Hogwarts had never looked more magnificent than it did in those October days when the castle waited for its guests. The towers seemed to stand a little taller and the suits of armor in the corridors gleamed like newly polished silver. Outside, owls wheeled through the sky, and the air was thick not just with excitement, but with something older, something ancient that stirred in the stone itself, as if magic had awoken from a long slumber.

The Beauxbatons carriage arrived first—a vast, shimmering crystal coach drawn by a dozen winged horses the size of elephants. It floated down through the clouds like a dream, settling gently on the grounds as if guided by some unseen hand. The students who emerged looked as though they'd stepped out of a fairytale: elegant, glowing, each one draped in an invisible veil of perfume and poise.

Then the Black Lake trembled, and from its depths rose the shadowed ship of Durmstrang. It surfaced like a sea monster of old, and even the water seemed to shy away from its creaking hull. The students who descended were silent, with the hard glint of steel in their eyes.

Two days passed in a flurry of excitement. Students whispered, observed, and speculated. Who would be chosen? What tasks would the champions face? And, most pressingly: who would prove worthy?

Then came the night of the Selection.

The Great Hall, aglow with candlelight and buzzing with conversation, quieted to a breathless hush. In the center of the room, atop a stone pedestal, the Goblet of Fire blazed with blue-white flames. Its crackle seemed louder than the chatter had been.

One by one, names flew forth in bursts of sparks and heat:

Viktor Krum. Fleur Delacour. Cedric Diggory.

Applause broke like thunder. Students stood, craning to see the chosen ones. The air shimmered with excitement. But then the flames flared again.

This time, the fire shot higher, licking the enchanted ceiling. A fourth piece of parchment spiraled into the air before drifting down like ash.

Harry Potter.

Silence struck the hall like a hex. Harry stood slowly, pale with disbelief. He hadn't entered his name. He wasn't of age. But the Goblet had spoken.

Before the whispers could even grow into accusations, the flames erupted once more.

A final parchment flew forth, hovering for a heartbeat before falling at the foot of the Goblet.

Your name.

For a long moment, no one moved. Your name echoed in the minds of everyone in the hall.