of plum, freshly pressed and newly tailored for the event. The gold of his pocket watch chain glistened against the dark shade of his waistcoat. He smiled softly at Persepolis' sweeping gesture, taking center stage as the new headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was his job to make sure that the world saw Hogwarts as unshakable, a difficult task in the tumultuous time of having their former headmistress go missing and having no deputy head or suitable staff to replace her.

He paused as he took his place, scanning the crowds. The gramaphones popped and crackled like old record players, waiting for words to translate.

"It is my honor to address all of you- Hogwarts student and faculty, our esteemed visitors, my soon to be colleagues as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. This tournament is a great tradition in the world of magic, the best institutions bringing their brightest pupils to compete against one another in the hopes of being crowned Champion- seizing the glory and the legacy for themselves, their institution, and their country. Never before in the history of this tournament has there been four schools- and never before in its history have they come together in such a unique and special way."

Herschel paused for a moment, wetting his lips, and looking toward the castle in the background. "In the past the greatest minds have come together yet remained separate. Durmstrang living in their grand ship in the lake, Beauxbatons remaining in the comforts of their carriage, Salem inhabiting their dirigibles- but not this year!" The tone of his voice suddenly jumped from monotonous to excited. "Over the course of the summer many renovations have been made to the halls of Hogwarts. Room has been made for all students and staff to reside in her halls. Dormitories constructed for each of our visiting schools, housing for our visiting faculty and staff, and a common room accessible to all houses and visitors."

"This tournament is going to revolutionize the standards of all future champion competitions. Students will be living and learning alongside one another. Direct exposure to culture, language, and new techniques of teaching. Each and every one of us will be a part of a new and exciting chapter in the history of wizarding education and standards."

"Beauxbatons Academy brings to us some of the most advanced and envied spell-casters, witches and wizards whose wandwork is unrivaled. Durmstrang with it's rigorous standards and emphasis on personal responsibility is truly a world apart from most which we see. Salem Institute is truly magnificent with it's forward and progressive stance on the incorporation and bond between students of all blood backgrounds- and has the best sense of team work and unity seen, especially among its many sports teams. Hogwarts has advanced greenhouses, a deep connection to traditional wizarding ways, and a touch of nostalgia of what once was... And all of this under one roof for an entire school year."

Herschel paused again for effect- hoping that everyone could see the benefits in the changes to the tournament, see how revolutionary it really was, and appreciate the strides they were making in one simple event. "It is my honor to serve as Headmaster throughout this illustrious and unmatched event. It is my honor to welcome the fellow heads as colleagues- Headmistress of Beauxbatons Victoire Bisclavret, Headmaster of Durmstrang Auberon Eisenburg, and Headmaster of Salem Witches Institute Ferreole LeBeau. I look forward to learning from each of you, and look forward to what the brightest student minds the world has ever seen will have to offer."

He stepped back then, giving the stage to whoever wished to speak next. He felt very, very good about the way things were going to go this year. There would not be any tragedy as there was in the past, no deaths or blood on their hands. The only things this tournament would be responsible for would be education and cultural growth.

Victoire listened to Herschel Reid's words intently, or at least appeared to be doing so. Long blonde locks were meticulously curled (not too bouffant, but not too loose) and the large, voluptuous woman was quite a sight to behold. A start opposite to the lithe and slender girls of Beauxbatons, she held some form of strange, foreign beauty; few women held such a notable countenance, and many a man had fallen for the Headmistress's charm and wit.

Two lace-gloved hands clapped delicately as the leader of Hogwarts finished his speech, giving a few nods of approval. He was well-spoken enough, and a fine orator. It was nice to see some finesse from her fellow headteachers. Taking to her feet, Victoire took a deep breath, proceeding to the pulpit and placing both palms on its flat, smooth surface. A magnificent golden brooch was fastened to the lapel of her blazer, glistening slightly as it caught an odd ray of November sunshine; it was in the form of a hummingbird, charmed to flutter embellished, jewel-adorned wings.

"To our brothers of Hogwarts, our cousins of Durmstrang, and to our friends of Salem, may I say on behalf of Beauxbatons Academy what an honour it is to be representing the fine and talented students of France. Never did I once think that I, Victoire Bisclavret, would be stood here at the TetraWizard Tournament - it is a first for all of us, I'm sure."

She paused, giving a pre-meditated smile. This speech had been planned for months, every detail, every expression, every gesture.

"What a fine opportunity for co-operation between schools, for learning through competition. There is much to absorb, both in culture and skill, and there is something that every institution present can offer. At Beauxbatons, we pride ourselves on etiquette and grace, wandwork and charm, and I urge all students to take advantage of the specialities we bring, as I urge my own mentees to embrace the skills of foreign schools with gusto and gratitude. It is unfortunate that the history of the tournament has been blighted by unfortunate circumstance, and tragedy, but let us commemorate such sadness with a games the world has yet to see; let our champions be inspirational, leaders in their field, and paragons of all the codes and prestige each school possesses. What better way to memorialise such woes than by a solid strive for excellence, a strive for achievement and a strive for improvement."

