After connecting with the Goblet of Fire, Dylan took a moment to feel its magic.
He had to admit, the Goblet's design was downright brilliant.
Using fire as the core of the entire ceremony was a stroke of genius.
Fire carried so many meanings.
It symbolized purification, burning away impurities in the magical signatures.
It served as a catalyst, awakening hidden qualities in those who entered.
And it acted as a measuring stick, using its own energy to judge.
When it accepted a signature, the fire's "burn" wasn't harmful—it was a gentle probe of energy.
It traced the signature's paths, sparking the entrant's hidden potential in the process.
That could mean their calm under unknown magical forces, their logic in handling complex information, or their quick thinking when faced with sudden interference.
These awakened traits gave the Goblet a full picture of each entrant.
And that tied directly to what Dumbledore had mentioned yesterday about the tournament's core.
The three tasks didn't just test magical strength.
They challenged a champion's courage to face the unknown, their wit to unravel problems, and their ability to stay steady in a crisis.
On Halloween Eve at Hogwarts, the air was thick with the sweet scent of roasted pumpkin.
White smoke, tinged with a toasty aroma, puffed from the kitchen chimneys, drifting through corridor vents and sneaking into classroom windows. Even the gaps in the suits of armor seemed to hold a bit of that warmth.
The castle's pranks kicked off right on schedule.
A few older Gryffindor students, clearly inspired by the Weasley twins, were leading a group of wide-eyed first-years toward the armor display.
As the younger kids reached out to touch the armor, the older students slyly tapped the joints with their wands.
The armor clanged to life, arms jerking upward, startling the first-years into jumping back or grabbing their friends' arms with squeals.
The pranksters doubled over, stifling laughs, their shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
The Great Hall's decorations had taken on an even stronger Halloween vibe.
Hundreds of paper bats fluttered under the ceiling, their wings rustling as they swooped with the air currents.
Skeletons leaned against the walls, their joints tied with silver ribbons, swaying to invisible magic in a creepy dance around the four house banners. Their skulls occasionally bumped the banners, making soft clinks.
The entrance hall was even livelier than the Great Hall.
A ton of students had camped out there all day, clutching juice cups, their eyes glued to the Goblet of Fire.
They weren't planning to enter, but watching who did was their pre-dinner entertainment.
The Hufflepuffs had turned into the unofficial news hub.
They'd been there since last night's feast ended.
Some were wrapped in blankets, leaning against stone pillars. Others clutched notebooks, jotting down every detail.
"The Durmstrang kids showed up in the middle of the night!" one Hufflepuff announced, clearing their throat as a crowd gathered. "They could barely keep their eyes open, stumbling like they'd been dragged out of bed."
They paused, nodding toward the staff table. "Karkaroff was right by the Goblet, barking orders. His voice was hoarse from yelling—hurry up, move faster! He was waving his wand to shoo them along, no mercy."
"Except for Krum," another Hufflepuff piped up, flipping through their notebook. "He came in the morning. Heard he had a cold, coughing like crazy. Karkaroff didn't rush him—actually let him sleep in."
That sparked a wave of whispers.
Everyone could tell Karkaroff had a soft spot for Viktor Krum.
When the Quidditch star crossed the entrance hall, Karkaroff's tense face softened.
He even asked if Krum was feeling better, a far cry from how he treated the others.
During breakfast, Hogwarts students started entering their names.
Some rushed up, bread in mouth, tossed their parchment in the Goblet, and bolted to the Great Hall.
Others triple-checked their cards before carefully dropping them in.
The Beauxbatons students arrived after breakfast, led by Madame Maxime.
She didn't crowd the Goblet, just stood at the entrance hall's doorway, directing, "Line up, watch your step."
Her massive frame made her cautious, even her hand gestures gentle to avoid bumping anyone.
As the host, Dumbledore was the picture of calm.
He paced the entrance hall, his eyes often flicking toward the age line, like he was looking for something.
