30th October 1994
Hogwarts
"How do you think they are getting here?" Terry Boot asked me. "The train?"
"Not likely," I said.
"What then? Broomsticks?" Anthony Goldstein asked, peering up at the evening sky.
"Not from France and Northern Europe, they're not," I replied.
The evening was cold and clear. Dusk was settling over the grounds, and a pale, translucent moon hung above the dark edge of the Forbidden Forest. The entire student body of Hogwarts, along with all the professors, had assembled in front of the castle to await the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.
The students had been arranged by House in long lines, first-years at the front and seventh-years at the back. Two Houses stood on either side of the stone steps leading to the great doors, forming a path lined with prefects and the Head Boy and Girl for the arriving guests. At the front stood Headmaster Dumbledore, resplendent in silver robes patterned with tiny golden shooting stars that drifted lazily along the hem.
To my left stood Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, and Michael Corner. Hermione was on my right. Luna was a row ahead with the other third-years.
"A portkey, perhaps?" Terry suggested.
"Perhaps," I said. "But I doubt it. They're not quite flamboyant enough."
"Excuse me?" Anthony said.
"Didn't you see the tents at the World Cup campsite?" I asked. "Wizards can't help showing off when we gather in large numbers. Eventually presentation becomes more important than practicality."
Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Interesting. And how would you do it? Arrive in front of a crowd in style?"
I smirked.
"Imagine everyone waiting—like we are now. Clear skies, everything calm. Then suddenly the wind picks up. Dark clouds appear out of nowhere and swallow the moon. Lightning starts flashing overhead with rolling thunder."
They were listening now.
"Next thing you know, a couple of lightning bolts strike the ground right in front of the crowd. Everyone panics for a moment—screaming, running about. Then they look back…"
I clasped my hands behind my back.
"And there I am, standing exactly where the lightning struck."
Hermione stared at me.
I shrugged lightly.
"Now that is what I call an entrance."
Just then Dumbledore's voice rang out.
"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"
"Where?" several students asked at once, scanning the sky.
"There," I said, pointing over the forest toward the approaching abraxan.
To most of them it was probably still just a dark speck.
"It's a dragon!" a Hufflepuff first-year shrieked.
Hermione looked at me. I gave her a helpless shrug.
"Don't be stupid… it's a flying house!" Dennis Creevey declared confidently.
Dennis was closer to the truth.
As the shape drew nearer, eight enormous winged horses came into view, their pale bodies gleaming faintly in the fading light. They were pulling an ornate pale-blue carriage the size of a small house, gilded along the edges and gleaming against the darkening sky.
The horses circled once over the grounds before descending rapidly. With a heavy thud that shook the earth beneath our feet, they landed on the lawn. The carriage wheels struck the ground behind them, bounced once, twice, and then settled.
The front rows of students instinctively stepped backward as the carriage rolled forward. It came to a precise halt with its door perfectly aligned with the path leading to the castle entrance.
The carriage door, bearing the Beauxbatons coat of arms—two crossed golden wands each emitting three stars—swung open. A set of golden steps unfolded smoothly onto the grass.
A collective gasp rippled through the students as Madame Maxime appeared in the doorway.
Dumbledore began to clap, and the students quickly followed. Madame Maxime descended the steps and approached him with a gracious smile, extending her hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to incline his head to kiss it.
"My dear Madame Maxime," he said warmly. "Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Dumbledore," Madame Maxime replied in her deep voice. "I hope I find you well?"
"In excellent form, I thank you," he said.
While they spoke, about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the looks of them, in their late teens, emerged from the carriage. They were visibly shivering; which was unsurprising, given that their pale blue uniforms seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves or shawls around their heads for warmth.
I spotted Fleur Delacour among them immediately. Standing beside her was a younger silver-haired girl—perhaps twelve or thirteen.
Probably her sister.
"My students," Madame Maxime said, gesturing toward them.
Then she turned toward the assembled Hogwarts students.
Her gaze swept across the crowd—and stopped when it reached me.
She smiled.
"Monsieur Carter," she said, walking toward me and extending her hand. "How wonderful to see you again."
I stepped forward and mimicked Dumbledore's greeting, taking her hand and bowing slightly before kissing it.
