Moxxie wasn't usually one for champagne and celebration, especially not in a work setting.

But this job had been so tedious, long-winded, and exhausting that he felt that the over casualness of champagne bottles in the usual space that was usually the conference room was appropriate.

The client for this particular job had requested the murder of an important government official of Yemen, the serial killer's grandson who had killed her. Already, offing an 'important' human was daunting, but she'd also requested his extensive and severe torture be recorded and that his flesh is kept intact so she could eat it. All in all, this woman was a nasty piece of work, but a client was a client.

Moxxie had been apprehensive at first, squeamish at the thought of such a long-winded death. Still, Millie had graciously provided newspaper articles exposing the target as a pedophile, and suddenly he had begun selecting the appropriate weapons for the job with relish. In any case, everything that could've gone wrong on the job had.

The complications had gotten to the point of being overwhelming, all their lives risked, and exposure of themselves as imps to the humans seemed eminent. But, somehow, as they usually did, they escaped by the skin of their teeth. And they all wanted to get drunk.

After his fifth gin and tonic, Blitzo had forgotten to keep the alcohol well away from Loona, which was a precaution he always took even though most kids in Hell started drinking at age twelve, and she was already well past that age.

So, with Blitzo in his careless drunk state, even the usually grumpy hound was acting strangely bubbly and well-disposed. Millie had ordered pizza and sweets, together with another crate of varying kinds of alcohol.

It never arrived, so she went to pick it up herself and almost got hit by a car on her way back. It was ten, and they were all swaying on the spot, giggling and smoking like they were teenagers.

At some point, a letter arrived for Blitzo. "Shshsh, everyone, come, listen, listen." He summoned them all to him and called for their attention. "It's from our cluh-eyent," he slurred. "'Dear Blitzy,'" he narrowed his eyes to read better. "'Thank you for your satisfying work.

His meat came right off like the burnt part of a marshmallow.' Bah!" He burst into laughter, and so did everyone along with him. In that inebriated, peaceful state, the company completely unsuspecting, they were suddenly sucked into a whirlpool.

They had all gone through portals to the living world multiple times, but none had been like this. Though they still had the distinct impression of passing through somewhere, of the change of air and scenery, of the difference between the living breath and the dying breath, it was not as painless and undisturbing as all their previous experiences had been, especially considering how unprepared they were for the change.

Passing through this new, strange portal, they felt their skin rearranged, pulled taut against their skulls, then snapped back to their original positions.

Their fingers and feet suddenly grew cold and rigid, like they'd been lying in a Russian waste for hours. The feeling of being pulled apart and rearranged was most predominant.

They didn't know who it'd been, but someone puked on the way, and the vomit hit everyone else in the face (they didn't even know, but it was Blitzo). Confusion and lividness were most predominant in their feelings, paired together with nausea and physical pain like steak and red wine. And where they landed did no good for their general sense of being dumbfounded.

They all plonked down on a massive wooden table. Blitzo, the letter from the satisfied client still crumpled in his hand, toppled over onto one of the dark wood benches, where children had begun screaming and moving apart so as not to be hit by the imp that'd suddenly rolled their way. Loona landed on her face, her nose starting to bleed like a cataract, and Millie, thankfully, landed in Moxxie's arms.

Moxxie himself felt he'd definitely gotten a concussion from how hard his head and neck had hit the table, and if it wasn't a concussion, then his skull had cracked like a massive, horned egg. The pain was intensified by the confusion and clamor of the situation.

The group was starting to be only vaguely aware of the chaos of the surroundings they'd landed into, and whether or not they had provoked, it was beyond them and not even something they questioned at that moment.

The Great Hall at Hogwarts had erupted into complete disorder since the imps' arrival. Bare seconds had passed, but the students all huddled against one another, already stacked together due to their company, but now even more so as they evaded the areas closest to the newcomers.

The professors sat rigidly and shocked in their seats, processing the name that had flickered up from the ancient goblet set before them and the sudden, violent arrival of red creatures into their school.

Such a thing should not have been able to occur in Hogwarts - there were so many air-tight spells and precautions that were supposed to make it secure, make it impenetrable. Especially to apparition. To the careful eye, however, it would've been plain to see that the creatures had not apparated, even though the portal had not been visible from the living side.

Alas, there they were, rubbing their fleshy heads with their crimson hands and recovering from the wounds they'd suffered. All were in a state of complete and utter confusion, the demons were not the exceptions. Some of the professors stood as if prepared to do something, but they hovered where they were like lost souls.

Finally, amid the chaos came a resounding, authoritative voice. "Silence!" The imps watched as an incredibly elderly, white-bearded man beside a massive structure thrust up his hands and, as if by magic, shifted the altered state of things into a frozen picture.

They themselves stood rigid and attentive, shaken by the profundity of the man's voice. Kids stopped where they'd been running, adults sat down, and the Helldwellers and wizards stared at one another sullenly.

