Carina unfolded the Daily Prophet. The front page carried a large photograph alongside an account of the disturbance at the Quidditch World Cup.
On the night the Quidditch World Cup ended, a group believed to be Death Eaters had reportedly caused a riot—masked and cloaked, hurling spells in every direction.
Carina Malfoy recognized that her father, Lucius Malfoy, was among them.
Lucius was a Death Eater, and he had not come home that night.
But that was not the important matter.
"The Dark Mark?"
The photograph showed the Dark Lord's symbol looming large against a vast night sky. A green skull with a serpent writhing from its mouth like a tongue stared back at Carina.
On the night of the Quidditch World Cup, Voldemort's followers had reportedly donned masks, caused a commotion, fired the Dark Mark into the sky, and scattered in all directions.
If this was a herald of the Dark Lord's return—
"...It must be a prank. Someone's idea of a prank, surely."
Saying it aloud did nothing to improve her mood.
From that day until she left for school, Carina extracted information from her father, Lucius Malfoy, by every means available to her.
At first he was reluctant to speak, but as Carina kept pressing, he relented—as though he, too, had wanted someone to confide in.
"Why did we cause a disturbance, you ask? Carina. We have had many grievances with the Ministry of Magic. This was a protest directed at them."
Lucius spoke without a trace of shame.
"We are wizards. The Quidditch World Cup is our celebration. So why must we skulk about like rats, hiding from Muggle eyes? Why should our superior kind defer to them? If they don't want Muggles noticing, they could simply clear the area around the stadium of Muggles for the duration. There is no shortage of people who have grown tired of the Ministry's cumbersome way of doing things. It was bound to boil over eventually."
Carina found herself partly in agreement. Wizards were, by their very nature, superior to Muggles. That a superior being should be made to hide from an inferior one was, rationally speaking, absurd.
Though she had her reservations about the method.
"Even so, wasn't the conduct rather excessive? Marching with Muggles strung up in the air like that."
"Sometimes action sends a clearer message than words, Carina. And what of it—parading a few Muggles about? We didn't kill them. The Ministry's Obliviators would have wiped their memories clean."
Lucius added that the real fault lay with whoever had left those Muggle campsite managers in place. Had Muggles been kept away from the vicinity of the Quidditch World Cup stadium from the outset, wizards would never have needed to conceal themselves.
Carina understood her father's reasoning, and yet something kept pricking at her, an uncomfortable sensation she couldn't quite dismiss.
Whatever the justification, binding helpless people and levitating them overhead while marching past was simply beneath dignity.
"But firing the Dark Mark into the sky rather undermined the point of the protest, didn't it."
"...That was not intended."
"As I understand it, only Death Eaters can cast the Dark Mark. Was it not you and your associates who fired it?"
"Carina!"
Lucius glanced around as though afraid of being overheard. There was no conceivable way anyone had crept into Malfoy Manor, yet his caution was extreme.
"Yes. Most of us were Death Eaters once. But that was before the Dark Lord disappeared! We had no intention of firing the Dark Mark and putting the Ministry on alert!"
"Then who fired it?"
"I don't know. I'd very much like to find out and demand an explanation. It seems someone got carried away in the heat of the moment... I simply cannot fathom it. The Dark Mark is not some firework you let off when you're feeling excitable..."
Carina arrived at one conclusion.
Her father, as usual, knew very little.
It was enough to make her wonder whether Voldemort had ever truly trusted Lucius at all.
He must have sensed his daughter's gaze cooling. Lucius Malfoy changed the subject with conspicuous haste.
"...Ahem. Carina. Have you heard? They say Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year—"
It was a rather interesting topic, and mercifully, Lucius Malfoy was able to salvage some semblance of paternal dignity.
Hogwarts was the only wizarding school in Britain, and by any measure the largest in the world.
But the world was wide and wizards were many. Scattered across Europe were several renowned magical schools—not quite on Hogwarts' level, but distinguished in their own right.
The most notable were Durmstrang in the far north and Beauxbatons in France. Both were widely regarded as prestigious institutions, if not quite Hogwarts' equal.
Lucius informed Carina that the Triwizard Tournament had been revived this year.
The Triwizard Tournament: a friendly competition held between the three schools to foster exchange and goodwill.
It had been abolished two hundred years ago following a number of fatalities, but it happened to be revived during the very years Carina was at school.
