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It was eight o'clock in the morning, and Hogwarts Castle was already buzzing.
Maybe it was the sheer excitement of signing up for the Goblet of Fire.
Hogwarts students spilled out of the dungeons and towers, Durmstrang students hurried over from their black ship moored on the Black Lake shore, cloaks still carrying the crisp chill of autumn mist, Ilvermorny's bright yellow school bus sat just beyond the Entrance Hall steps, and the Beauxbatons carriage was parked a little farther off, near the paddock by the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
A steady stream of chattering young witches and wizards passed through Christine Rosier's line of sight, yawning with faint shadows under their eyes that showed none of them had slept well. The combination of travel fatigue and nervous excitement had kept most of them up half the night, yet that weariness did nothing to dampen their energy.
The little witches and wizards practically radiated endless youthful vitality.
Christine had kept the quiet, observant habits she'd developed as an Auror. Since switching to teaching she spoke a little more, but she still preferred concise, efficient conversation and avoided unnecessary chatter outside the classroom.
It was part professional habit, part personality.
She didn't see any reason to change it.
The Great Hall's breakfast tables were steaming with hot food, and the house-elves had prepared several different styles so the visiting students could eat comfortably, though Christine had already had a simple breakfast in the Beauxbatons carriage.
She stood by the doorway, glanced toward the staff table, and saw no familiar face. Shaking her head slightly, she headed for the third-floor restricted corridor she'd visited the night before.
It was still early, so the area should be quiet. Only two or three students were attempting the challenges. The space felt open and peaceful—she could watch from the side.
She climbed the marble staircase, exchanging brief greetings with passing students. The moving stairs seemed especially cooperative, carrying her straight to the third floor.
Just as she expected, even the Hogwarts students were still at breakfast in the Great Hall. The few especially eager ones were only lingering near the entrance.
Christine greeted two Ravenclaw girls—Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe. She'd met them at the previous night's feast, sitting next to Fleur Delacour and introduced by Gabrielle.
The Chinese girl was strikingly pretty, her beauty gentle and soft, without any of Fleur's overwhelming allure.
Marietta, by contrast, fit the typical image of a witch their age—slightly spoiled on the surface, but fundamentally kind and friendly underneath.
[Triwizard Tournament Entry Room]
A sign hung at the entrance, written clearly in three languages.
The heavy Muggle influence was obvious at a glance; Christine immediately recognized whose handiwork it was.
"I heard some students went in before dawn and got stuck inside. The Creevey brothers went to fetch Professor McGonagall—she went in about five minutes ago."
Marietta looked thrilled. She had a clear sense of her own limits and had no intention of entering herself—she just wanted to watch the show.
She was already inching toward the opening. "Come on, let's go see!"
Below was a vertical shaft. A few specially bred Devil's Snare vines grew along the walls—carefully cultivated to remove their aggressive instincts, so they wouldn't lash out at any vibration. The vines weren't part of the challenge; they served as safety padding.
Even if someone jumped straight down, there was no danger.
At the bottom was a straight corridor that looked like the hallway of a luxury hotel, with doors lining both sides leading to separate rooms.
Loud voices came from the second-to-last door, drawing the three witches inside.
The temperature rose sharply. The room had been transformed into a greenhouse, still deep in the height of summer while the grounds and Forbidden Forest outside had already turned to autumn. Lush bushes and grass thrived here, dotted with bright wildflowers.
Of course, the most important things were the magical plants. Mandrakes grew casually along the paths—if you stepped on their roots without care, you'd be hit with a scream worse than a banshee's. Venomous Tentacula coiled around tree vines like sleeping snakes, ready to strike.
Bubotubers, Jumping Toadstools, Bouncing Bulbs, Venomous Tentacula, Fanged Geraniums, Snargaluff pods…
One glance made Christine's eye twitch. From her old Auror days in Romania, she would have immediately marked this greenhouse as a high-risk area, off-limits to visitors.
