Chapter 1 - A Wizard

“Lumos Maxima,” Peter whispered.

The tip of his wand glowed beneath the blanket.

“Lumos Maxima…”

“Why can’t you just sleep?” Stewart almost cried.

For the past thirty minutes, Peter had been lying under his blanket, repeatedly murmuring the Lumos spell as he tried to read something. It was nearly three in the morning, and Stewart had finally had enough.

“Just a minute,” Peter said.

Unlike Stewart, he was wide awake.

With an irritated groan, Stewart pulled his blanket over his head and tucked himself tightly inside, covering his ears.

Under his own blanket, Peter continued reading the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, published only a few minutes ago. The Ministry had announced a new law concerning professional sports, and Peter had been waiting all night to find out exactly what it was.

By the time he finished the article, the excitement had disappeared from his face. He looked puzzled—almost disappointed.

Peter lowered the newspaper and placed his wand on the desk beside his laptop.

Stewart’s head suddenly emerged from beneath his blanket.

“You know, you can read the news on your laptop!”

“They don’t publish it on the website until morning,” Peter replied.

“Then you’d better read the news in the morning, idiot!”

Stewart threw the blanket over his face again and disappeared beneath it.

Peter lay back against his pillow. For a while, he simply stared into the darkness, thinking.

Then, eventually, he tucked himself in and went to sleep.

The next morning, Peter walked through the corridor with Alison and Stewart. Or rather, a few steps behind them.

The two were busy talking about how they had spent their summer holidays, while Peter remained lost in his thoughts. The Daily Prophet was rolled tightly in one hand, his fingers clenched around it.

Stewart eventually turned around.

“Hey, Pete. What happened to your mum’s chocolate factory? I heard you’re shutting it down?”

“The business wasn’t doing well. She was already in debt, so she sold the place and cleared what she owed,” Peter answered.

His mind, however, was still somewhere else.

“That’s rough, mate. Can we help?” Stewart asked, exchanging a concerned look with Alison.

Peter shook his head.

Before either of them could say anything more, a familiar voice called from the other end of the corridor.

“Mr Harrow! The Headmaster would like to speak with you.”

It was Professor Black.

Peter’s expression changed instantly.

He hurried towards Black with such sudden enthusiasm that it almost seemed as though someone had just offered him the solution to all his problems.

Stewart and Alison remained where they were, staring after him.

“What was that about?” Alison asked.

Stewart could only shrug.

Professor Black led Peter through the corridors and up the staircase towards Flamel’s office. When they reached the door, Black knocked.

“Professor, Harrow is here.”

“Come in,” Flamel called.

The Headmaster’s office was filled with the golden light of the rising sun. The portraits hanging along the walls were, as usual, quietly chatting amongst themselves.

Flamel looked at Peter, then at the rolled-up newspaper clutched in his hand.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose you know why you’re here, Mr Harrow?”

“I do, sir. I read the news. I guessed you must have called me because of—”

“What news?” Black interrupted.

Peter stopped.

Flamel turned towards Black, who looked both anxious and completely clueless.

“The Ministry of Magic has announced that students wishing to pursue professional careers in sport will no longer be required to sit their NEWTs,” Flamel explained. “The highest qualification required will now be their OWLs. Which means…”

“This could be my last year at Hogwarts,” Peter finished quietly.

Black’s expression softened. He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to Peter.

Flamel continued.

“Peter, leaving after your OWLs is entirely optional. But if you truly intend to become a professional dueller, then there is little sense in spending another two years studying subjects you may never need. Those years could instead be spent training and competing at a professional level.”

Peter remained silent.

“I understand,” Flamel continued, “that leaving your friends behind will be difficult, but—”

“That’s not the problem, Professor,” Peter interrupted.

Flamel studied him for a moment.

“Then why are you worried, son?”

Peter looked down at the newspaper in his hands.

“It’s my mother. I haven’t told her about my…”

He stopped.

Black glanced at Flamel before speaking.

“Peter, your mother needs to know what you want to do. If she doesn’t consent, none of this will be possible. Whether it is today or tomorrow, you will have to tell her eventually.”

“She knows I want to become a dueller,” Peter said. “She’s always known. Ever since I was a child.”