"Likewise, Madame. And once again, welcome to Hogwarts."
She smiled, then turned back to Dumbledore.
"Has Karkaroff arrived yet?"
"He should be here any moment," Dumbledore replied. "Would you prefer to wait here and greet him, or step inside and warm up a little?"
"Warm up, I think."
"Very well," said Dumbledore. Then he looked at me. "Mr Carter, would you please escort Madame Maxime and her students inside? The rest of us will join you shortly."
I nodded.
"If you'll follow me, please."
Madame Maxime started forward, then paused.
"But the horses—"
"Our gamekeeper will be delighted to care for them," Dumbledore said.
"My steeds require… forceful handling," Madame Maxime said, sounding doubtful. "They are very strong."
"I assure you Hagrid will be well up to the task," Dumbledore replied with a smile.
"Very well," she said, giving a small bow. "Please inform this Hagrid that the horses drink only single-malt whisky."
"It will be attended to," Dumbledore said, bowing in return.
"Come," Madame Maxime said to her students.
They followed her toward the castle. After exchanging a quick glance with Hermione, I led the group up the stone steps and into the entrance hall.
"Forgive me for asking," I said to Madame Maxime as we walked, "but is this your first visit to Hogwarts?"
She smiled.
"Oh no. I have had the pleasure of visiting your school twice before."
"You must find our castle rather different from your own," I said.
She considered that.
"In some ways, yes," she said. "Beauxbatons is perhaps more… refined. Hogwarts is more stalwart. But in the end our purpose is the same—to guide and educate the next generation of the wizarding world."
"Well said," I said. I gestured toward the double doors ahead. "Shall we?"
"In a moment," she said. "I will enter with the other heads of schools. In the meantime, please lead my students in."
"Very well."
I turned to the Beauxbatons students.
"Ladies and gentlemen—this way to the Great Hall."
And I led them through the doors.
The Great Hall had clearly been decorated for the occasion.
Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.
As I looked around the hall, I heard excited muttering in French among the Beauxbatons girls. I understood them clearly. Over the summer I had taken several advanced language potions, and with my enhanced hearing their whispers might as well have been shouted through megaphones.
Is that him?
It is!
He is so tall!
And handsome!
Do you have a pen?
Do you think he would sign my hat in lipstick?
I turned toward them.
The murmuring stopped instantly. Nearly all of the Beauxbatons girls were looking at me with the same smouldering expressions most Hogwarts girls had adopted since the start of the year.
Fleur Delacour stepped forward through the group, much to the chagrin of several others. The youngest silver-haired girl followed just behind her, glancing at me every few seconds.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Carter," Fleur said with a small smile, extending her hand. "We meet again."
"Miss Delacour," I said, shaking her hand. "Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Merci." She gestured to the younger girl beside her. "This is my sister, Gabrielle. She is a big fan of your books."
"Is that so?" I said, smiling at the girl. "How do you do, Gabrielle? Welcome to our school."
Gabrielle glanced at Fleur as if gathering her courage, then stepped forward and offered her hand.
"Bonjour, Mr Carter. It is lovely meeting you."
I shook it.
"I assure you, my lady, the pleasure is all mine."
She smiled brightly.
"Would you mind signing my book?"
From a small satchel at her side she pulled out a copy of my latest book—translated into French—and held it out hopefully.
"Not at all."
I took the book, signed the inside cover with the pen from my pocket, and handed it back. Gabrielle looked delighted, while several nearby girls shot her mildly jealous looks.
"Now if you don't mind," I said, "we should probably get seated. The others will be here soon."
"Where should we sit?" Fleur asked, glancing around the hall.
"Well, I don't see any assigned seating for visiting students," I said. "So I assume you're meant to sit with Hogwarts students."
"And where do you sit?" another girl asked with a sly smile.
"Normally students can sit wherever they like," I said. "But on formal occasions we're expected to sit at our House tables. That's the Ravenclaw table." I pointed to the third table from the doors. "That's where I sit."
"Then so shall we," Fleur said.
The Beauxbatons girls—and a moment later the boys—crossed the hall and settled at the Ravenclaw table.