In the middle of the area where the Venomous Tentacula rested, several students stood in a circle. The deputy headmistress's scolding voice came from within.
Christine walked closer. Sure enough, it was Professor McGonagall.
"How could you… how could you possibly…?"
McGonagall hadn't eaten breakfast yet; her blood pressure was clearly spiking. "Sneaking out after curfew, breaking into the entry area without permission, entering the rooms on your own—if those Venomous Tentacula hadn't been specially bred by Professor Sprout, you wouldn't have lasted long enough for rescue!"
The ones being scolded were a group of boys, wrapped tightly in Venomous Tentacula vines. Their Gryffindor house crests marked them as fourth-years.
The boy in the center had red hair and looked mortified, trying to hang his head but held upright by the vines, freckles standing out on his pale face. Beside him was a boy with glasses and messy black hair, a lightning-shaped scar clearly visible on his forehead—the unmistakable mark of the Boy Who Lived.
The other boys kept their heads down, faces hidden.
"Harry Potter and his friends?" Marietta suddenly nudged Cho Chang with a mischievous grin.
Cho shot her roommate a glare and gently pushed her hand away.
It was the classic interaction between young witches—something any school professor could read instantly, even without Auror training. Christine suddenly found herself interested.
She stepped up beside McGonagall and gave a polite nod. "Good morning, Professor McGonagall. I came to observe."
"Miss Rosier…"
McGonagall pressed her lips together. Students usually only embarrassed themselves in front of their own teachers; now they were doing it in front of a visiting professor.
Christine offered a small smile. "Melvin and I are friends. He's told me a lot about Hogwarts. When I resigned from Romania, he even suggested I come teach here."
"The Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts has a rather… unusual reputation. Staying away was the wise choice."
McGonagall smiled at that, her earlier stiffness easing. She turned back to the students and continued her lecture.
Christine listened for a moment, piecing together what the boys had done from the scolding.
After the feast the night before, the boys had been too excited to sleep. They'd all been shouting about becoming Hogwarts' champion. Neville—Sprout's assistant—had helped set up the greenhouse and knew where the entry parchments were hidden.
Once they heard the news, the rest of them decided on the spot to sneak over that very night.
Neville was excellent with Herbology. Harry and Ron were clever enough that they'd nearly made it. The five of them worked together, dodging Mandrakes, subduing Biting Cabbage, and almost reaching the parchments before the Venomous Tentacula caught them in the dark.
With only wandlight for illumination, Seamus and Dean mistook the vines for snakes, panicked, and accidentally stepped on Mandrake roots. The scream knocked them out instantly, and the Tentacula claimed its prizes.
"…If Mr. Creevey hadn't come looking for you to take pictures and couldn't find you, no one would have known you'd become plant food!" McGonagall's voice rose with every word.
"But you said… the plants were specially bred and safe?" Ron muttered under his breath. Harry's only free hand tugged sharply at his sleeve.
"What if they hadn't been specially bred? What if they'd been the real thing?" McGonagall was practically shaking with fury now, her glasses flashing with anger. "You're fourth-years! You've been at Hogwarts for half your school life—not first-years anymore! Yet you still act like you can do whatever you want, ignore the rules, and face no consequences!"
Ron felt some feeling returning to his numb body. At least now he could hang his head properly.
McGonagall took a deep, angry breath. "Dumbledore has been far too lenient with you. Detention clearly isn't teaching you anything. I need to give you a real lesson!"
Harry had a very bad feeling.
"Potter, Weasley, Longbottom, Thomas, and Finnigan—you five are disqualified from the Goblet of Fire! None of you are allowed back into any of the rooms the Heads of House prepared. Even if you somehow passed the tests, I will not allow Pomona, Filius, or Severus to give you entry parchments!"
"Oh no!"
The five boys tied to the tree immediately started struggling and wailing, the Tentacula toxin no longer holding them back. "Professor McGonagall, we're sorry! Please don't disqualify us!"