He hesitated.

“But she doesn’t want me to end up like my dad. She’s spent my whole life trying to protect me from that.”

“Your father was a great man, Peter,” Black said gently. “And you can be just as good as he was.”

Peter didn’t answer.

Flamel rose from his chair.

“Peter, you cannot spend your entire life hiding things from your mother—especially decisions that will affect her as much as they affect you.”

“She just lost her business,” Peter said. “I can’t tell her something like this straight away, Professor.”

Flamel’s expression softened.

“Then don’t.”

Peter looked up.

“There is no hurry. You have the entire year ahead of you to decide what you want to do. But remember this: telling her may be difficult. Not telling her will eventually make things far more difficult.”

Peter nodded.

“Thank you, Professor.”

He turned towards the door.

“And Harrow,” Black called after him.

Peter looked back.

“Don’t be late for class.”

Black gave his hair an affectionate ruffle as Peter passed him and left the office.

Peter was only in his fifth year.

Until last night, he had assumed Hogwarts would remain his home for another two.

Now, for the first time, he had no idea whether this year would be his last.

Peter was already late for Charms when he rushed through the crowded corridors, weaving between groups of students. He was hoping to catch up with his friends before they entered the classroom.

By the time he reached the class, several of his classmates were already hurrying inside. Peter quickly joined them.

The moment he entered, he looked towards the back benches.

Stewart, Alison, Miranda and Smith were already sitting there.

And they hadn’t saved him a seat.

Peter gave them a disappointed look.

Stewart could only shrug.

Unfortunately, the only empty seats were at the very front.

Peter sighed and dragged himself towards one of them, sitting down far away from his friends.

Ever since leaving Flamel’s office, he had been thinking about telling them what had happened. If this really was going to be his last year at Hogwarts, perhaps he should tell them. Perhaps they should spend more time together than ever before.

After all, once this year ended, they might never see each other at school again.

Miss January finally entered the classroom, and everyone fell silent.

“Good morning, class! A lovely day to start our lesson.”

She placed her books on the desk and turned towards the students.

“Today, I’m going to teach you a spell that might appear to be a defensive spell, but is actually a charm. Repeat after me—Speculum Flexa.”

The entire class repeated together.

“Speculum Flexa.”

“Good. Again. And this time, a little more clearly.”

Miss January gave a slight cough.

“Speculum Flexa!” the class repeated.

“Much better. Now, you might be wondering what it does.”

She began walking slowly between the desks.

“The Speculum Charm was famously used during the historic duel between Professor Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. Dumbledore used it several times to repel Grindelwald’s attacks.”

Several students immediately looked more interested.

“The spell isn’t technically defensive. Instead, it communicates with an incoming spell and tricks it into believing it is travelling in the wrong direction. The incoming spell then reverses its course—and may even strike the wizard who originally cast it.”

Miss January stopped beside Peter’s desk.

“For a very long time, the Speculum Charm wasn’t taken particularly seriously by the duelling community. Dumbledore proved otherwise. Although he didn’t rely on it throughout his entire duel with Grindelwald, it proved immensely useful on several occasions.”

She turned towards the blackboard.

“Now, can anyone tell me why the charm still isn’t widely used?”

A girl’s hand shot into the air.

Miss January hesitated.

“Yes, Miss Harper?”

“Is it true that the champion schools are arriving today?”

Whispers immediately swept through the classroom.

Miss January closed her eyes for a moment.

“Alright, class. I know all of you are excited about the Triwizard Tournament, but you cannot simply neglect your studies because of it. I almost wish Professor Flamel hadn’t announced it so early.”

The whispering slowly died down.

“Now—who can tell me why the Speculum Charm isn’t commonly used in duels?”

Several hands went up.

“Bob?”

Bob straightened himself.

“The Triwizard Tournament happens every thirty years, but this one’s happening after thirty-five, so technically shouldn’t it be called—”

“I heard a student died in the last tournament!” Ramona Richards suddenly interrupted. “Why are they even conducting it again?”

“It was Voldemort who killed him, genius! And he’s gone for good!” someone shouted from the back.

The classroom erupted.

