The carriages lurched to a stop at the base of the hill, hooves or what should have been hooves striking sparks on the wet stone. Lightning ripped across the sky, silvering the towers of Hogwarts in one blinding flash. For an instant, the castle looked carved from light and shadow both, a citadel balancing between the two.
Rain hammered down again, heavier, as though the storm refused to let them arrive dry. Doors flew open; students spilled out in every direction, half-running, half-sliding through the mud. The smell of soaked wool and smoke filled the air. A few trunks overturned, scattering books that turned to pulp in seconds. The wind blew everything sideways.
Inside their carriage, Draco was peering miserably through the glass.
"It's somehow worse than before," he said. "The castle's rig, there surely could it move a little closer?"
Theo chuckled, wiping condensation from the window.
"Write to the Headmaster. Maybe he'll relocate it for you."
Draco ignored him, turning toward Alden.
"Could you what that charm again? The one that keeps one's sanity intact?"
Alden tilted his head.
"Drying charm. Works after, not before."
"Fine. After that, I refuse to drown on the front steps."
Alden gave a small nod. That was enough for Draco. The moment the carriage jerked to a halt, he flung open the door, tucked his chin, and ran. His boots splashed through water up to the ankles; his cloak streamed behind him like a banner. He didn't look back. He shouted something about being first in line for survival and disappeared into the crowd.
Theo sighed. "He's consistent."
They followed more slowly. The cold hit like a slapwind, driving sheets of rain sideways, thunder echoing off the cliff face. Students were everywhere, slipping, shouting, laughing through chattering teeth. The narrow path up to the gates had turned into a black river; lanterns swung wildly, their light swallowed by the downpour.
Someone ahead screamed as lightning struck the hillside, sparks fanning through the rain like shattered glass. The flash left after-images that danced behind the eyes. Hagrid's voice bellowed somewhere through the chaos, corralling the first-years toward the boats.
Alden climbed the steps one measured pace at a time, his movements deliberate amid the mayhem. By the time he reached the courtyard, water streamed from his hair and coat, pooling on the flagstones. Behind him, Theo shook his hands dry and muttered,
"If the castle doesn't kill us, pneumonia will."
The noise changed the moment they stepped through the doors. Outside, the storm howled; inside, it became a memory muffled by stone and warmth. Water hissed from cloaks, pooling on the flagstones, the air thick with the smell of wet wool and candle smoke.
Hundreds of students were flooding, laughing, shoving, shaking rain from their sleeves. Prefects barked orders that dissolved into echoes against the vaulted ceiling. Lightning flashed through the stained glass, throwing veins of silver across the long tables before vanishing into gold candlelight.
Draco, still flushed from his sprint, skidded to a halt halfway down the aisle.
"Merlin's beard," he muttered, pushing a damp curl off his forehead. "We look like drowned rats. Can you?"
Alden lifted his wand before the complaint finished. The charm whispered through the air, a shimmer of heat and dry wind. Draco's robes straightened, gleaming black again; Theo's hair unglued itself from his brow. Steam rose for a breath, then disappeared.
Draco gave a quick nod. "Appreciated. I was beginning to smell like Hagrid's hut."
Theo smirked. "You smell the same either way."
They joined the stream of Slytherins moving toward their table. Around them, whispers fluttered like small birds.
"That's Dreysesee him?"He doesn't even blink. "My cousin swears he froze half a greenhouse last term."
Alden ignored the noise. He walked as if it parted naturally, each step even, the wet floor reflecting candlelight around his boots. Students who'd been laughing a moment before lowered their voices as he passed. It wasn't fear exactlymore the instinct to speak quietly in a library.
The Great Hall itself glowed as if defying the storm. Thousands of candles floated beneath the enchanted ceiling, their flames steady despite the thunder still rumbling outside. The four tables shimmered with reflections of light and silver cutlery; banners stirred in the draft from the doors.
At the staff table, the professors were already seatedMcGonagall's spectacles flashed with every lightning pulse, Snape a still silhouette beside her, Duand mbledore's robes a calm wash of color against the dark. Filch scuttled by, muttering about "muddy footprints and infernal brats," mopping uselessly at puddles that reappeared faster than he could erase them.
