Chapter Text
📌 Important Notice
The Harry Potter universe, its characters, and core elements belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is inspired by that universe. All original characters, plotlines, dialogue, and creative ideas belong to the author (me). This is not an official continuation of the original work.
Back to Hogwarts
H-POV (Harry Potter)
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had slipped behind us half an hour ago. The Hogwarts Express swayed with a rhythmic clatter, and the corridor buzz slowly turned into easy conversations. Across from me, Ron rummaged through a packet of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans while I held a thick, leather-bound book on my lap.
Gold letters on the cover gleamed in the light spilling through the window: Encyclopedia of Legendary and Rare Magical Creatures. The page showed a delicate illustration of a hippogriff; the feathers were so finely drawn it looked ready to lift off the paper.
Ron sniffed and snapped the packet shut.
“Harry, are you studying even during the holidays? We’re going to have plenty of excitement this year, and you’re still counting feathers.”
I turned the page.
“It’s not just feathers. Here’s the Nemean Lion… its hide can’t be pierced, not even by magic.”
Hermione leaned in, curious.
“Really? There are very few reliable records of that species; most are legendary.”
Ron grumbled.
“Brilliant. We’ve started on legends before we’ve even reached school.”
The door slid open; Fred and George slipped in, wearing their familiar mischievous grins.
“There’s our little brother,” Fred said. “Already in academic mode.”
George offered a box. “We’ll balance you out with sweets.”
We laughed. With them, I never felt like “The Famous Harry Potter”—I felt like family.
As the train neared Hogsmeade, the air turned crisp. On the platform, breaths misted to fog. Hagrid’s booming voice rolled over the crowd:
“First years this way!”
We, like the other upper years, headed for the carriages up to the castle. They seemed to be pulled by something invisible, trundling steadily over the stone track. Then, at the edge of the dark, a shape stirred; within the drift of mist I glimpsed bony, bat-winged horses—thestrals—outlined in a dim, uncanny gleam.
For a heartbeat, ice slipped through my veins. I had first seen them in third year, on the way to school. That day, no one else had noticed a thing; not Ron, not Hermione. Later, in the library, the pages whispered their name soon enough: thestral. The line beneath it had branded itself into my mind: “Visible only to those who have witnessed death.” In the margin, in my own hand, a shaky note still lived: “I witnessed Professor Quirrell’s death in first year.” The cold of that night seemed to return to my palms.
Fred nudged me.
“Mooning over magical vistas again, Harry?”
“No,” I said, pulling myself back. “It’s just… good to be home.”
Hermione arched a brow.
“We’ll discuss the carriages’ ‘invisible pullers’ later.”
Ron leaned on Fred’s shoulder.
“Romance ends the moment we hit the Great Hall.”
The doors opened; torchlight painted moving shadows across the stone walls. We slid onto the Gryffindor benches. The Sorting Hat kept it short and clever, and when the last new student sat, the platters filled. While Ron built pyramids on his plate, Hermione bent toward me.
“You brought your Ancient Runes notebook, didn’t you?”
“I did,” I said, brushing the flap of my bag.
When the feast ended, Dumbledore rose.
“My dear students, this year our school has the honor of hosting the Triwizard Tournament. After four centuries, it returns. Only those who are seventeen or older may apply.”
A wave of noise rippled through the hall.
“There must be a way around that,” Fred muttered to George.
“Two ways,” George murmured back, grinning. “And I can already see both.”
“I think it’s a terrible idea,” I thought, “inviting people into knowingly deadly tasks…”
Hermione hissed at Ron,
“He said deadly.”
Fred whispered,
“Watching isn’t deadly.”
Dumbledore lifted a hand and the hall quieted.
“And now,” he said, “allow me to introduce this year’s Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher: Professor Alastor Moody.”
The door banged open. A scarred man in a battered cloak limped in, wooden leg thumping with each step. His magical eye revolved independently, sweeping the tables; for a second, it fixed on us. That look alone dimmed the whispers.
As the feast broke up, I approached Professor McGonagall as she gathered her parchments at the staff table.
“Professor, may I have a moment?”
“Yes, Potter? On the very first night…”
“I’d like to drop Divination.”
“And what will you take instead?”
“Ancient Runes.”
Her mouth thinned.
“Ancient Runes is chosen in third year. To rejoin at fourth, you must first pass a proficiency exam.”
“I studied all summer,” I said, offering my notebook.
A ghost of a smile touched her lips.
“Your diligence is impressive. Tomorrow morning after breakfast, I’ll hold a short exam in a side room. If you pass, you may take Ancient Runes; if not, you remain in Divination.”
“Understood. Thank you, Professor.”
The Next Morning — Breakfast
Owls swept beneath the ceiling and dropped The Daily Prophet onto the tables. The headline sprawled in enormous type:
A NEW CRAZE IN THE WIZARDING WORLD!
“MARAUDERS INC.” MIRRORS ARE BREAKING SALES RECORDS
Developed by Marauders Inc., the new Dual-Faced Magical Mirrors are ushering in an age of video communication. The unnamed creators say the product is being rapidly adopted in both education and daily life.