“ALRIGHT!”

Miss January’s voice finally rose above everyone else’s.

“Silence!”

The room went quiet.

She stared at them in disbelief.

“Look, children, I would love to discuss all of this with you. But you have to let me teach you at least once this year. You have your OWLs ahead of you, and right now, nothing is more important than those.”

Peter’s expression changed slightly at that.

For him, perhaps that was now literally true.

“Now,” Miss January continued, “the reason Speculum Flexa isn’t widely used is because it requires immense practice and extraordinary mental calmness. You are trusting the charm to correctly interpret and redirect another spell while that spell is flying directly towards you.”

She raised her wand.

“If the charm miscommunicates with the incoming spell, even slightly, things can very quickly turn against—”

The classroom door burst open.

A fourth-year boy stood there, panting heavily and struggling to catch his breath.

“They’re here!”

Everyone stared at him.

“They’re here!”

Excitement exploded through the classroom.

Before Miss January could say another word, students leapt from their seats and rushed towards the door.

“Wait—class! I haven’t—”

Nobody listened.

Within seconds, the classroom was almost empty.

Miss January stood alone beside her desk, staring at the open door in astonishment.

The corridors of Hogwarts were packed once again.

Students poured towards the main gates, desperate to witness the arrival of the two champion schools.

Then someone pointed towards the sky.

Something enormous was approaching.

At first, Peter couldn’t make out what it was. But as it grew larger against the morning sky, the shape became unmistakable.

A gigantic mockingbird.

The crowd gasped.

The bird swept over the Hogwarts grounds, its enormous wings casting a moving shadow across the students below. It circled the immense castle once before descending towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest, landing near the Snowman’s Cave.

The students moved aside as Headmaster Flamel made his way through the crowd to welcome the visitors.

The giant bird lowered its head.

Then it opened its beak.

A group of beautiful young women flew gracefully from within, each mounted on a broomstick.

Veelas.

Peter stared.

He had never seen one before.

For several seconds, he was completely spellbound.

Miranda slowly turned towards him.

Her stare could have killed a Basilisk.

Peter suddenly realised that his mouth had been hanging open.

He immediately closed it.

Then another figure emerged from the great bird.

A remarkably tall woman stepped onto the grounds, carrying herself with elegance and authority. Her unusual height made her instantly recognisable.

Headmaster Flamel approached her with a warm smile.

“Madam Maxime.”

Vilma Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons and the only daughter of Olympe Maxime, extended her hand.

Flamel gently took it and kissed it in greeting.

The Hogwarts students applauded as the Beauxbatons delegation entered the grounds.

The boys, Peter noticed, were still melting like wax at the sight of the Veelas.

But then another sound drew everyone’s attention.

A deep rumble.

Peter turned towards the Black Lake.

The water had become violent.

Thunderous waves rose and crashed across its surface, powerful enough that Peter could almost feel the ground trembling beneath his feet.

Then, suddenly—

Silence.

The lake became completely still.

Everyone stared.

A gigantic whale erupted from the water.

Gasps filled the grounds as it soared into the golden afternoon sky, water cascading from its enormous body before it crashed back into the lake.

But Peter had seen something on its back.

People.

An organised group of young men were riding the whale, each gripping a long rope attached to its back.

Near the creature’s head stood an older, grim-looking man.

The whale disappeared beneath the surface again.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then its enormous tail burst from the lake.

With a violent flick, it sent the riders flying into the air.

The crowd screamed.

But the Durmstrang students were completely in control.

Still holding their ropes, they swung through the air in wide circles. The ropes crossed and twisted around one another as the boys performed a perfectly synchronised formation above the Hogwarts grounds.

Then the ropes vanished.

Heavy wooden staffs appeared in their hands.

One after another, the boys dropped towards the ground.

They landed together.

Their staffs struck the earth at exactly the same moment.

THUD.

The entire formation bowed.

Walking calmly between them was their Headmaster, accompanied by a seventeen-year-old boy.

Peter’s smile disappeared.

He knew that face.

Someone behind him whispered the name.

“Ivan Karkaroff.”

Peter continued staring.

Memories of his encounter with Ivan during his third year returned almost immediately.