I watched them take their seats.
These girls were trouble.
Fortunately, I could hear the rest of the school coming up the stone stairs into the entrance hall.
A moment later the Durmstrang students entered the Great Hall, Viktor Krum leading them. They paused near the doorway, looking around with interest.
Their uniforms were almost entirely brown: brown trousers and tunics cinched at the waist with darker leather belts, long coats trimmed with fur, and in some cases brown fur hats. Most of the boys had buzzcuts, including Krum, though a few wore their hair longer. The girls mostly had tightly braided hair or ponytails.
A few seconds later the Hogwarts students entered the hall as well, talking excitedly and casting repeated glances toward the Bulgarian Seeker.
As Filch added four extra chairs to the staff table—two on either side of Dumbledore's—Hermione, Luna, and I walked to our usual place at the Ravenclaw table. The Ravenclaw students looked surprised to find Beauxbatons students already sitting there. Several of the boys quickly tried to tidy themselves up in front of the visiting girls.
The Durmstrang group eventually took seats at the Slytherin table, much to the visible disappointment of many other students—especially Ron, who was a devoted Krum fan.
Once everyone had settled, the staff entered the hall and took their places at the high table. With them were Barty Crouch Sr. and Ludo Bagman. Bagman looked as cheerful as ever, but Crouch appeared noticeably older than when I had last seen him a couple months ago. Losing a son—even one who had chosen a dark path—could not have been easy.
Last to enter were Professor Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and Karkaroff—a wizard who carried such an obvious aura of "Look at me, I am a dark wizard" that it was hard to imagine him being called anything other than Igor. Maxime and Karkaroff took their seats while Dumbledore moved to the lectern.
Standing behind the great golden eagle-winged podium in front of the staff table, he addressed the hall.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts—and most particularly—guests," said Dumbledore, beaming at the visiting students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."
"The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," he continued, "so for now we will content ourselves with introducing those who are supping with us tonight."
He gestured toward the high table.
"May I present Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and her students, who are hoping to become their Champion."
Madame Maxime rose and gave a short bow. The Beauxbatons students immediately stood as well, remaining upright until their headmistress sat again.
"Also here, all the way from the north and hoping for eternal glory," Dumbledore continued once the applause subsided, "are the students of Durmstrang Institute, along with their Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff."
The Durmstrang students stood just as quickly. In the warmth of the hall many had opened their coats, revealing deep red uniforms beneath. Karkaroff also rose and bowed briefly.
"And from the Ministry of Magic, we are pleased to have with us the organisers—and, coincidentally, fellow Tournament judges—Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of Magical Games and Sports."
Crouch and Bagman stood. Crouch acknowledged the applause with a brief nod, while Bagman grinned and waved enthusiastically.
"And now that the introductions are over," said Dumbledore cheerfully, "I invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home."
As Dumbledore finished speaking, the plates in front of us filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen had clearly pulled out all the stops. There was a greater variety of dishes than I had ever seen at Hogwarts before, including several that were unmistakably foreign.
For a few minutes, silence reigned as everyone concentrated on filling their plates.
"Excusez-moi, Mr Carter?" Fleur said from across the table.
"Yes, Ms Delacour?" I replied, swallowing a piece of steak.
"I happened to watch the… animated films that were pre-loaded in our Wiphones," Fleur said. "I must say, I was very surprised. I have never seen such films before, and I have seen my fair share of Muggle films and cartoons. I have heard the rumours, of course, but is it really true that you created them?"
"Yes," I said. "I can confirm those films came from me."
"Indeed?" Fleur said. The other Beauxbatons students were paying attention now, along with Hermione, who was watching Fleur carefully. "I am curious. How did you make such films by yourself? Don't you need dozens of people and specialised equipment for that? I am not asking about the...complete process, of course. Just the general idea."
"Well… to begin with, animated films are very different from traditional cinema," I said. "Just as cartoons are drawn frame by frame to create the illusion of movement, I use a custom-made computer—you can think of it as a much larger and more powerful Wiphone-like artifact—to 'draw' characters like Po, Hiccup, Toothless, Nick and Judy in three-dimensional space. Then I simply have them do what I want them to do."
