Chapter Text
Halloween had always transformed Hogwarts into something altogether different.
The ancient castle seemed to embrace the season with an enthusiasm unmatched by any other time of year. Hundreds of enchanted pumpkins floated lazily beneath the bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall, each carved with a different expression that flickered between mischievous grins and fearsome snarls. Swarms of glossy black bats wheeled effortlessly amongst the countless floating candles, occasionally disappearing into the enchanted night sky before swooping back down over the students' heads. The scent of roasted meats, fresh bread and pumpkin filled the air, accompanied by the constant murmur of nearly a thousand conversations blending into one cheerful hum.
Yet for all the splendour of the annual feast, remarkably few eyes lingered upon the decorations.
Instead, attention repeatedly drifted towards the ancient wooden goblet standing upon its stone pedestal before the High Table.
The Goblet of Fire burned with its familiar blue-white flames, the magical fire dancing lazily within the weathered cup as though completely indifferent to the anticipation it had created throughout the school. Its age was obvious. Cracks spread across its polished surface, while strange runes, worn smooth by centuries of magic, caught the flickering light every time the flames shifted.
It had accepted its final name just before lunch.
Now everyone waited.
Excitement buzzed around the Hall in waves as students from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang alike speculated about who would soon become their school's champion. Every table hosted a different debate. Some insisted Cedric Diggory was an inevitable choice. Others argued that Angelina Johnson possessed enough talent to surprise everyone. The visiting students were no quieter, with Viktor Krum's name repeated often enough that even first-years who knew nothing about Quidditch had begun recognising it.
Professor Dumbledore remained seated at the centre of the High Table, seemingly content to let the anticipation build. His fingers rested lightly against the arm of his chair, his bright blue eyes sweeping across the assembled students with quiet amusement.
He knew the entire Hall was waiting for him to stand.
He simply wasn't in any hurry.
Further down the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter appeared noticeably less interested in the Goblet than almost everyone surrounding him.
A well-used Arithmancy textbook lay open beside his dinner plate, its margins filled with neat annotations written in dark green ink. Several sheets of parchment were spread across the table, covered in equations and diagrams that would have made most fifth-years groan.
Hermione Granger scarcely noticed the feast around her.
She leaned closer to examine one particularly complicated calculation, brushing an errant curl behind one ear as she frowned thoughtfully.
"I still don't understand why Professor Vector insists there are three acceptable methods," she murmured, tracing one line of Harry's working with a finger. "The second is obviously far more efficient."
Harry looked up from his notes long enough to smile.
"It is now."
Hermione glanced sideways.
"What do you mean?"
"The first method came nearly two centuries earlier. Wizards had been solving the same problem that way for generations before someone realised there was a simpler approach."
Understanding dawned almost instantly.
"Oh."
She looked back at the page, reading through the calculations again.
"I hadn't thought about it historically."
"You normally do."
"I was distracted."
Harry wiggled his eyebrows.
"By what? Or rather, whom?."
Hermione nudged him lightly with her elbow, her cheeks dusted with a faint blush, "Harry! Do you want everyone to find out?" she whispered with little malice and earning a faint chuckle and his fingers interlocking with hers before both returned to the textbook.
Across the table, Neville Longbottom watched the pair with quiet admiration.
"I don't think I'll ever understand Arithmancy," he admitted to no one in particular.
"It doesn't look like English anymore."
Dean Thomas laughed.
"I gave up trying to read Harry's notes ages ago."
"They're colour coded," Seamus pointed out.
"Exactly."
Ron Weasley looked from the Goblet towards Harry, then back again.
He still couldn't quite understand how his friend managed to ignore what was surely the biggest event Hogwarts had seen in decades.
"Don't you want to know who's going to be champion?"
Harry looked up politely.
"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."
Ron waited for something more.
Nothing came.
The conversation simply drifted back towards Arithmancy as naturally as though it had never been interrupted.
Hermione pointed towards another page.
"I still think you've skipped a step."
"I haven't."
"You have."
Harry rotated the parchment slightly before sliding it towards her.
"No," he said patiently. "Look here."
Hermione's brow furrowed.
For nearly half a minute she said nothing at all, her eyes moving steadily down the page before widening in sudden realisation.
"...You transformed the sequence before substituting."
Harry nodded once.
"It saves nearly half the calculation."
Hermione closed the textbook with an exaggerated sigh.
"I dislike it immensely when you're right."
"You'll recover."
"I probably will."
Ron smiled uncertainly, though it never quite reached his eyes.
He'd been trying since first-year to break into what he considered Harry's inner circle of friends. His mother made it plainly clear how important it was for the family for Ron to be seen as Harry's best friend. Unfortunately conversations with Harry always seemed to end the same way.
Perfectly polite.
Perfectly civil.
Yet somehow distant.
It had always been like that.
At the staff table, Minerva McGonagall observed the exchange over the rim of her goblet.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile softened her normally stern expression.
Few professors would openly admit favouring one student over another.
Minerva was no exception.