Draco wrung the edge of his sleeve one last time and grumbled,
"If they cancel dinner because of the weather, I'm transferring to Durmstrang."
Theo dropped into his seat, tone dry as parchment. "They'd make you row there yourself."
Alden took the bench beside them, posture straight, expression unchanged. He placed his wand parallel to his plate, fingers aligning it out of habit. The warmth of the hall pressed close, carrying the scent of roast beef and bread under the faint metallic trace of rain.
Somewhere behind them, the great doors boomed shut. The thunder outside answered like applause.
At the center of it all, Hogwarts breathed a living, waiting hush as the last of the stragglers hurried in, dripping and laughing, shaking water from their hair.
The storm still clawed at the walls, but the Great Hall had claimed the night.
Professor McGonagall led the line to the front where a three-legged stool waited, old wood gleaming under candlelight. She set upon it an equally ancient, patched wizard's hat. The Hall fell instantly still.
The hat twitched. Then, from the tear near its brim, a voice rose rough with age, rich with memory:
A thousand years or more ago, when I was newly sewn…
The verses unfurled through the Hall like smoke. The candlelight seemed to lean toward it; even the storm hushed to listen. Alden watched without expression, head slightly inclined. Theo followed the rhythm with the absent nod of someone who already knew the words by heart.
Draco, however, was unimpressed. He leaned toward them, whispering,
"You'd think with a millennium of practice, it might learn a new tune."
Theo smirked. "It's tradition."
"It's noise," Draco countered. "One good blaze and the whole ceremony improves."
Alden's mouth twitched almost into a smile. He said nothing. The last stanza echoed off the rafters, the hat's voice deepening until the final line seemed to hum through the stones themselves:
I'll have a look inside your mind…And tell where you belong!
Applause burst across the Hall. The hat bent as if bowing before stilling again into lifeless cloth. McGonagall unrolled a scroll and began to call names, each followed by the flutter of whispers and clapping.
At the Slytherin table, Draco offered commentary like a sport announcer.
"Ravenclaw is predictable. Look at the shoes. Next one's ours, watch."
When the hat finally shouted "Slytherin!" Draco applauded with flourish; Alden joined only with a single, polite clap, palms meeting once, no louder than thought. Theo caught it, smirking. "That's your idea of enthusiasm?"
"Efficiency," Alden said.
By the time the last first-year found their place, the noise in the Hall had swollen againchairs scraping, laughter spilling like wine, everyone stealing glances at the steaming dishes that had begun to appear.
At the head table, Dumbledore rose.
He spread his arms as if embracing the entire Hall, eyes glinting like candlelight on water. The chatter broke into silence.
"I have only two words to say to you," he announced, voice warm, carrying easily to the farthest corner."Tuck in."
The feast erupted into existenceplatters gleaming, goblets brimming, the smell of roast and spice overwhelming the trace of rain that still clung to everyone's robes. Conversation returned in waves: laughter, toasts, the clatter of silver.
Draco seized a plate as though rescuing himself from starvation.
"Finally, civilization."
Theo reached for the pumpkin juice. "You're remarkably fragile for a pure-blood."
"Refined," Draco corrected, mouth full. "There's a difference."
Alden ate in silence. Around him, the Hall pulsed with life again, thunder echoing faintly against the enchanted ceiling. He looked up; the illusion still mirrored the storm outsidelightning tracing delicate silver through the clouds overhead within the Hall itself, the air was steady, golden, orderly.
The storm might rage beyond the walls, but Hogwarts had reclaimed its ritual.
And in the candlelight, Alden Dreyse sat unmoved, the quiet at the center of the year's first storm.
By the time the last of the puddles had dried under the enchanted warmth, the Great Hall shimmered with contentment. Plates clinked, laughter bounced beneath the ceiling's moving storm clouds, and the scent of roast and sugar drifted between the tables.
Then the candles dimmed.
Professor Dumbledore rose from the High Table, his robes a slow tide of color. Conversation broke off as if the room had been sealed in glass. The old wizard's blue eyes twinkled behind half-moons, mirth alive even as thunder rolled faintly beyond the roof.
"Before we all grow too comfortable," he began, "a few start-of-term notices."
Draco muttered under his breath,
"Here is the annual sermon on decency."
Theo elbowed him lightly. "You're two rules away from being a sermon yourself."
