During the time when the wizarding world was approaching its first Triwizard Tournament since the rise and fall of Voldemort—the end of the summer came around, and Alice O'Heiden took her leave of her father's prolific carnival, setting off for her final year at Hogwarts.
She couldn't wait—couldn't wait to see her best friend, Zander, and to relish in one final year of being the best Chaser on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Not to mention—unbeknown to her father—she planned to put her name into the Goblet of Fire. Her last year of school would surely be her most exciting one.
As she strolled through the train station, pushing her cart along and drawing steadily nearer to Platform 9 3/4, she pondered on her father's magnificent fire show the previous night—a show he often performed at the O'Heiden Carnival—and she let slip a smirk.
She loved her home on the Aran Islands of Ireland, loved the carnival and everything her father had done for her—but if she could win the gold and the Triwizard Cup, then her father would be set for the rest of his life.
Alice shifted her wavy red bangs aside, glimpsing over at her father, who was strolling along beside her.
Samuel O'Heiden was a slender, fun-loving man, with a narrow visage, sandy hairs, and a widow's peak hairline in the shape of a sharp V, wearing a black, tattered overcoat that shifted along at his heels as he walked, his hands pocketed and his demeanor casual as usual.
The two of them slowed to a stop in front of the pillar that led to Platform 9 3/4, and then, Samuel faced her properly, flashing his signature crooked smirk and reaching into his overcoat.
"Oy… I wanna give you something," he said, pulling out a small golden compass and placing it firmly into her palm. "I spent a lot of time tweaking that… so take good care of it. Eh?"
Alice blinked, looking down at the compass in her hand. It didn't have a chain attached, and the needle was pointed directly toward the pillar to Platform 9 3/4.
She made a face at it, then gave her father an odd look.
"Heh. I know," Samuel laughed. "It's not pointing north, is it? Well… it's not supposed to. This is meant to guide you… specifically you… to wherever you need to be, or to whoever you need to go to. It can't tell you where, or who, or why… but it'll always lead you right."
He clasped both of his hands around one of hers, giving it a shake.
"And I reckon you're really gonna need that this year," Samuel told her definitively.
Alice's fingers slowly enclosed around the compass.
"Yeah…?" she uttered.
"Oh yeah," Samuel affirmed. "You're gonna have people from Ilvermorny and Mahoutokoro all around you this year, and people are gonna start being competitive, too. Especially if you're competing directly against them."
Alice's mouth drifted agape. "How'd you know I was gonna enter in…?"
"Because I've met you before," Samuel chided with a laugh. "And if you do get into that tournament, then you're gonna need every last spec of help you can get. I got you that new broomstick—the Irish Rogue—and your wand is a damn powerful one. Plus, well, now you've got a magic compass. All you need is the help of your little boyfriend, and you'll be all set."
"He's not my—"
"Whateveeer."
Samuel grasped her by the shoulders and faced her toward the pillar, leaning down and muttering just beside her ear.
"Biggest year of your life's waiting for you over there," Samuel said, his eyes fixated on the pillar. "So make it a good one. Yeah?"
"Aye." Alice nodded, turning toward him and meeting his eyes.
Samuel straightened up, staring into her and sighing deeply. "I'll seeya at Christmas."
"Aye," Alice said again, wrapping her arms around him. "Love you…"
"Love you too, kiddo," Samuel mumbled, holding her close and patting her on the back. "And tell Zander he can always come back to the carnival for the holiday, regardless of how low-class his father finds it to be."
"Right… I will," Alice smiled, stepping back and giving her father a goodbye wave.
Samuel waved back at her, watching as his daughter pushed the cart directly toward the pillar—and she instantly vanished from his sight.
Alice emerged on the other side, instantly surrounded by crowds of wizards and overcrowded carts—and she suddenly yanked her own cart to a stop, narrowly avoiding ramming into someone.
Another wizard stood just before her with his own cart of goods, someone she very well recognized. While the other students were offloading their carts and boarding the train—this one stood still at the pillar, almost as if he'd been waiting for someone.
Zander McAllister was a few inches taller than her, with blond hair that was slicked back neatly, and he had a pair of sharp blue eyes that rivaled Alice's own.
Alice paused, then smirked at him.
"Were you waiting for me…?" she asked, pushing her cart off to the side.
Zander's mouth opened, then he let out a scoff. "No."
"Ah-huh," Alice grinned, unconvinced. "Then what're you standing here for?"
Zander stared at her vacantly, not answering.
Alice let out a laugh, taking a side-step and glancing up and down the platform. "Well… I guess it doesn't matter. We've still got a bit of time before the train leaves."
Zander nodded, facing away and gazing up at one of the clocks overhead.
Alice turned back around, eyeing him and resisting the urge to smirk again.