McGonagall's face was stone. "The challenges were designed to ensure you have the ability to face real danger and won't suffer worse harm in the actual competition. But you broke curfew and entered without permission, which proves you have no real understanding of danger and no instinct for self-preservation. You should not be competing in the Triwizard Tournament."
"Professor, please!"
"We're begging you, don't do this to us…"
As the professor's back receded into the distance, Harry still refused to give up. "Professor, it was all my fault! If you have to punish someone, punish me—don't drag them into it!"
"You didn't think about the consequences when you decided to sneak out after curfew."
McGonagall's voice drifted back, cool and distant. She gave a sharp wave of her wand. The Venomous Tentacula vines immediately retracted, and the five boys tumbled to the ground with loud groans.
Only then did Harry clearly see the onlookers—including Cho Chang. He hadn't felt embarrassed while tied up all night, but now it felt like a bucket of icy Black Lake water had been dumped over his head.
"Harry, should we go apologize to Professor McGonagall? Or maybe find Headmaster Dumbledore?"
"Maybe we could try Snape's room. He might not listen to McGonagall."
"…"
Harry's eyes were glazed, his expression blank.
Christine watched the scene with quiet amusement. The way Hogwarts teachers and students interacted felt different from Beauxbatons—warmer, more casual. Even between students and the deputy headmistress there was little distance, more like parents and children.
Melvin had given her a few instructions the night before, but seeing Harry and his friends' current state, she decided it was better to wait a little longer before telling them.
…
That evening, in the Great Hall.
The staff table was crowded with young witches and wizards. Students and staff from the other three schools had also arrived. The most eye-catching were Fleur and Krum, sitting near the front of the long table, leaning forward slightly as they wrote their names on the parchment entry forms with quills.
The buzz had lasted all day. At almost every moment someone was discussing the latest news.
Waves of excitement and anticipation seemed to fill the Hall, washing over every young witch and wizard. In just a few hours the selected champions would be announced. Everyone was hoping either for themselves or for someone they favored to stand out and become their school's champion.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table with a wooden expression, mechanically scooping pudding onto his spoon but tasting nothing sweet.
The excitement belonged to everyone else. People's joys and sorrows didn't always overlap.
He sighed and turned to one of the other disqualified boys. "Neville, I'm sorry. If it weren't for us, you probably would have made it through Professor Sprout's room."
"I wasn't planning to enter anyway," Neville said, blinking in surprise.
While Harry was still stunned, Seamus leaned over with the latest gossip. "The other schools are different from us. Almost all their visiting students are seventh-years. They don't have to go through any rooms—their headmasters just hand out the entry parchments directly."
"They only have to worry about the Goblet's selection!" Dean exclaimed.
Seamus and Dean didn't seem too upset.
Even though they'd talked big about becoming champions, they had a realistic sense of their own abilities.
In dueling club they could only hold their own against peers their age, and their practical exam scores were solidly average. Even if they somehow got an entry parchment, they wouldn't pass the Goblet's screening. Entering anyway would only get them hurt.
"Damn it! That's cheating!" Ron sounded genuinely indignant. He'd genuinely believed he had a real chance—winning the prize, making a name for himself.
"Actually, any seventh-year at our school who earned 'Exceeds Expectations' or higher in O.W.L.s for Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures can get an entry parchment from their Head of House without going through the rooms," Seamus added quietly.
"So how many students below seventh year actually got a Head of House's parchment?" Neville asked.
"Not counting the seventh-years…" Seamus started counting on his fingers. "The first was Hufflepuff's Cedric Diggory—he made it through Professor McGonagall's chessboard all by himself."
Ron snorted. "Of course it was him. He's Percy's successor."
"Ravenclaw's Roger Davies—he got through Professor Sprout's greenhouse with help from his Quidditch teammates."
"One whole team escorting one person? I bet he won't pass the Goblet's screening."