When Professor McGonagall told him that Fred, George, and Lee Jordan had been blasted back by the age line yesterday—and sprouted white beards like his own—he shook his head with a chuckle.
"Wish I'd stayed longer or lingered in the hall," he said, a hint of regret in his voice. "Missing that sight was a shame."
He ran a hand over his long beard, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
As evening light brushed the castle's spires, Dumbledore and two staff members moved the Goblet to the Great Hall, setting it on a stone pedestal to the right of the owl lectern.
The blue-white flames danced at the cup's rim, glowing against the lectern's silver, stealing the show in the hall.
That night's Halloween Eve feast was even grander than the welcome banquet.
Long tables were piled with glistening roast turkeys, their crispy skins dripping with sauce.
Steaming pumpkin soup sat in bowls, topped with swirls of golden cream.
Desserts stacked like mountains—chocolate frogs hopped on plates, and pumpkin pies gleamed with sugary frosting.
But most students barely noticed the food.
Some shoved a bite of potato in their mouths, their eyes locked on the Goblet.
Others nibbled bread, their gazes drifting to the Beauxbatons table.
There, Fleur Delacour was delicately stirring her pumpkin soup with a silver fork, her profile sharp in the candlelight.
Not everyone ignored the feast.
Hagrid treated it like the event of the year, practically dressing to the nines.
He'd doused himself in so much cologne you could smell it across tables.
His usually wild hair was slicked with oil into two neat bunches over his shoulders.
He wore an ill-fitting brown fuzzy suit, the sleeves too short, and a yellow-orange checkered tie with a crooked knot, but it screamed effort.
At the staff table's corner, he took bites of stew, sneaking glances at Madame Maxime.
When she looked his way, he'd duck his head, pretending to focus on his roast.
As the dessert course rolled in, the Great Hall grew quieter.
Only a few, like Dylan and Luna, were still savoring their food.
Most students had dropped their forks, craning their necks toward the Goblet, breathing softly.
Some clasped their hands to their chests, others clenched their fists, eyes glued to the flickering blue-white flames.
When the last empty plate was cleared by house-elves, the hall fell dead silent.
Hundreds of eyes turned to the staff table, where even the chattering headmasters paused, looking to Dumbledore.
Sensing the anticipation, Dumbledore rose slowly, smoothing his robe's hem, and strolled to the Goblet.
"I know you're all eager," he said with a warm, resonant voice. "But you'll have to wait just a bit longer."
He waved his wand lightly, dimming the chandeliers. Only the candlelight and the Goblet's glow remained, making the blue-white flames shine brighter.
"The Goblet will choose soon," he said, pointing to a velvet-curtained room by the staff table. "When I call your name, head there. Wait inside until all champions are chosen, and we'll share details about the first task."
As he finished, the Goblet's blue-white flames surged, blazing so brightly they lit every corner of the hall.
The flames shifted to a vivid red.
A charred-edged parchment shot out, trailing a faint smoky scent.
"Right on cue," Dumbledore said, a smile in his eyes as he caught the parchment.
The flames settled back to blue-white. He unfolded the parchment and read clearly, "Let's meet our first champion."
"From Beauxbatons Academy of Magic—"
Before he could finish, Karkaroff's tight jaw relaxed slightly.
As if on command, the Goblet's flames flashed red again.
Another scorched parchment shot out.
Dumbledore deftly caught it, but before he could read, a second parchment followed. He grabbed it with his other hand, swiftly unfolding both. "Beauxbatons' first champion, Fleur Delacour! Second, Claudia Laroche! Third, Adèle Lefèvre!"
Fleur stood, her silvery hair fanning out in a soft arc. She lifted the hem of her pale blue silk robe, moving with a grace like she was walking on moonlight.
Claudia bounded to her side, clutching Fleur's sleeve, her grin stretching ear to ear, eyes sparkling with excitement.
Adèle adjusted her hood with a smile, and the three headed to the curtained room, slipping inside without waiting for Dumbledore to say more.