It was tremendously exciting—and yet Carina could not bring herself to feel entirely pleased.
"What a shame. If I were only two years older, I could have entered as Hogwarts' Champion."
Originally, the Tournament had no age restriction, and more than one Champion per school had been permitted. But that had also meant far more casualties, and it had ultimately been abolished two centuries ago.
This year, for safety, the rules had been changed: only students of seventeen or older could enter, and each school could put forward only its single most outstanding candidate.
To have such a spectacle unfold around her while she stood watching from the sidelines—for someone who loved to be noticed, it was nothing short of torment.
"Don't say such things, Carina."
Narcissa Malfoy gently chided her daughter.
"From what I've heard, it's the sort of competition where deaths would not be surprising. No matter how honourable the glory, you must not involve yourself in something so dangerous and barbaric."
"I know. But they say they've taken precautions this time, haven't they? Couldn't I enter? After all, it's the Goblet of Fire that selects the Champion, so—"
"Carina!"
Narcissa raised her voice.
"You must not take that Tournament lightly. Whatever measures the school puts in place, I want your promise—your absolute promise—that you will not involve yourself in it."
"All right."
Under the weight of Narcissa's warning, Carina gave what amounted to a reluctant oath.
Not that it mattered. Even if she submitted her name, there was no chance she would be chosen. Carina had not yet sat her O.W.L.s, and above all, she was only a fourth-year.
Her words had been nothing more than a complaint. A complaint that could never come to anything.
***
"The Champion for Durmstrang is... Viktor Krum!"
Applause erupted. Viktor Krum rose abruptly and loped forward with his characteristic stoop toward the head table where Professor Dumbledore stood, then disappeared through the door to the Champions' waiting room.
No one had doubted that Viktor Krum—Bulgaria's finest Seeker and Durmstrang's crowning glory—would be chosen. Everyone nodded and murmured in agreement.
The noise subsided, and all eyes returned to the Goblet of Fire. The flames within shifted to red.
"The Champion for Beauxbatons is... Fleur Delacour!"
A girl who looked like a Veela—as though every last ounce of her ability had been poured into the singular art of bewitching men—rose with effortless grace. The male students' gazes snapped to her as one.
Carina gave a quiet snort.
Beauxbatons, it seemed, had no one of real talent to offer. That a girl with nothing to recommend her beyond her face had been made Champion said rather a lot.
Now it was Hogwarts' turn. On home ground, the tension in the Great Hall was sharper than before.
Who would it be? Those who had entered their names prayed to be chosen; those who hadn't at least hoped the name would come from their own house. Every eye fixed on the Goblet of Fire.
The Goblet flared red once more and spat a tongue of brilliant flame. Professor Dumbledore reached out and caught the slip of parchment that came with it.
"The Hogwarts Champion is... Cedric Diggory!"
The sixth- and seventh-years at the Slytherin table booed. Marcus Flint slammed his fist on the table hard enough that Goyle, who had been resting her chin in her hand, slipped sideways.
Hufflepuff, meanwhile, was in a state of jubilation. The Hufflepuff students leapt to their feet and stamped the floor, roaring their approval.
"Hmph. I suppose Hufflepuff will have something to boast about for once."
That aside, it was a defensible choice. Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff's pride, was an exemplary student who excelled across every subject.
Cedric walked toward the door behind the staff table with a broad, triumphant smile.
The selection ceremony was over. As the commotion settled, Professor Dumbledore called out cheerfully:
"Excellent! Our three Champions have now been chosen. I have every confidence that the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will give their Champions unstinting support and encouragement! In the weeks ahead, our Champions will face... their tasks..."
Professor Dumbledore stopped mid-sentence and stared at the Goblet of Fire. Everyone in the Great Hall followed his gaze at once. Within moments, they all understood what was happening.
The Goblet of Fire was burning red again. Though it had already released three slips of parchment, it now expelled a fourth, as though one name still remained. Professor Dumbledore reached out instinctively and caught the parchment.
His expression darkened. He lowered his voice and read the name written on it.
"Harry Potter!..."
In that instant, a single, dreadful image took shape in Carina's mind.
The Dark Mark hanging in the sky.
The Triwizard Tournament, which had claimed so many lives.
A fourth Champion who should not have existed.
And that Champion's name was, of all things, Harry Potter. A boy still only in his fourth year—the same age as Carina.
Carina felt cold with fear.