Nevertheless, she would happily acknowledge that Harry Potter had become one of the finest pupils she had taught during her years at Hogwarts. He was perhaps the perfect mix of his parents, Lily and Minerva's godson James.
He possessed an inquisitive mind that rarely accepted simple answers, a work ethic that rivalled Miss Granger's and, perhaps most importantly, a willingness to admit when he had been mistaken.
That was not to say he avoided trouble.
Quite the contrary.
Every year since arriving at Hogwarts, Harry had somehow found himself embroiled in circumstances that would have strained belief had she not witnessed many of them herself.
There had been the Philosopher's Stone.
The Chamber of Secrets.
Sirius Black.
Each incident had left Minerva reaching for headache potions more often than she cared to admit.
Yet despite the chaos that appeared to follow him with almost supernatural determination, Harry remained remarkably honest whenever questioned.
If he had broken a rule, he admitted it.
If he believed a professor was mistaken, he said so respectfully.
And every September without fail, he returned to her classroom having somehow learnt even more than she had expected.
Beside her, Filius Flitwick noticed the direction of her gaze.
"Our two brightest students appear incapable of leaving their work alone for even one evening."
Minerva's smile deepened ever so slightly.
"I suspect Miss Granger considers the feast an unfortunate interruption to her studying."
"And Mr Potter?"
"He simply enjoys her company and proving her wrong. Mark my words, our little bet is about to be won by me." She responded, not willing to tell him that she had already caught the pair in a broom cupboard last year.
Flitwick chuckled into his goblet.
"We shall see, Miss Greengrass definitely has a soft spot for him which she hides from her fellow pupils."
A ripple of excitement swept through the Hall.
Dumbledore had risen.
Conversations dwindled almost immediately as hundreds of students turned towards the High Table.
Even those who had been only half listening fell silent, anticipation replacing idle chatter in a matter of seconds.
The elderly Headmaster stepped towards the Goblet with measured, unhurried strides, his half-moon spectacles glinting beneath the candlelight.
"The Goblet," he began warmly, "has reached its decision."
Not another word was spoken.
The Hall held its collective breath.
Then—
Without warning—
The blue flames vanished.
Not dimmed.
Vanished.
The Goblet stood dark and lifeless upon its pedestal.
Before anyone could react, silver light erupted from within the ancient cup.
Unlike the fiery blue magic that normally crowned the Goblet, this light possessed no heat. It resembled moonlight made solid, surging upwards in a blinding pillar that struck the enchanted ceiling with a sound like rolling thunder.
Every candle in the Great Hall extinguished simultaneously.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Several younger students cried out in alarm.
Someone dropped a goblet.
The metallic clang echoed unnaturally loudly through the pitch-black Hall.
A heartbeat later, the candles burst back into life.
Gasps echoed from every corner of the room.
The Great Hall was no longer as they remembered it.
People who had not been there mere moments before now stood amongst the students, professors and Ministry officials as bewildered as everyone else.
One elderly witch clutched her handbag as though it were a lifeline.
A young Auror spun instinctively, reaching for a wand that had not yet cleared its holster.
Near the Hufflepuff table, two familiar figures stared at one another in complete disbelief.
"Padfoot?"
Remus Lupin's voice was little more than a whisper.
The bearded man standing opposite him froze.
His grey eyes widened before an incredulous grin spread slowly across his face.
"Moony..."
Neither seemed capable of believing what they were seeing.
Then, almost as one, they closed the distance between them.
The years that had separated them when Sirius was in Azkaban seemed to melt away as Sirius wrapped his oldest friend in a fierce embrace, laughing in sheer disbelief while Remus returned it with equal force.
Around them, whispers spread like wildfire.
"That's Sirius Black..."
"He's supposed to be at large."
"How did he get into Hogwarts?"
Professor Snape had already risen, his chair scraping harshly across the stone floor.
His expression darkened the instant he recognised the escaped prisoner, one hand disappearing beneath his robes as his fingers closed around his wand.
Minerva McGonagall noticed the movement immediately.
She stepped away from the staff table before the wand had even cleared the sleeve, positioning herself between the two men with the calm confidence of someone who refused to let panic dictate her actions.
"Severus."
Her voice carried effortlessly through the increasingly chaotic Hall.
"We do not know why these people are here yet."
Snape's dark eyes never left Sirius.
"He is an escaped prisoner."
"He is here for a reason." Inside her head she was furious. Snape was/is a death eater, he had to of known Pettigrew's involvement and his pettiness was the reason her godson was dead and an innocent man spent twelve years in prison.
Minerva's own gaze swept briefly across the Hall, taking in the dozens of bewildered faces that had appeared seemingly from nowhere.
"And unless you believe Mr Black orchestrated the arrival of everyone else as well, I suggest we determine precisely what has happened before curses begin flying across my Great Hall."
Snape's jaw tightened, but after a long moment, his wand lowered a fraction.
It would not do well to lose his head in front of the Minister.
He would wait and then he would get his revenge on Black and Potter's life would be even more of a misery.