"Oy… by the way," she said, wagging a finger at him. "Y'know how we decided we'd both become aurors when we got out of school? I've kinda changed my mind. Think I might be a professional Quidditch player instead."
Zander blinked and jerked his head around, staring questioningly at her.
Alice grinned and snickered at the look on his face, clapping her hands and pointing at him. "Hah! I'm just kidding. Hahahaha! Aww, lookit you! You got so upset for a second! Hahah!"
Zander's mouth opened, and he made a slight shake of the head, huffing out a breath and looking away again.
"No I didn't," he mumbled. "Do whatever you want. I don't care."
"N'aww… yeah ya' do," Alice cackled. "You can act like you didn't miss me all you want, but I know better. Oh… and, speaking of people who don't care about human feelings… how're things with your dad? Is he still trying to get you into his weird rich people's club?"
Zander rolled his eyes, folding his arms and sighing. His father, Malachi McAllister, had been trying to recruit him into a gathering of wealthy, established wizards for the past year. It was a group that met twice a month, simply to play Wizard's Chess together.
"He's been relentless," Zander grumbled. "But I am not joining a glorified chess club."
Alice giggled and nodded. She knew that Zander's father was a bit of a pompous and stuck-up type of wizard, and despite that Zander often had a little bit of an elitist mentality himself, he certainly did not want to be the way his father was.
"Y'know what," Alice said, leaning on the edge of the pillar. "We could start our own club if we wanted to."
Zander dropped his arms by his sides, staring caustically at her, as if she'd said the dumbest thing he'd ever heard.
"And why would we do that?" he asked. "You're always on the Quidditch team, and I'm always at the dueling club. We wouldn't have the time for it… and it's not like we have a great big plethora of friends to hang out with."
"Aye, I know… but we have the perfect place for it," Alice smirked. "Just seems a waste not to use it for something… I mean, other than studying and skipping classes and stuff."
Zander blinked. "Skipping classes…?"
Alice stared, then shook her head. "Hah… I'm kidding. I totally don't do that…"
Zander cocked his head at her, his mouth curling into what might have been a faint, snide half-smile.
Just when he opened his mouth to reply—something barreled into him from the side.
Alice jumped and reeled back—and many heads in the crowd all whipped around at the commotion.
A huge cart smashed into Zander and sent him toppling over—a flood of bags falling down on top of him as the cart turned onto its side—a metal cage flying through the air and clattering to the floor, the large black owl inside it perching its wings and twittering with agitation.
Another student had fallen directly on top of the mess that Zander was now buried in, and everyone nearby was staring at the pile of suitcases, some students sniggering while many of the parents simply shook their heads.
The student who had crashed the cart into Zander—a shaggy-haired Gryffindor—just began to climb off of the mess he'd created, swiping his dark hairs from his face and glancing around at all the people staring at him. He gave them all a smile and two thumbs-up, making a few of them chuckle or roll their eyes.
Zander smacked the suitcases aside, crawling out of the mess and lumbering to his feet.
"You… bloody idiot!" he snapped at the Gryffindor. "Why don't you look where you're going?!"
The Gryffindor wheeled around to face him, giving him a look. "What were you doing right in front of the pillar? You know people literally come flying out of there."
Zander prepared to retort, pausing for a split second and narrowing his eyes at the Gryffindor, only just recognizing him. It was someone he'd seen in passing at school countless times, though the two of them had never spoken before.
"Oh… and what else would I expect from a thoughtless foolhardy Potter?" Zander snarled.
The Gryffindor—James Potter—tilted his head at him, giving him a chiding sort of stare.
"Oh, what… is that supposed to mean all Potters are stupid?" James griped. "I'm the dumbest person alive because I hit you by accident? Get better insults, mate."
Zander cocked his head at him. "Aren't you the one who set the entire ceiling of the great hall on fire?"
James crossed his arms, smirking mischievously. "On a dare. And I wasn't trying to, smart one—I was just trying to make all the candle flames go higher. It did work, if you think about it."
"Oh… I'm sorry," Zander grumbled sarcastically. "Right… those are clearly the actions of a genius."
"Why the hell would I care what you think?" James barked, his tone rising. "You're a Slytherin. And you're not even a good one—you're a nobody Slytherin. No one even knows who you are, you snakey git. All you've got going for you is empty pride and evil magic."
"Whoa," Alice chimed in, stepping forward and frowning disapprovingly at James. "Don't stereotype him like that—and he's not a nobody. He's the head of the dueling club every single year."
"Ooo—biiig deal," James mocked, raising his hands and laughing. "Aw, little snakey boy knows how to use a wand? Wooow, I'm so impressed. He's in the dueling club. Ohh, I bet he's sooo good."
"Yeah. I am. Lemme show you," Zander rumbled threateningly, reaching into his pocket.