Magical Features
— Dual faces: one side a normal mirror, the other transmits images.
— Encrypted pairing: only paired mirrors can see each other.
— Memory crystal: calls can be recorded and replayed.
— Enchanted frames: customizable with personal motifs.
Price & Demand
— Standard model: 10 Gelleons
— Memory-crystal model: 14 Gelleons
— Themed frame add-on: +2 Gelleons
Note: At Hogwarts, live broadcasting and recording are permitted only with administrative approval for safety and privacy reasons.
I set the paper down and glanced at Fred and George. A glint of satisfaction they couldn’t quite hide flickered in their eyes.
“Bit pricey,” Ron said.
Hermione lifted a shoulder.
“Worth it if it works.”
Rune Proficiency Exam — Morning
Professor McGonagall led me into a quiet classroom. Heavy books, parchment, and quills waited on the desk.
“This will not be brief,” she said. “Translation first, then symbol meanings, and a small practical at the end.”
“I’m ready.”
I translated the three-line runic text from a drawing of an old stone tablet. She tapped sigils in turn, and I recited where they were used. Finally, I sketched the sequence for a simple ward—circle, bind, lock—each mark in its place.
She nodded.
“Not bad, Potter. Better than I expected. I’ll let you know before day’s end.”
Lunch — Common Room and Great Hall
At lunch we found Fred and George; their eyes were telling more than words.
“They’ve told stories about Moody for years,” Fred murmured. “He teaches you to stare into the dark without blinking.”
“Which means we are not missing that lesson,” George added.
Ron checked his schedule.
“Our Defence class is on Thursday.”
“We’ll be ready,” Hermione said.
— TIME SKIP —
Thursday — Defence Against the Dark Arts
Three jars stood at the front of the room; something unsettling squirmed inside each. Moody thumped his staff.
“The real danger isn’t how they look—what they do is what matters.”
On the first specimen he demonstrated Cruciatus; we flinched at the pitched, needle-fine agony. On the second, he showed Imperius—how a will could be turned into a toy; a puppet danced, then hung upside down, all on command. Laughter sputtered and died.
“You might find this funny,” he said, “but you can tell someone on a bridge to jump… and they will.”
Then, with a cold green flash, he demonstrated Avada Kedavra; the thing inside the third jar fell instantly, lifeless.
“Using any of these earns you life in Azkaban,” he said. “I’m not telling you to scare you. I’m telling you to keep you alive.”
When we spilled into the corridor, no one spoke at first.
“That’s going on my ‘most unforgettable’ list,” Fred whispered.
Ron worried his lip.
“I’ve never had a class like that.”
As Hermione gathered her notes, she murmured,
“And I hope we never need it in practice.”
— TIME SKIP —
Late October — Arrival of the Visiting Schools
By late afternoon the courtyard steamed with fogged breaths and murmurs braided into the wind.
“Look!” Hermione said.
From the clouds, a colossal sky-blue carriage drifted down. The Abraxans drawing it swept their broad wings with metallic glints; they landed with a soft, heavy thud. I stood, spellbound—perfectly trained. The door opened; Madame Maxime appeared, and the Beauxbatons students descended with polished grace.
At that moment, a low roar rolled from the lake; the surface heaved, and a weed-clad, black ship rose from the water. Drops streamed from its masts; on the deck, students in heavy coats stood in ranks, their breath fogging in the chill. Igor Karkaroff led them. Durmstrang had arrived.
Dumbledore opened his arms to welcome the guests, and together we moved toward the castle. Torches threw warm light over blue capes; heavy boots echoed on stone.
When the Great Hall doors opened, the enchanted ceiling poured the evening sky and stars inside. Beauxbatons settled near the Ravenclaw side, Durmstrang near Slytherin. The golden platters filled in an instant.
A moment later, a graceful girl stopped at our table; her accent was musical.
“Excuse me, may I have that fish stew—the bouillabaisse?”
Ron’s fork froze in midair; his eyes went huge.
“Of course,” I said calmly, passing the dish. She thanked us and moved on. Ron still hadn’t moved.
“You all right?” I whispered.
“Who… was that?”
“Beauxbatons, I think,” I said. Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled.
When the desserts cleared, Dumbledore stood.
“Dear guests and students,” he said, his voice ringing from stone to stone, “by the rules of the Triwizard Tournament, the impartial judge who will select the champions is the Goblet of Fire. It will be placed in the entrance hall tonight. You may submit your name on a slip of parchment. Applications will remain open until tomorrow night. The Goblet will weigh all entries and choose the one it deems most suitable. Its decision is final. The age limit is seventeen; protective enchantments will be in place.”
The rear door creaked; Filch dragged in a heavy oak chest with blackened brass corners. With a single touch, Dumbledore released the locks; the lid lifted, and a polished, carved goblet appeared. He set it on a three-legged stand. After a beat of silence, a cold blue flame blossomed within—restless despite the still air.
At our table, the twins’ eyes lit again.
“Age line, age line…” Fred muttered.
“It can be beaten,” George said with absolute certainty. “We only need a little brainstorming.”
I watched the flame, and a thought slid through me: No year has ever been the same for me. But this year… this year felt different.