"But what about the voices?" Fleur asked. "How did you give them all such unique voices?"
"Actually, there was only one voice—mine," I lied. "I used sound-frequency modulation to alter the tone, pitch, and depth of my voice, creating different voices for different characters."
"Really?" Fleur said, clearly impressed. "That must have taken a great deal of work. What made you decide to create these films in the first place?"
I considered the question for a moment.
"Different art forms require different mediums," I said. "I started writing The Librarian novels when I was seven years old. But I knew readers would never experience the same visual impact from reading about Po becoming the Dragon Warrior or Hiccup riding Toothless for the first time as they would from actually seeing those moments."
I shrugged slightly.
"As I've said before, I was inspired by Muggle technology. By combining it with magic, I tried to create a better way to present ideas about bravery, friendship, sacrifice, and selflessness without sounding too preachy. Judging by the reception those films have received, I think the experiment has been… largely successful."
Fleur nodded thoughtfully and said nothing more. She simply looked at me with a considering gaze.
Hermione frowned slightly and turned her eyes away from Fleur. Then she looked back at me.
"Do you plan on showing another film tonight?"
Everyone at the table looked up at once.
"I don't know," I said with a smile. "I've been thinking about it. But I don't want to overshadow the opening ceremony of the tournament."
"Oh, come off it!" Terry Boot said immediately. "I know I'd rather watch a new movie than listen to speeches about a tournament I have zero chance of entering."
He looked around the table.
"Let's vote. Who wants to watch a new movie? Everyone in favour, say movie!"
"Movie! Movie! Movie!" Terry began.
The other Ravenclaws joined in, and even several of the Beauxbatons students picked up the chant. Soon half the table was chanting along. Students at the neighbouring house tables began turning around to see what was happening.
"Alright, alright, alright," I said quickly, lowering my voice as I noticed several teachers looking over at us. "First let Dumbledore finish the opening ceremony. Then we'll see about the movie. How does that sound?"
That satisfied them. With smiles and a few lingering grins, everyone returned to their dinner.
Once the golden plates had been cleared, Dumbledore rose again.
From a storage satchel I summoned two Argus drones. They immediately lifted into the air, their recording lenses focusing on the headmaster and the staff table.
People noticed them at once.
The Hogwarts teachers simply watched the drones with interest; I had already explained them beforehand. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff, however, began quietly asking the nearby teachers about the devices. Around the hall, students openly pointed at the small floating constructs.
"If I may have your attention, everyone," Dumbledore said, and the hall fell silent. "Please do not be alarmed by the flying constructs. They are the same devices used to record the final match of the Quidditch World Cup."
At this, many heads tilted upward again toward the drones.
"As you well know, the Triwizard Tournament will be broadcast around the world," Dumbledore continued. "These drones will help make that possible."
"And now," he said, smiling at the sea of expectant faces, "the moment has come. The casket, if you please, Mr Filch."
Filch, who had been standing unnoticed in a corner of the hall, approached carrying a large wooden chest covered in old jewels. It looked extremely ancient. A murmur of excitement spread through the students.
"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman," Dumbledore said as Filch set the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge."
"There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year. They will test the champions in many different ways...their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."
At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.
"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector — the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.
Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.
"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward.
"Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.
"Now, given the complex and dangerous nature of the upcoming tasks, it has been unanimously agreed that only those students who are of age will be allowed to submit their names for the tournament," said Dumbledore.
Before the inevitable protests could begin, he raised a hand.
"However," he continued, "given that we do not wish to deprive any worthy candidates, regardless of age, my fellow heads of schools and I will be placing three wards around the Goblet of Fire."
"Students who are of age will simply be able to walk past them and place their names in the goblet," he went on. "Those below seventeen, however, must prove that they possess the knowledge, will, and skill expected of students about to graduate. If he or she can overcome the obstacles in their path, submit their name, and be chosen by the Goblet of Fire, they will be permitted to represent their school as its champion—no matter how unlikely that may be."
Many students, especially Gryffindors—and particularly the Weasley twins—began whispering excitedly at this.
"Finally," Dumbledore said, his tone turning serious, "I must impress upon any of you who are considering competing that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end."