Just when James reached into his own pocket—someone flew out of the crowd and stepped in between them.
"Oh—stop it, both of you," the girl said sharply, her eyes shooting between Zander and James, her red ponytail whipping around as she did. "You're both being childish. Just pick up your stuff and get on the train, James."
"Rose—move it," James yelled at the girl, swatting angrily at her. "Get outta the way!"
"Get onto the train," the girl—Rose Weasley—reiterated, taking a wide step toward him and glaring heatedly into his eyes. "Just because our parents left already doesn't mean I won't tell on you. Don't think for a second that I can't still get a hold of Aunt Ginny if I want to."
The two of them shared a tense staring contest for a moment. Then, James scoffed out a breath and tossed up his hands, walking over to his fallen belongings and placing his cart back upright.
"Bloody tattle-tale," James grumbled to himself as he began planting his belongings back onto the cart. "I hate my cousin… I hate my cousin… I hate my cousin…"
Zander, Alice, and everyone else in the crowd watched as the situation seemed to diffuse.
Then, Zander turned, grasping his cart and pushing it further down the walkway, Alice quickly grabbing her own cart and following him. The two of them walked side by side as they pushed their carts along.
"Well… that's a great start to the year," Zander complained. "That's exactly why I don't keep friends, right there. All these people are idiots."
"All these people are teenagers," Alice laughed.
"Case and point," Zander grumped. "I can deal with how you are… but them? Christ… they're so stupid, they make me wanna harm myself."
Alice fell silent for a moment, her smile fading.
"Whaddo you mean… how I am?" she asked.
Zander barely spared her a glance as they walked, shrugging and making a sideways nod. "Well, I just… I don't know. I could see you getting involved with some of the stupid things they do… like lighting a whole ceiling on fire… but you're also not a dumb arrogant moron like that James Potter."
"So… you think I'm an idiot too?" Alice murmured, looking and sounding hurt.
Zander tossed his head back as he walked, sighing loudly. "No, obviously, I don't think that… I just think you'd do something idiotic for the fun of it. You'd do it just to have fun… not because you're an actual idiot."
Alice stared, then snickered and nodded.
"Aye… well… that's fair," she giggled. "I've lost track of how many things I've caught on fire."
Zander choked out a faint, dry noise that might have been a laugh. "Yeah… well, you and your dad both have insane elemental magic, and that can get really out of hand…"
"Hah… speaking of that," Alice said, waving a finger over at him. "You've gotta come back to the carnival for Christmas. M'kay?"
"Anything to get me away from Christmas with my father," Zander mumbled. "Although… he might end up helping me out if I get into the tournament."
Suddenly—Alice slowed to a stop, her expression falling, staring at Zander with a stony visage that didn't suit her in the slightest.
Zander turned around, only just realizing that she'd stopped walking, and he gave her a questioning look.
"What?" he said.
Alice's mouth drifted agape, wanting to speak, but a deep, festering discomfort began to form a knot in the pit of her stomach, and she felt a spark of worry for him like she'd never felt before.
"You're gonna enter the Triwizard Tournament…?" she uttered. "People die in that tournament."
Zander stared at her for a second, then made a loose shrug. "So? I'm good enough at dueling. I think I've got a fair shot."
Alice fell momentarily silent, losing the ability to argue.
After all, she herself planned to enter the tournament—and she was just as good at flying and elemental magic as Zander was at dueling and problem-solving—which meant that she had a fair shot at it just as he did.
Still—she didn't feel the kind of concern for herself like she felt for Zander. If it was just her, then she'd take on the risk in a heartbeat, as the rewards were too great to pass by—but the thought of Zander facing an accident in the tournament made her feel sick to her very core.
"Why d…" Alice muttered with some difficulty. "Why do you even wanna enter? You don't care about fame, and I know you don't need the money…"
"It's not about that," Zander told her pointedly. "I just wanna get better at everything I do… and being in those situations will force me to get better. That's all."
"You sound like your dad," Alice said thoughtlessly.
"Well… here's the difference," Zander replied. "I'm not trying to stick my nose up in the air and be better than everyone else. I just wanna be the best me I can be."
Alice fell silent, looking down and nodding at her feet.
Zander eyed her, placing a hand on his cart again.
"It's not like you really have any reason to worry about it," he said, turning and pushing his cart onward. "I don't see myself actually getting killed… and I might not even get chosen."
Alice slowly raised her head, staring at him from behind as he walked off.
"Let's hope you don't," she mumbled to herself, just before grabbing her cart again and following suit.
