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Inside the side hall designated for the Alchemy competition, ti ticked by in an atmosphere thick with tension following Mada Maxi's announcent to begin.
Once the initial hush of the opening ceremony faded, the Beauxbatons students in the audience began to relax. The stiff formality evaporated, replaced by the low hum of whispered conversations.
Let's be honest, watching alchemy as a spectator wasn't exactly thrilling.
There was the repetitive grinding of ingredients during the prep phase, the agonizing waits during purification, and the seemingly monotonous channeling of magic during the synthesis...
The real entertainnt for the audience lay in watching the competitors themselves—their deanor, the fleeting expressions of panic when they made a mistake, and the subtle stylistic differences between the schools.
It was a welco distraction from their own heavy academic pressures.
At the judges' table, however, the professors were laser-focused on the technical details.
Seated to Mada Maxi's right was the Beauxbatons Alchemy professor, Laurent Rosier.
He appeared to be in his fifties, with silver-gray hair combed back ticulously to reveal a broad, stern forehead. His face was angular and defined, but it was his pale blue eyes that drew attention—calm, analytical, and currently sweeping over every move made by the six competitors below.
Laurent's family shared a common ancestry with the Rosier line in the British wizarding world, though his branch had settled in France generations ago. He was of the sa bloodline as Vinda Rosier, one of Grindelwald's most loyal acolytes.
However, Laurent's path had clearly diverged from that of his infamous relative. He had steered clear of those political storms, dedicating his life entirely to the mysteries and teaching of Alchemy.
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During the early stages of the competition, the students' handling of basic materials was largely identical, so Laurent watched with a passive expression.
But as the prep work finished and the competitors entered the core transmutation phase, his gaze sharpened. This was the mont where true skill and foundational knowledge were revealed.
Although Laurent firmly believed that Beauxbatons' alchemy curriculum was the pinnacle of magical education in Continental Europe—perhaps even the world—he maintained the mindset of a scholar. He viewed this Tri-Wizard exchange as a rare window of opportunity to closely observe the teaching standards and styles of two other ancient institutions: Hogwarts and Durmstrang.
His eyes drifted from one competitor to the next.
The Durmstrang students used solid, perhaps a bit rough-around-the-edges techniques, heavily flavored with utilitarianism. The two students from his own school, Beauxbatons, moved with thodical fluidity, embodying the elegance and standardization the school prided itself on.
Then, his gaze landed on the boy at the alchemy station on the far left.
"Huh."
Professor Rosier let out a barely audible sound of surprise, a flicker of astonishnt passing through his pale blue eyes.
He rembered this student well—Lucien Grafton, the Hogwarts champion, and the youngest competitor in the tournant.
In the previous two written exams, this boy had passed with shocking perfect scores.
The first exam, covering the basics, was understandable. But the second exam had been jointly crafted by the alchemy professors of all three schools. Many of the questions covered obscure knowledge well beyond the scope of a standard school curriculum, designed specifically to test a student's raw talent and the depth of their extra-curricular reading.
Yet, Lucien had answered every single one correctly. That alone had been unexpected.
But now, witnessing Lucien's practical technique, Laurent felt a more tangible sense of shock.
It was... a very Classical technique.
While knowledge and technology in the magical world were constantly accumulating and developing, there was a prevailing school of thought among scholars: Old Magic is Strong Magic.
Many techniques and philosophies handed down from antiquity had faded from common use, not because they were inferior, but because they were obscure, dangerous, or required an absurdly high level of natural talent.
Modern magical education prioritized accessibility, safety, and efficiency. As a result, many ancient skills—powerful and exquisitely complex—had beco the exclusive domain of a few old families or the occasional prodigy.
To Laurent, who had imrsed himself in alchemy for decades, Lucien's rhythm and hand movents clearly didn't belong to any modern, standardized textbook.
It was more concise. The way he flowed his magic at the junction points was archaic, and his utilization of the materials' essential properties felt incredibly "bold"—bordering on luxurious.
The most critical part? relying on his own vast experience, Laurent couldn't find a single fault. The entire process was seamless—fluid and natural, with a precision in magical control that was frankly jaw-dropping.
A twelve or thirteen-year-old boy possessing such profound attainnt in practical alchemy?
It defied logic. Had Hogwarts' alchemy instruction reached such a terrifyingly high level? Or was this boy simply a massive anomaly?
Confused, Laurent shifted his gaze to the other Hogwarts competitor in the sa row, a student nad Ryman Selwyn.
Ryman's technique was what Laurent would call the "Textbook Model Student"—disciplined, stable, with certain handling details that betrayed the heritage of an old British Pure-blood family. Among his peers, he was undoubtedly excellent.
Unfortunately for Ryman, comparison is the thief of joy.
When placed right next to Lucien's effortless, historically rich artistry, Ryman's solid performance looked dull by comparison.
Lucien didn't look like he was competing; he looked like he was giving a masterclass demonstration.
After a mont of silence, Laurent leaned slightly to the side. Addressing the Hogwarts faculty lead seated on his left, he asked in a low but distinct voice:
"Professor Shafiq, if I may ask... does your school tailor its curriculum specifically to each individual student's traits? Because the disparity in teaching thods seems... extre."
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