"No clear info from Slytherin yet. Malfoy gathered a group to try the greenhouse, but they failed—ended up knocked out under the Biting Cabbage. Theodore Nott apparently made it through Snape's potion trap."
"Ha! Malfoy!"
Ron laughed even louder. He had nothing much to say about Nott—the boy really was excellent at Potions.
"What about our House?"
Harry looked around. A lot of familiar faces were missing—the Weasley twins, Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, and know-it-all Hermione.
Seamus scratched his head. "Not sure. George and Fred dragged Lee off to try the chessboard. Hermione spent the whole morning in the library and didn't head over until three o'clock. She still hasn't come back."
"Ah…"
Harry's feelings were complicated. He wanted his friends to succeed, yet at the same time he didn't want them to.
…
Evening, Great Hall.
The long House tables were packed. Students from the visiting schools had also taken their seats. The most eye-catching were Fleur and Krum, sitting near the front, leaning forward slightly as their quills moved across the parchment entry forms.
The noise had lasted all day. At almost every moment someone was talking about the latest developments.
Waves of excitement and anticipation seemed to fill the entire Hall, washing over every young witch and wizard. In just a few hours the selected champions would be announced. Everyone was hoping—either for themselves or for someone they rooted for—to stand out and become their school's champion.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table with a wooden expression, mechanically scooping pudding onto his spoon but tasting nothing sweet.
The excitement belonged to everyone else. People's joys and sorrows didn't always overlap.
He sighed and turned to one of the other disqualified boys. "Neville, I'm sorry. If it weren't for us, you probably would have made it through Professor Sprout's room."
"I wasn't planning to enter anyway," Neville said, blinking in surprise.
While Harry was still stunned, Seamus leaned over with the latest gossip. "The other schools are different from us. Almost all their visiting students are seventh-years. They don't have to go through any rooms—their headmasters just hand out the entry parchments directly."
"They only have to worry about the Goblet's selection!" Dean exclaimed.
Seamus and Dean didn't seem too upset.
Even though they'd talked big about becoming champions, they had a realistic sense of their own abilities.
In dueling club they could only hold their own against peers their age, and their practical exam scores were solidly average. Even if they somehow got an entry parchment, they wouldn't pass the Goblet's screening. Entering anyway would only get them hurt.
"Damn it! That's cheating!" Ron sounded genuinely indignant. He'd genuinely believed he had a real chance—winning the prize, making a name for himself.
"Actually, any seventh-year at our school who earned 'Exceeds Expectations' or higher in O.W.L.s for Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures can get an entry parchment from their Head of House without going through the rooms," Seamus added quietly.
"So how many students below seventh year actually got a Head of House's parchment?" Neville asked.
"Not counting the seventh-years…" Seamus started counting on his fingers. "The first was Hufflepuff's Cedric Diggory—he made it through Professor McGonagall's chessboard all by himself."
Ron snorted. "Of course it was him. He's Percy's successor."
"Ravenclaw's Roger Davies—he got through Professor Sprout's greenhouse with help from his Quidditch teammates."
"One whole team escorting one person? I bet he won't pass the Goblet's screening."
"No clear info from Slytherin yet. Malfoy gathered a group to try the greenhouse, but they failed—ended up knocked out under the Biting Cabbage. Theodore Nott apparently made it through Snape's potion trap."
"Ha! Malfoy!"
Ron laughed even louder. He had nothing much to say about Nott—the boy really was excellent at Potions.
"What about our House?"
Harry looked around. A lot of familiar faces were missing—the Weasley twins, Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, and know-it-all Hermione.
Seamus scratched his head. "Not sure. George and Fred dragged Lee off to try the chessboard. Hermione spent the whole morning in the library and didn't head over until three o'clock. She still hasn't come back."
"Ah…"
Harry's feelings were complicated. He wanted his friends to succeed, yet at the same time he didn't want them to.