When the Hogwarts Express was just making its leave of London—Headmaster Oswald Ozais stood at the window of his office, his hands clasped atop the rounded handle of his cane, observing the great, foggy scenery of rural Scotland and the Great Lake beyond Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Ozias was an eccentric sort, and he was somewhat young for his profession. Some students adored him while others had a go at him in good fun. The headmaster was known for his offhanded approach to things, as well as his persistent and whimsical smile. He usually wore a dark overcoat with a fur collar, a deep purple hat always planted on his head and tilted slightly atop his dark sandy hairs, all of them slicked back with a few stray curls escaping from behind his ears. He also wore a pair of dark black goggles, small ones that served a special function, and always kept his eyes from view.
He flashed a faint smile as he gazed outside, anticipating the excitement of the year to come.
Then, he heard the dull shifting of the stone lift—the great bird's wings facing the office and allowing the newcomer entry.
Professor Crowley strolled inside, his black hair combed back, longer than Ozais's and considerably more obedient. His eyes, two different shines—one silver and the other bottle green—fixated on Ozais as he meandered through the clearing, stopping and cupping his hands.
"Trocar," Ozais said. "I'm afraid our friends in London aren't able to bring in the usual shipments for you. At least, not as much... with everything going on…"
Crowley paused. "How much can they send?"
Ozais winced and nodded sideways. "Ehhh... I'd say... roughly half of what they were sending before?"
Crowley sighed, flashing a deep grimace. "That won't be enough to..."
"Oh... don't worry," Ozais said, swatting the air. "I'll figure it out for you. I always do."
"Do you have any more news?" Crowley inquired. "Regarding what the Minister...?"
"Oh... not much… I think," Ozais shrugged, looking down and placing his hands on his cane again. "Well, hold on, let me think for a moment…"
Crowley narrowed his eyes at him. "Could you possibly be more of a stereotype?"
Ozais stared at him. "What?"
"You're as airheaded and forgetful as all get-out," Crowley chided. "You do know that Hufflepuffs are kind of known for that, right? You're not making your people look any better."
Ozais tilted his head, his mouth curling into a curt little smirk. "And you Slytherins are known for being as coldhearted as you are incapable of feeling a room… like a vampire in the daylight."
Crowley shot him a snide smile. The two of them were once in Hufflepuff and Slytherin when they attended Hogwarts together many years ago, and they still regarded one another the same way they always had.
"Oh," Ozais said, raising a finger. "Oh, hold on, I just had a thought."
"It's a miracle," Crowley uttered tonelessly.
"Shht—be quiet—listen," Ozais urged. "I do remember one thing, something our Minister was particularly worried about regarding this Triwizard Tournament."
"Listening," Crowley said.
Ozais adjusted his grasp on his cane, sighing as his expression fell uncharacteristically severe.
"The followers of Xyler have done a very good job of keeping themselves undetected," he stated. "We're far past the days of stylized cloaks and matching marks on the arm. These people do not mark themselves at all, and scarcely anyone has seen any gathering of them whatsoever. The Minister believes that everything is looking just a bit too… peaceful… at the moment."
Crowley looked down, nodding in agreement.
"The Daily Prophet is downplaying the rise of a new dark wizard, and from what the aurors have told us… no one has managed to catch any groups of Xyler followers together," Ozais explained. "From our point of view… and from the points of view of many other people out there… everything looks as safe as can be. It looks like we have the clear go-ahead to hold this tournament without any trouble arising again."
"But that's exactly the problem," Crowley understood. "If the Seal of Shadows is planning anything, then they would want us to think we can hold the tournament without issue."
Ozais stared at him for a second.
"The what…?" he uttered blankly.
Crowley gave him a long, caustic stare.
"The Seal of Shadows," he said in a flat, clear tone. "That's what the Xyler followers are called. And I do believe I've told you that already…"
"Well… forgive me if I forget the name of their little clubhouse," Ozais replied. "But I was a bit more concerned with their whole 'reset the world' rhetoric. That's genocide talk."
"Yes… and if not for the aurors finding all their little cult pamphlets all over Diagon Alley, we wouldn't even know that much," Crowley sighed, massaging his temples. "We have no way of knowing how many followers this guy actually has… or what they're planning to do…"
"Well… we know one thing they're planning to do," Ozais said gravely. "They plan to kill everyone on the planet… and, quite literally, reset the world."
"Yes… I meant we don't know how they're going to go about that plan," Crowley griped. "We all know dark wizards have used the Triwizard Tournament as a catalyst for evil behavior before… and if that happens again, who knows what it will entail this time."
The two of them fell silent for a moment.
Then, Crowley turned on his heel, preparing to leave.
"But… hopefully, if anything does come up… then we can just nip it in the bud," he disclosed, marching off toward the exit.
Ozais watched him go, then turned to face the window again, releasing a heavy cloud of breath as his fingers danced lightly atop his cane.
"Yes," he sighed. "Hopefully…"