Their first meeting hadn’t exactly gone well.

Iris Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang, opened his arms and warmly embraced Flamel.

Ivan remained beside him, emotionless.

His eyes slowly travelled across the Hogwarts grounds, studying the castle and the students gathered around him.

For a moment, Peter wondered whether Ivan had noticed him.

Iris then greeted Vilma Maximae while Professor Flamel directed both delegations towards the castle.

Peter was still watching Ivan when someone poked him in the stomach.

He turned.

George Smith stood beside him with a grin.

“So,” Smith said, “ready to be the champion, Harrow?”

There was a friendly challenge in his voice.

Peter finally looked away from Ivan.

A familiar smirk appeared on his face.

“May the best wizard win.”

Soon, the entire school had gathered inside the Great Hall.

Two additional rows had been arranged for the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. The hall was louder than Peter had heard it in months, with students whispering, staring and trying to get a better look at their new guests.

Peter settled into his seat with his friends.

Then he noticed someone near the staff table.

A strange man from the Ministry.

Or rather, someone who would have been strange to everyone except Peter.

He recognised him from the previous year.

Mr Gibbs.

Head of the Ministry’s Department of Magical Sports.

Peter watched as Flamel, Karkaroff and Maxime approached him. The four exchanged handshakes before beginning a quiet conversation amongst themselves.

Peter leaned forward slightly.

Whatever was about to happen, the Triwizard Tournament had officially begun.

Professor Flamel finally rose from his seat and stepped forward to address the Great Hall.

“My dear students and teachers, let us leave no stone unturned in welcoming our friends from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang!”

A tremendous wave of applause and cheering swept through the hall. The visiting students smiled as hundreds of Hogwarts students welcomed them.

Flamel waited for the noise to settle before continuing.

“The Triwizard Tournament has had a long and influential history in the wizarding world. It has given us some of our greatest heroes…”

His expression grew more serious.

“…and some very painful wounds.”

Whispers spread across the Great Hall.

“But Mr Gibbs here has assured us that this year shall be different.”

Flamel gestured towards the Ministry official standing nearby.

“The Tournament this year will be safe, secure and, hopefully, very entertaining. The rules will be strictly enforced, and any serious violation of Tournament protocol will result in permanent disqualification.”

Peter listened carefully.

“In fact,” Flamel continued, his expression brightening, “considering the nature of the challenges planned for this year, I am pleased to announce that the minimum age for participation has been lowered to fifteen.”

The Great Hall erupted.

Peter immediately sat upright.

“Which means,” Flamel continued over the excitement, “fifth-year students will be permitted to enter their names.”

Peter’s face lit up.

This changed everything.

“However!” Flamel raised his voice. “I strongly advise our fifth years to remember that they have their OWLs this year. Consider carefully where your priorities lie before making any decisions.”

Peter barely heard that part.

This was his chance.

Not merely to compete in another school tournament, but to show everyone what he could actually do. If he became the Hogwarts Champion, people outside the school would know his name.

And if he got the opportunity to compete against Ivan Karkaroff…

That would raise the stakes even higher.

Stewart leaned towards him.

“Peter, this is the best thing that could’ve happened to us.”

Peter looked at him.

“You have to enter,” Stewart whispered excitedly. “Forget the OWLs! Even if you lose to Karkaroff, competing against someone like him would still be huge for your duelling career.”

Peter’s expression hardened.

“I can defeat him any day.”

The words lose and Karkaroff in the same sentence had irritated him more than Stewart had expected.

Peter looked across the hall.

Ivan Karkaroff was sitting amongst the Durmstrang students, casually observing the Great Hall. There was something almost dismissive in the way he looked at the Hogwarts students.

Peter watched his every movement.

Part of him wanted Ivan to look in his direction.

To notice him.

Eventually, he did.

Ivan’s eyes met Peter’s.

Neither looked away.

For several long seconds, they simply stared at one another across the Great Hall.

Then Ivan’s expression changed.

A grim little smirk appeared on his face.

He remembered him.

A chill ran down Peter’s spine.

His earlier confidence suddenly gave way to alertness. Ivan continued staring into his eyes with that same unsettling smirk, almost as though he knew something Peter didn’t.

