Romans & histoires Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire

The hug was short and brief but it gave Akira the strength she needed to push just a little bit further. They walked around till Orion paused at the fantasy section of the library, the children's section to be precise. “Eureka!” He exclaimed. Akira chuckled at his childlike expression, “what are we doing here?” “Does this look familiar?” He asked. She looked closely at the book and smiled, “Harry Potter?” She asked in surprise. “Yes my darling, I believe that there's a creature in this book that might have a hand in Mirabel's petrification.” Akira scoffed, “I doubt the basilisk would want to have anything to do with her.”

He unwrapped it slowly, then placed it in her hands. A necklace. Simple, but beautiful. A tiny charm shaped like a flame hung from the center, made from some kind of glowing amber. The moment her fingers closed around it, she felt it—warmth. A pulse. Like it was alive. “It belonged to the last Fireborn,” he said. “She didn’t survive the war that came.” Evelynn looked at him sharply. “What war?” “The kind that hides in shadows,” Aiden said. “Not with armies or flags. With whispers. With blood. And with monsters.”

What exactly are you trying to contain, Sierra? His hand hovered over the final sprig of frostroot as the cauldron at his own station thickened. His eyes never left her. She had paired today with some poor Ravencliff boy who was clearly distracted by her presence, his gaze lingering on her mouth more than the instructions in the textbook. She ignored him, moving with precision, following instinct more than instruction. The potion beneath her careful hands shimmered faintly with magic, but it wasn’t strong enough. Whatever she was containing would bleed through, eventually.

“I only regretted not listening to Lewis earlier! “You don’t deserve to live.” “Are you done?” Jack let out a cold laugh. “Then it’s my turn.” He grabbed the vase and swung it toward her head, but his knees suddenly buckled. The vase shattered against the floor with a sharp crash, and he collapsed on the broken shards. Blood spread quickly beneath him. “It wasn’t only in the food. I put the sleeping pills in the water too. “You don’t deserve to live. And neither do I. We both needed to face what we’ve done.”

Shadows flicker red beneath my door now, dancing like cruel spirits. “Run!” The word echoes in my skull. The door bursts inward in a spray of sparks and splintered wood. Flames roar behind a towering silhouette. A man steps through the fire. I cannot see his face — only the outline of him carved in burning light. And his eyes. They glow. Not with reflection. With power. The world fractures into red and gold. Heat devours everything. The scream tears from my throat— I wake choking on smoke that isn’t there. My room is dark. Quiet. Whole.

I stepped outside the tent. The sky was pale. Morning. The camp looked different. The fire pit was cold. Some tents had fallen sideways like someone pushed them. Some chairs were broken. Others scattered. A cooking pot was turned over. It looked messy. Like when children fight over toys and leave everything scattered. But no one was there to pick it up. “Cobra?” I whispered. My voice sounded small. No answer. I took another step forward. That’s when I saw him. A troop. He was lying near the fire pit.