Tapping her nails on the pulpit in mock thought, Victoire nodded once more, smiling outwardly to the many faces staring at hers.

"I shall keep this short and simple, however, and applaud all those that helped organise and formulate this grand competition; without the countless people working behind the scenes, we simply could not participate in such a feat. And as for our own Beauxbatons team? I'll leave the boasting to my students. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen."

Ferreole LeBeau looked a bit, perhaps, like the living manifestation of purple. Or possibly as though every scrap of purple fabric to have been rejected from a crazyquilt in his 98 years had found a home on his person for this day. His robes shimmered in every shade—from orchid to eggplant, from palest lavender to periwinkle. Patches of neon fuschia, violet, magenta, thistle, royal purple, and grape winked at the world with every tiny movement, patched together in an absurdity of silver and black thread that sparkled when it caught the light, and rustled in way that was not quite natural. They had done so, in the faint wind, as he had listened with somber eyes and silence to the speakers before him, with the occasional grunts and nods that suggested he was either listening, or nodding off and catching himself snoring. On his head was a monstrosity that trumped even his robes. A patchwork absurdity like his robes, it had the addition of streamers of silver fluttered madly in the faint wind as he stood an moved to the podium, ending in tassels that were crimson red, palest sky blue, and quad-colored of red, green, blue and yellow with bells that jangled like cheers.

"Hate speeches. Waste o’ time! ACTION," He banged his knobbly for emphasis, and its echo rang through the global gramaphones like a crack of thunder. "Be de way t'say sommat." He then folded his hands on top of the knobbly stick that served as his cane, low, rumbly voice silent for a moment as his deep brown eyes surveyed the fidgety, quiet crowd of black, purple, red and blue. "Jou all be 'ere a 'cause jou be representin' the best o' our future. So ACT like it." With a snarled ‘hmph’, he turned almost to leave the podium and then paused, nodding gallantly to Zephyr and Reid, adding in a far more amiable tone, "Good o' jou to have us. Wetter'na sock in a swimming pool, but mighty fine t'be 'ere." He whirled back to the podium, peg leg peeking out from the robes, raising his cane like a sword and shoving it towards the crowd, pointing at all of them. "ACTION." Satisfied, he nodded, lowered the knobbly stick and clumped again to his seat, but not before the gleefully proud, mistily fond smile burst onto his face with a wry chuckle the magiphone couldn’t quite catch.

Eisenberg was the last one of the Headmasters to speak; and as the others had barely made speeches at all, in his opinion, that gave him plenty of time to tell the children what, frankly, had been left unsaid by the others. Friendship and peace was all well and good - even useful - but this was not a time to be emphasizing that and that alone.

He strode to the podium without a moment's hesitation, gripping the edges of it in a whiteknuckle'd grip, and looked out upon the assembled multitude, his eyes darting to a fro; here he looked proudly upon his Obertiels, there his gaze narrowed as the ladies of Beauxbatons fussed with their hair...

"This event," he said, his booming voice enhanced by the speakers, "Is indeed historical in its organisation and in its significance. Shall we not acknowledge our more modern peers, who for the first time have joined us? Let us hope this leads to great things." He nodded to Ferreole, and then his eyes shot to the students. "But all that, to you, is simply talk."

"You are but children," he said, "And yet you must bear the responsibility of representing your schools at such an event. You have been chosen - by your breeding, in some cases; in others, by your position in life or via your talents. It does not matter why you were brought here. In the end, all of you have been brought here by fate; and those who ignore its call and allow themselves to become complacent shall reap nothing - their lives shall continue unchanged, their chance wasted."

Eisenberg's rich tones rolled across the crowd, and he automatically straightened up, his chest puffing out as he continued. "There are times in the lives of all men when opportunity strikes, when the path to fortune opens itself. It is to those who fail to see these times at all - that hear the call and do not heed it - that we must direct our pity and scorn. See this for what it is - a chance in your life for fame, for fortune, for you to rise above what made you! Grasp it, and do not let it go."

He continued on for some time in this vein, his eyes not on his own students, who knew these things, but on the others - the French, with their delicate sensibilities; the Americans, with their upstart attitudes; and most of all, the children from Hogwarts. He looked to them last, and turned slightly - indicating he was speaking to them.

"But you, perhaps, have the hardest time; you have not been selected for any great quality you possess. None of you know who will be chosen by the Goblet - and from your multitude,  fate may pluck the most incompetent, the most pathetic, and make him your Champion in this - and thus doom you. For that reason, you of us all must steel yourselves for this event, must summon your courage and master your destiny. Your school has had its difficulties. You can fall with them and surrender to your foes, or you can rise above them - the choice is in your hands, now. But even as I wish you luck...I cannot offer you mercy."

His shoulders steeled, and he looked proudly to his own students, in their regal red coats and elegant dresses. They outshone the crowd in their stature and presentation, and he smiled broadly for a moment. "All of our schools have their strengths and weaknesses, and each of ours shall be tested in turn. I have seen your weaknesses; what remains to be seen is if you can overcome them in time."

Auberon thudded his fist on the podium and strode away, his metal staff thudding loudly on the wood of the stage.