For Durmstrang, Dumbledore paused briefly.
The Goblet's flames dimmed, then spat out three parchments in quick succession, like blackened leaves.
He spread them in his palm and read, "Durmstrang Institute's champions: Viktor Krum! Maria Vellman! Franz Schmidt!"
The hall erupted, the cheers louder than before.
Gryffindors especially, recognizing Quidditch star Krum, leapt up, waving fists.
Karkaroff clapped wildly, his palms red, grinning ear to ear. He turned to the staff beside him, bragging loudly, his eyes gleaming with pride.
Dumbledore waited for the noise to die down, then spoke with a hint of excitement. "And now, for Hogwarts' champions."
The Hogwarts students hushed instantly.
Some leaned forward, others clasped their hands, and Dylan glanced at the Goblet.
The blue-white flames danced steadily.
The moment Dumbledore's words landed, the Goblet spat out a parchment, arcing perfectly into his hand.
He unfolded it, scanned the text, and said solemnly, "Let's congratulate Hogwarts' first champion—Cedric Diggory!"
As the host school, Hogwarts' students exploded into the loudest applause yet.
The Hufflepuff table was the epicenter of the noise.
Students jumped up, clapping until their hands stung. Some stomped their feet, making the wooden benches thump. Even Slytherins nearby felt the vibrations.
A few Hufflepuff girls waved their house badges at Cedric, shouting, "Cedric, you're amazing!"
Cedric stood, his grin unstoppable.
He glanced over the crowd, his eyes landing on the Gryffindor table, like he was checking for something.
The Gryffindors sensed something off and turned to Dylan, whispering among themselves.
"This isn't right," George muttered, tapping the table, his brow furrowed. "How's it not Dylan?"
Fred leaned in, biting his lip. "What's wrong? Cedric's pretty great, isn't he?"
"Think about it," George said, glancing at the other schools' tables and lowering his voice. "Every school's first champion is their heavy hitter. Beauxbatons got Fleur Delacour, Durmstrang got Viktor Krum—both are their school's best."
Fred nodded, sneaking a look at Dylan.
Dylan sat calmly, staring at the Goblet, seemingly unbothered, but their confusion grew.
"Cedric's awesome, sure, but Dylan's on another level with academics and dueling…" Fred trailed off, raising an eyebrow.
"Let's see," someone nearby shrugged, nodding at the Goblet. "Maybe he's next."
As if answering their hopes, the Goblet's flames flared red, and another scorched parchment shot out.
Dumbledore caught it, his eyes flicking to the Gryffindor table with a faint smile. He read loudly, "Hogwarts' second champion—Harry Potter!"
The Gryffindor cheers drowned out everything else.
Students leapt up, tossing hats in the air, hugging friends, or banging tables while belting out the house song.
Fred and George pulled out palm-sized magical fireworks, exchanging a quick look and checking McGonagall at the staff table.
Seeing her focused on Harry, they lit the fireworks with their wands.
Two dazzling bursts shot to the ceiling, exploding into gold and red sparks that rained down, sparking even louder cheers.
McGonagall had caught their antics but just shook her head with a fond, exasperated look.
Her own hands clapped red, her eyes shining behind her glasses with the same uncontained joy as the students.
Harry stood, a dazed smile on his face, mirroring Cedric's earlier expression.
He looked up, his gaze cutting through the crowd to land on Dylan.
He wasn't alone—half the hall turned to Dylan too.
"No way…" George muttered, his frown deepening. He scratched his head, puzzled. "Is there no ranking? Just random picks?"
He looked to Fred for answers, but Fred just shook his head, equally lost.
"At this point, I guess so? Harry's awesome, don't get me wrong, but compared to Dylan…" Fred blinked.
George's mouth twitched. "So everyone's got a shot?"
Fred threw up his hands. "Look, Cedric's great, I get it. But two names down and still no Dylan? I'm stumped."