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The sky gradually darkened.
On the lawn outside the castle, quite a few people had already gathered without anyone noticing.
The last rays of sunset outlined the castle towers in sharp silhouette and bathed every young face in a warm, golden glow.
The Cupids flew out first.
They poured from every window of the castle like a flock of white doves released into the sky, wings fluttering as they converged above the lawn.
The Cupids carrying flower baskets got to work right away—tiny hands flicked, and pink, red, and golden petals cascaded down, swirling in the twilight like rain that would never stop.
Others clutched miniature instruments—harps, trumpets, hand drums—and began playing soft, gentle melodies.
The music was unhurried, as if the evening breeze itself were humming, or a distant fairy tale drifting on the wind.
Young witches and wizards arrived in twos and threes—some holding hands, some walking shoulder to shoulder, others deliberately keeping a little distance while their eyes kept drifting toward each other.
The Cupids immediately flew over, tugging at sleeves and guiding everyone into position.
"Come on, come on—smile!"
One little Cupid held up a magical camera and aimed it at a couple.
The Hufflepuff boy looked a bit nervous; the Gryffindor girl leaned boldly against his shoulder.
Click.
The photo slid out from the bottom of the camera. The girl took it, then clapped a hand over her mouth in delight—the sunset, the castle, the two of them nestled together, wind-tossed hair and smiles, all frozen in the most beautiful instant.
"It's gorgeous!"
Soon more couples were asking the Cupids to take pictures.
Some stood in the center of the lawn with the sunset halo behind them; others posed in front of the castle's dark silhouette; still others simply lay on the grass and let petals drift down onto them.
The Cupids bustled about happily, but every single photo was taken with care—as if they instinctively knew the most flattering angles.
…
Finally the sky turned completely black.
Everyone on the lawn tilted their heads upward, because they felt it—a strange, warm presence spreading through the night air.
Lucien and Liuguang appeared simultaneously high overhead.
Pure flames ignited around Liuguang's body. The gold-red fire looked like molten sunset, like flowing amber, lighting up the darkness.
But the pure flames didn't expand to full power; they served more as a signal flare to draw every eye, as if saying: Look here—the real show is about to begin.
At the same time, Lucien raised his wand.
A flame mixed with red, white, and purple bloomed at the tip.
"Gubraithian Fire."
The spell Dumbledore had taught him—fire that blended incantation and alchemy.
The fire rune on Lucien's fingertip flared bright. In an instant, magic and element sang with joyful excitement.
"Partis Temporus."
The precise syllables rolled out. Lucien immediately felt his control over flame deepen another level—finer, more flexible, as if the fire had truly become an extension of his fingers, a living part of his will.
Guided by his wand, the flames began to dance in the sky.
Gubraithian Fire no longer simply burned in place. It surged, rolled, and transformed—as if granted life, as if given a soul.
A fire dragon burst from the flames.
Wings spread wide, it threw its head back and roared.
The dragon's roar shook the night, yet carried a strange, rhythmic beauty.
It circled through the darkness, every scale clearly visible and burning.
Sparks rained down toward the crowd, vanishing an instant before they could touch anyone's hair.
"Norwegian Ridgeback… it's so real…" a young wizard murmured. "It looks exactly like the real thing…"
The flames drew back, then exploded outward.
A giant bird shot through the blaze.
Smaller than the dragon, every wingbeat came with thunderous booms. Lightning crackled around it, turning the night sky bright as day.
Its feathers were flowing flame, each one perfectly distinct.
"Merlin's cauldron… it turned into a Thunderbird!" a sixth-year boy stared upward, mouth hanging open wide enough to fit an egg.
The fire softened.
An elegant unicorn took shape.
Mane and tail streamed like liquid flame; a spiral horn gleamed on its forehead.
It galloped across the night sky. Wherever its hooves touched, trails of light remained—like a river of stars stamped across the clouds.
"I never imagined…" a Ravenclaw girl whispered, "that fire could be this beautiful…"
Then came a herd of flaming horses thundering in from the horizon. Manes and tails blazing, hooves striking sparks, they raced across the sky, circled the field once, then charged higher still, as if racing toward the stars themselves.
Thunderous applause and cheers erupted from the crowd.
But right at that moment—
The flames suddenly blazed even brighter, briefly blotting out the entire night sky.
The light was so intense it stung the eyes.
Some people instinctively raised their hands to shield them; others squinted, trying to see what was happening.
A dozen pillars of light dropped from the sky-fire like upside-down trees of flame, landing on empty patches of grass.
The fire spread, danced, then slowly dimmed.
When the blaze thinned and the glare finally eased—
Different cries and roars rang out at the same time.
The lawn fell utterly silent.
Everyone's eyes widened in disbelief at what they were seeing.
The magical creatures that had just been formed from fire—the rare beasts they had only ever read about in books—were now standing right in front of them, stepping slowly out of the fading sparks.