"The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."
I retrieved the drones as students around the hall began slowly getting to their feet. The ones at the Ravenclaw table, however, remained firmly seated. I glanced around and noticed the mischievous gleam in the eyes of my fellow fourth-year Ravenclaw boys.
"Don't think we forgot what you said," Anthony smirked.
Then, along with Terry and Michael, he began shouting.
"Movie! Movie! Movie!"
Within seconds the entire Ravenclaw table had joined the chant.
The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who had already stood up and were about to leave heard the word movie, sat back down, and began chanting as well. Even the Slytherins at the far end of the hall started shouting along with everyone else.
I looked around at the students yelling Movie!, at the frankly bewildered Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, and then up at the staff table.
My eyes found Dumbledore.
He was smiling. He gave me a small tilt of the head that clearly said: Do what you must.
"Alright, settle down! Settle down!" I stood and raised my hands.
After a few seconds the chanting died down.
I looked toward the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, as well as Madame Maxime, Crouch, and Bagman.
"Dear guests—hello. Once again, welcome to Hogwarts," I said. "In case you're confused by this sudden commotion, allow me to explain."
"My name is Benjamin Carter. You may know me as the creator of the Wiphone."
As I said that, I saw recognition spread across Karkaroff's face, while several Durmstrang students began murmuring among themselves.
"A lesser-known fact about me," I continued, "is that I'm an amateur filmmaker. The animated films pre-loaded on your Wiphones were made by yours truly."
I smiled and gestured lightly to myself.
"Recently, it has become something of an… unspoken tradition at Hogwarts for me to unveil a new film after one of our delightful feasts."
I glanced at the staff table.
"So, with permission from our dear Headmaster—"
Dumbledore gave a smiling nod.
"—I will now present my latest work for your entertainment."
I looked around the hall.
"All those in favour, say aye."
"AYE!"
The Great Hall shook with the sound of hundreds of voices shouting in unison.
I smiled, reached into my satchel, and took out the metallic movie projector. With a flick of my wand I sent it floating toward the centre of the hall.
Dumbledore waved a hand. Most of the floating candles dimmed or went out, while the braziers burned lower, casting the hall in semi-darkness. The blue-white flames of the Goblet of Fire flickered across the room, bathing the hall in a faint bluish glow.
The projector cast a curtain of white light over the great double doors at the far end of the hall.
Unlike the previous films, no title appeared at the beginning. But as the first sweeping view of the island village of Berk appeared on the screen, the fans of How to Train Your Dragon immediately recognized it and cheered.
At the end of the first movie, many people had wondered what would happen next. How would Berk and its people change now that dragons lived on the island alongside them?
Now they had their answer.
Fans watched with wide eyes as the young adults of Berk competed in dragon racing. Dragons tore through the air at dizzying speeds while their riders swiped, kicked, and shoved one another, weaving neck-and-neck between the houses, docks, and newly rebuilt structures of the village.
---
Viktor Krum loved flying.
The first time he had mounted a broom and felt the wind rush past him, he had known instantly that this was where he belonged. In the sky, there were no worries, no distractions, no expectations.
Watching Hiccup and Toothless race across the horizon reminded him of that same feeling. They dipped, rolled, and dove over the sea with smooth precision, pulling off maneuvers that made Viktor wish he had a dragon of his own.
Like many others in the hall, he drew a sharp breath when Hiccup suddenly slid off Toothless and dropped from the sky.
What was he thinking? Hiccup was a Muggle. Even Viktor would be in serious trouble if he fell from that height.
Then Viktor's eyes widened.
Sheets of leather unfolded between Hiccup's arms and legs, catching the wind like wings and turning his fall into a glide. The audience around Viktor gasped softly as Hiccup and Toothless flew side by side through the air, almost as if they were one creature.
Viktor's eyes gleamed.
Could wizards create something like that? A wingsuit enhanced with levitation charms so it would not rely entirely on air currents?
There was only one person in the hall who could reliably answer that question.
Viktor looked across the room and found Benjamin Carter.
As he watched, Carter seemed to sense his gaze and turned to look directly at him. The two held each other's eyes for a moment. Then Carter gave a small nod, which Viktor returned.