The imps finally took in the appearance of their surroundings through alcohol-muddled sight. Their eyes ran from the children to the robes, to the weird sticks some of them were pointing in their direction.

They analyzed the funny pointed hat that the elderly man at the front was wearing and the fire-spitting goblet by his side. Funnily enough, they all had the same idea as to where they had landed: a cosplay convention.

A very intricate and rich (they thought, noticing the quality and antiquity of the Hall and how real the goblet and costumes looked), but a cosplay convention nonetheless.

Loona was the first to look up and notice the floating candles, the profundity, and complexity of the night sky sparkling above their heads. They all shifted their gaze to where Loona's eyes had gone.

Well, cosplayers could certainly afford to rent out a room at a castle to hold their convention, but they most definitely could not create something like what was on the ceiling. A flash of lightning burned across the sky.

Blitzo fainted, his head plopping to the stone ground, congratulatory letter drifting from his open palm.

This place was so distinctly alive that there was no way it was Hell, and certainly no way it could be heaven. This was incredibly human. But there was nothing mundane about it, nothing of the likes of what a human could create.

The old man with the white hair cleared his throat. "Is one of you, by any chance, Harry Potter?" He asked, his voice throaty and scratchy, unlike the one he'd used just moments before to impose himself upon what had to be hundreds of people.

Moxxie swallowed hard. Millie was shifting his gaze from him to Dumbledore, and it looked as though all the alcohol had been sucked clean from her system. Moxxie, too, felt horribly sober and present.

Loona was still incredibly drunk and most likely thought the alcohol had been laced with hallucinogenics, which was the explanation for all of this.

What was Moxxie supposed to do? Raise his hand like some kid in primary school? He also cleared his throat and sat upon the table, gently pushing Millie to the side and off him.

"Where are we?" He asked in the most stable, clear voice he could manage.

It came out crackly and scared. There was a generalized murmuring from the students all around them. The older man looked at them over his half-moon spectacles. "You are in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Moxxie felt like he'd been punched square in the face. Millie tugged on his arm and started hauling Blitzo up as best she could.

"I'm sure this is a misunderstanding, we're really sorry we interrupted your - Uhm…" she looked around, "ceremony. But we should be heading back, won't be bothering you no more." Loona neared them, her ears pulled back on her head, and slowly started helping them.

"I'm afraid that isn't possible," exclaimed a whiny, twitchy voice from behind the old man. It came from a middle-aged grump with grey hair and a mustache that was two hairs away from being very politically incorrect.

"That is, it is impossible if one of you is Harry Potter." He concluded, rubbing his fingers against his palm. "What does this matter to us? We're leaving." Moxxie said strongly, though he felt as if he'd been caught cheating in a final exam. Deep, generalized murmurs came from the crowds of students.

"The Goblet of Fire presents a binding contract. You must participate," he twitched as he spoke. "And just what in the name of Lucifer is a Goblet of Fire?" Millie spat her words mockingly, very near being enraged.

She kicked Blitzo's head, but he was out cold. In response to her question, the twitchy man neared the Goblet and looked up at it, almost admiringly. After some time looking down at the floor, deliberating, he finally spoke.

"Is one of you Harry Potter?" "No one here like that. Just let us go," Moxxie blurted. Millie looked up at him nervously. He didn't want to look at the twitchy man in the eyes, so he stooped down and started spastically searching Blitzo to see if he had Stolas' book on him. If he didn't, they were in deep shit.

"Because if you are," said the grey man, "the consequences for the breaking of the contract would be… most precarious for you." "What do you mean?" Millie asked, her voice trembling.

At his words, Moxxie searched even more frantically, as though he were patting a criminal down, looking for his drugs. "Is one of you Harry Potter?" The man in the white beard repeated softly.

Moxxie stopped. No book. No way home - no idea where they even were, not even the realm. "Yes," he finally admitted, quite silently. It was enough to be heard by every attentive ear in the large space.

The Great Hall erupted into an even greater commotion, much to Moxxie's dismay. Why were they looking for him so bad? He may have still been a little drunk, but he hadn't missed the words 'participation' and 'binding contract.' Who even were these people? He'd never had any interaction with them or whatever this place was.

Suppose this was a legal issue. Why the Hell was he in a school. A wizarding school? He wanted to deny to himself that he could have any real place here, but he knew he had certain qualities that other imps - Hell, other demons - didn't possess. He hadn't even been an original inhabitant of Hell.

He wasn't an actual, born imp. But a wizarding school? He would sooner believe Blitzo had snuck magic mushrooms in his gin than believe in any crazy crap like that. The man with the long, wispy beard and the careful eyes inclined his head to better look at him.

Over the clamor, he raised his hand, not needing to shout for a second time. As the children hushed down, he spoke once again. "Harry Potter, please come with me, along with the rest of the champions."