Dumbledore smiled as if he'd heard them.
"Mr Filch, our beloved caretaker, has informed me that the list of forbidden objects now includes" he glanced at a slip of parchment, "Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees, Ever-Bashing Boomerangs… and Chocolate Marshmallow Bunnies."
Laughter scattered through the Hall. Even Alden's mouth curved by a fraction; Draco's snicker was outright.
"I'm joking about that last one," Dumbledore added, eyes glinting. "The list of truly forbidden items, numbering one-hundred-thirty-seven, may be viewed in Mr Filch's att your own peril."
A low chuckle rippled around the room. Then his tone shiftedstill gentle, but carrying a different weight.
"Now. There is, apparently, a rather nasty rumor circulating that Quidditch will not be played this year."A pause."That rumor, I'm afraid to say… is absolutely true."
The Hall exploded. Shouts of "What?" and "You're joking!" collided under the thunder that cracked outside. At the Gryffindor table, Fred Weasley's voice cut through the din:
"You're joking!"
Dumbledore raised one hand; the noise ebbed like a tide.
"I am not joking, Mr Weasley. There is, however, an explanation I believe you will find… legendary."
The word itself seemed to spark through the hall. Candles flared higher.
"This year, Hogwarts will host a competition that has not taken place in over a century."He let the pause stretch, long enough for the next lightning flash to paint the rafters white."The Triwizard Tournament."
Excitement surged through the students, gasps, and a few nervous groans. Draco's eyes widened, grin quick.
"Finally, something interesting."
Theo murmured, "Define interesting."
Alden said nothing, fingers resting on the edge of his plate. He watched the Hall, the f, flicker of ambition in faces around him, the stormlight glancing off every eager pair of eyes.
Dumbledore's voice steadied the chaos again.
"For those who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament was created seven centuries ago as a means for the three great European schoolsHogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang meet in friendly magical competition."
He smiled, almost conspiratorially.
"In other words: an entire year spent learning from those who speak a funny language."
Laughter again, scattered and bright.
"Sadly," Dumbledore continued, "due to a distressing number of fatalities, the Tournament was discontinued."
The laughter died. Even Draco looked faintly uncertain. Hermione's brow furrowed; whispers of "fatalities?" passed between tables.
Thunder boomed above them, perfect timing.
"But," Dumbledore said, "after much discussion with the Ministries of Magic across Europe, the Tournament has been renewed under stricter rules and safeguards. Next month, in October, delegations from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute will arrive. For that time, Hogwarts will be their home. I ask that you make them welcome."
The word October rippled through the Hall like a spell of its whispers rising instantly.
"A month? We have to wait a month?"Maybe they're training dragons again needs planning. "D. rmstrang's coming here? Blimey…"
Draco's grin returned, sharp and delighted.
"Perfect. Gives everyone time to polish their reputations. I can't wait to see how Potter fares in front of real wizards."
Theo replied under his breath, "You'd better learn to hold an umbrella first."
Alden listened, expression unreadable. Across the Hall, he could feel the collective pulse of curiosity and hungerhundreds of students already dreaming of glory. He knew that rhythm; it was the same one that preceded any experiment: the quiet before fire met air.
Dumbledore lifted his goblet, voice warm again.
"Rest well tonight, students. You have lessons to attend, essays to forget, and rumors to improve. The year will be long and eventful."
A few laughed. Thunder rolled once more, as if to underline the word.
The candles swelled brighter, signaling the end of the feast. Benches scraped, the noise returned like surf students in groups, the sound of a thousand shoes on stone. The great doors opened, letting the smell of rain back into the room.
Draco stretched, smirk firmly in place.
"October. That's ages away. Plenty of time to prepare my victory speech."
Theo gave him a look. "Plenty of time to fail spectacularly, too."
Alden rose last. "Plenty of time to observe," he said quietly, gathering his wand and the small green notebook he'd kept even through dinner.
They joined the throng moving toward the dungeons. Lightning flashed once more across the ceiling, casting silver across the tables before fading into warm shadow. Behind them, Dumbledore remained standing at the Head Table, hands clasped, gaze distantwatching the storm as if reading a future only he could see.
Outside, thunder rolled across the mountains. The Fire Year had begun in earnest.
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