Then, without another reaction, Ivan looked away.

George Smith had noticed the entire exchange.

He remained silent until Peter finally turned back towards him.

“Seems like you’ve got yourself a new arch-enemy,” Smith said with a small laugh.

Peter smiled.

There was something amusing about hearing that from Smith of all people.

When Peter had first arrived at Hogwarts, Smith had practically been his arch-enemy. Somehow, over the years, they had managed to become friends.

But Ivan was different.

Peter wasn’t sure this rivalry would ever end the same way.

Nor was he sure just how sinister it could become.

Flamel had continued speaking throughout their exchange, though Peter hadn’t heard a word of it.

When his attention finally returned to the stage, the Headmaster was standing beside a large object covered beneath a cloth.

Flamel took hold of the covering.

With one swift movement, he pulled it away.

The Great Hall fell silent.

The Goblet of Fire stood before them.

The ancient goblet was made of silver, its surface gleaming beneath the floating candles of the Great Hall. From within it burned a brilliant blue flame.

The flame of judgement.

The flame that would choose three champions.

“For those wishing to participate,” Flamel announced, “you may place your names into the Goblet of Fire until the end of this coming Saturday. Any entry submitted afterwards will be considered invalid.”

Excited murmurs immediately filled the hall.

“And on Sunday evening, Hogwarts will host a Yule Ball for our students and our guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.”

That announcement received an entirely different kind of reaction.

Students immediately began whispering and looking around the hall.

“At the Yule Ball,” Flamel continued, “the Goblet of Fire will reveal the three students chosen to represent their schools as the Triwizard Champions.”

He smiled.

“Good luck.”

The Great Hall erupted into applause.

Suddenly, the Tournament wasn’t the only thing everyone was talking about.

The Yule Ball meant dancing.

And dancing meant finding someone to go with.

For most of the students, that quickly became the greater concern.

Peter had very different things on his mind.

Once the gathering ended, students poured back into the corridors, returning to their lessons and dormitories.

Peter walked behind Stewart, Alison, Miranda and Smith.

Something felt wrong.

There was a dull pain growing in his stomach. His head felt strange, and every few moments, a wave of nausea passed through him.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep.

Perhaps it was everything that had happened since three in the morning.

The Ministry’s announcement.

His conversation with Flamel.

His mother.

The Tournament.

Ivan.

And now the possibility that this might really be his final year at Hogwarts.

His friends continued walking ahead of him, talking amongst themselves.

Peter felt strangely distant from them.

“Hey, Pete.”

Alison turned around.

“I forgot to ask. Why did Flamel call you to his office this morning?”

Peter slowed down.

This was his chance to tell them.

He had been thinking about it all morning.

He looked at Alison, then at Stewart, Miranda and Smith.

“Nothing.”

There was a short pause.

“Nothing important.”

Alison looked unconvinced.

Peter swallowed.

“I think I’m going back to the dormitory. I’m not feeling very well. I’ll skip the rest of the classes.”

Before anyone could question him further, Peter hurried away, looking as though he might be sick at any moment.

His friends watched him disappear down the corridor.

Peter had spent the entire morning worrying about how to tell them that this could be his final year with them.

And when the opportunity finally came—

he couldn’t do it.

He returned to his dormitory and climbed into bed.

The afternoon passed.

Then the evening.

Then night.

Peter barely moved.

He simply lay there, staring upwards, thinking.

The next morning, Peter felt alive again.

It was a brand-new day, and somehow, everything that had troubled him yesterday seemed a little less frightening. It was another chance to make things right.

He had finally decided to tell his friends that this might be his last year at Hogwarts. But he didn’t want to simply thunderstrike the news at them in the middle of a corridor.

He would wait until dinner.

That would give him enough time to think about what he wanted to say.

Stewart immediately noticed the change in him. Peter looked rejuvenated as the two dressed and made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Even breakfast felt different that morning.

Peter couldn’t explain it, but everything seemed strangely new to him. The food tasted as though he were having it for the first time. The enchanted ceiling, the floating candles, the long house tables, the hundreds of students talking around him—he found himself noticing all of it.