It seemed Viktor was not the only one who believed true freedom was found in the sky.
---
Rubeus Hagrid loved dragons.
They were big and strong, which meant they would not get accidentally hurt by him. They had powerful teeth and claws. They could fly. And most importantly, they could breathe fire.
What was not to love?
Some people—most people, really—were afraid of dragons. Hagrid had never understood why. Just because something was large and powerful did not mean it had to be cruel. Those people were simply mistaken. If they spent enough time around dragons, they would surely come to appreciate them.
It was no surprise, then, that Hagrid adored the How to Train Your Dragon films. He had greatly enjoyed the first one, and this new installment was proving even better.
When the dragon sanctuary appeared on the screen—a massive chamber filled with thousands of dragons—it took his breath away.
The sight was extraordinary: a vast cavern beneath a dome of ice, warmed by geothermal heat and filled with dragons of every shape and size.
Hagrid stared at it in awe.
What he would not give to visit such a place. To observe those creatures, learn about them, maybe even pet a few of them.
His eyes nearly filled with tears when the enormous Bewilderbeast appeared on the screen, the great alpha dragon towering above the others.
Watching all those dragons reminded him of Norberta, the Norwegian Ridgeback he had raised a couple years ago. He hoped she was doing well at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary.
Perhaps after the tournament was over, he might go and visit her.
---
Draco Malfoy hated aliens.
Two months and eleven days earlier, he had gone to the Quidditch World Cup final with his parents. The match had been thrilling, and Draco had been pleased to watch it from the top box.
If he had known what would happen later that night, he would never have gone.
He had fallen asleep in the tent and woken to the sounds of shouting and laughter. His father was gone. Draco had wanted to go outside, but his mother stopped him, telling him to stay inside the tent.
Then suddenly the noise outside had stopped.
It was as if someone had cast a powerful silencing charm over the entire campsite.
He and his mother stepped outside and saw three enormous discs hovering in the sky above the campsite.
They watched as the lights on the crafts turned red and beams of searing energy struck the ground below. Moments later the ships shot upward and vanished into the night.
Draco only understood later what those ships had been firing at.
Aurors arrived at their tent later with his father's wand for identification.
Draco did not understand.
Why did they have his father's wand? Where was he?
They explained that Lucius Malfoy had been part of the group causing the disturbance. That unidentified flying ships had appeared and attacked them, leaving nothing behind but wands and ashes.
Draco ran toward the area where it had happened. Aurors stopped him, but not before he saw what remained.
There was nothing.
No body. No blood. No signs of a struggle.
Only scorched grass and grey ash.
Draco returned to the tent his father had put up during the day and sat on the bed in silence. He did not remember how long he stayed there.
Eventually his mother came in and held him.
They both cried.
Now Draco watched as Hiccup fired a burning arrow into the air. It landed on the deck of the ship where Stoick's body lay on a funeral pyre.
I'm sorry, Dad.
That was what Draco hated most.
He never got to say goodbye to his father.
He never got to apologise.
Draco had grown up surrounded by wealth and privilege. His father had always given him the best of everything. Anything Draco asked for—even once—he usually received.
In return, he was expected to succeed.
And what had Draco achieved?
Nothing.
His grades were good, but never exceptional. Carter was always at the top of the class. Greengrass and Potter often scored higher than he did. Recently even Longbottom had started outperforming him.
Worst of all was Granger.
A girl who had grown up in the Muggle world consistently ranked above him.
His father had wanted to hire tutors during the summer, but Draco had refused. He had not wanted the extra work and had talked his way out of it.
When Potter joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Draco begged his father to secure him a place on the Slytherin team. Lucius had bought expensive brooms for the entire team so Draco could become Seeker.
And when he lost to Potter?
He had not trained harder.
He had complained. He had mocked others. But he had done nothing to improve.
Draco had always assumed his father would fix everything.
Now his father was gone.
And the last thing Lucius Malfoy had known about his son was that he was a disappointment.
As Draco watched Hiccup save Berk and become its chief, something hardened inside him.
He would not remain a failure.
From now on, he would work harder. He would become a powerful wizard.
One his father would have been proud of.