firecracker ???

A month passed, and Hogwarts changed.

It began in the air—the cold snap of autumn curling through open corridors, the scent of wet stone and dried leaves clinging to students' cloaks as they moved between lessons. The castle walls seemed to listen more intently this time of year, every whisper and secret bouncing back off centuries-old stone.

Lyra liked this shift. It suited her. Summer was too loud, too golden. Autumn, by contrast, offered shadows, silence, smoke.

Draco hated it. He claimed the draughts made his quills brittle and his mood worse.

"The ink froze mid-sentence," he declared one morning, waving a parchment like it had personally betrayed him.

"You misspelled 'corruption,'" Lyra said, sipping her tea.

"Because my hand seized."

"Tragic."

The excitement about the Triwizard Tournament hadn't waned. If anything, it had reached a fever pitch. Posters lined the walls now, charmed banners fluttered in the Entrance Hall with messages like Courage is Eternal and A Champion for Hogwarts.

Lyra thought them gaudy. Draco thought they were a personal attack, given that he was too young to compete.

"It's ridiculous," he grumbled over breakfast. "Only seventeen-year-olds? What kind of arbitrary number is that?"

"A legally binding one," Blaise replied.

"We should at least be considered," Draco went on. "They could've allowed nominations. Interviews. A written exam. I'd ace it."

"You trip over flat ground."

"That was once."

"It was Tuesday."

Still, there was something thrilling about it. Even Lyra, who prided herself on her disinterest, felt the castle shift around the edges of it all. There was tension in the stairwells now. Excitement in the breakfast porridge.

And then they arrived.

The Beauxbatons carriage landed on the Hogwarts grounds like a moving jewel box, pulled by winged horses the size of elephants. The Durmstrang ship emerged from the lake that same evening, dark and heavy, sails creaking like bones.

The foreign students made everything real. Too real. Their arrival broke the school into whispers, speculations, flirtations. Theo had made it his mission to speak to at least three Durmstrang students by week's end. Draco scowled through all of it, muttering about how none of them were actually that impressive.

"You're jealous," Lyra said, eyes flicking over the Durmstrang table.

"I'm not."

"You are."

He rolled his eyes. She continued.

"So life's usual order."

Draco glared.

That evening, Dumbledore hosted a welcome feast for the visiting schools. The Great Hall had been re-enchanted, ceiling turned to stormy dusk, with long banners hanging from each wall—Gryffindor red, Ravenclaw blue, Hufflepuff yellow, Slytherin green, and two new ones: the sky-blue fleur-de-lis of Beauxbatons and the dark iron insignia of Durmstrang.

The performances were dramatic. Beauxbatons girls in flowing silks performed a haunting ballet with enchanted butterflies that dissolved into glitter. Durmstrang's entrance was less graceful and more militaristic—staff-spinning, synchronized fire casting, and a hard thud of boots on stone that shook the room.