For the first time in years, Peter stopped to appreciate just how beautiful Hogwarts really was.

Perhaps knowing that he might soon have to leave it had changed something.

Once breakfast was over, Peter and his friends hurried towards Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Peter had no intention of disappointing Professor Black by arriving late to his class.

More importantly, he had no intention of losing the last bench again.

Fortunately, they reached the classroom in time.

Peter settled into the back with Stewart, Alison, Miranda and Smith.

A few moments later, Edward Black entered.

“Good morning, class. Can someone remind me where we left off yesterday?”

Bob immediately answered.

“The counter to the Speculum Spell, sir.”

“Ah, yes.”

Black placed his books on the desk.

“I was demonstrating how Miss January has successfully misled all of you into believing that Charms can save wizards.”

Several students laughed.

“But she said Dumbledore used it in his historic duel,” someone called out.

“That is indeed true,” Black replied. “But he was Dumbledore.”

He looked around the classroom.

“You are fifteen-year-old children.”

A few students groaned.

“But you know what? I’ll give you a moment to think. There is one particular spell against which Speculum Flexa is practically useless.”

The room became quiet.

Students exchanged confused looks.

Then Peter raised his hand.

Black noticed him immediately.

“Mr Harrow.”

There was unmistakable pride in his voice. Peter had always been one of his best students.

“The Disarming Spell,” Peter answered confidently.

Black smiled.

“Excellent! And can you tell us why?”

“Because the Disarming Charm is meant to act as a universal counter. Speculum Flexa needs to interact with an incoming spell to misdirect it. But the Disarming Charm dismantles the magic before the Speculum Charm can properly interact with it.”

“Excellent. Again.”

Black looked around the classroom.

“Now, before we move any further—and before all of you start whining about your favourite teacher, Miss January—I think we should demonstrate it.”

A few students laughed.

Black turned towards Peter.

“Would you like to volunteer?”

Peter was already getting out of his seat.

“Of course, sir.”

He stepped towards the front of the classroom and pulled his wand from beneath his robes.

Black moved opposite him.

Both raised their wands.

“On the count of three,” Black said.

Peter tightened his grip.

“One…”

Black raised his wand.

“Two…”

Peter took his stance.

“Three!”

“Expelliarmus!” Peter shouted.

“Speculum Flexa!” Black cast.

A silver light flashed at the tip of Black’s wand.

But nothing came from Peter’s.

Peter blinked.

Black lowered his wand slightly.

“What happened?”

Peter looked at his wand and shrugged.

“Don’t know, sir.”

“Alright. Again.”

They returned to their positions.

“One… two… three!”

“Expelliarmus!”

“Speculum Flexa!”

Again, Black’s wand glowed silver.

Again, nothing came from Peter’s.

This time, nobody laughed.

Peter stared at his wand.

It didn’t feel like a wand anymore.

It felt like he was holding an ordinary piece of wood.

“Peter…” Black said.

Peter barely heard him.

He suddenly pointed his wand towards the ceiling.

“Expelliarmus!”

Nothing.

His breathing became heavier.

“Stupefy!”

Nothing.

A few students exchanged looks.

“Protego!”

Nothing.

The classroom went completely silent.

Peter stared at the tip of his wand.

No sparks.

No light.

Nothing.

Black’s expression had changed entirely. His eyes widened as he watched one of his most gifted students struggle to produce even the simplest magic.

Peter suddenly rushed towards the back of the classroom.

“Stewart, give me your wand.”

“What?”

“Give it to me!”

Stewart handed it over.

Peter grabbed the wand and immediately turned towards the front.

“Expelliarmus!”

Nothing happened.

Peter froze.

It wasn’t his wand.

Whispers began spreading across the classroom.

Peter slowly looked down at Stewart’s wand.

Then he let it fall from his hand.

It struck the floor.

His eyes moved towards his own bare hands.

“I’ve lost it…” he murmured.

Black stepped towards him.

“Peter—”

“I think I’ve lost it, Professor.”

His voice was trembling now.

Black stopped.

Peter looked up at him, terror filling his face.

“I think I’ve lost my powers!”

The entire class stared at him.

For Peter was no longer a wizard.