The Magical Feast was Principal Lockhart's carefully orchestrated highlight for the opening ceremony.
Seated around the square, wizards leaned forward, their attention fixed on the students at the center. Some enhanced their vision with spells, while others used enchanted telescopes to capture every detail.
At Lockhart's signal, the students—led by Ian, Vera, Remy, Wanda, and others—raised their wands in unison. Following practiced movements, they traced elegant trajectories in the air, the tip of each wand leaving shimmering lines behind.
A moment later:
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Explosions of magical light filled the sky. Multicolored fireworks—blue, purple, red, and green—soared upward, bursting into dazzling displays.
The crowd erupted into applause, their faces alight with awe and joy. The vibrant patterns in the sky captivated the younger wizards, while the older ones exchanged nods of approval.
Ian stepped forward and called out, "First form: The Animal Kingdom!"
At his command, the students began a new performance. Each moved their wands with distinct, intricate motions, creating luminous lines that shimmered and coalesced into three-dimensional forms.
One by one, magical creatures emerged. A blue ball escape bird flickered through space, a silver unicorn galloped with a radiant glow, and a golden phoenix soared, scattering brilliant light from its wings.
The creatures danced in the air, their movements vivid and lifelike.
Dumbledore watched intently, his expression thoughtful. The precision and skill required for such a performance are remarkable, he noted.
Beside him, McGonagall murmured, "This level of control over magic is impressive for their age."
Snape, meanwhile, was silent, his sharp eyes dissecting every movement. He noted not only the students' mastery of magic but also their evident familiarity with these creatures—a testament to rigorous training.
Ian raised his voice again. "Second form: Nature's Splendor!"
This time, the magical creatures dissolved into bursts of light, cascading down like rain onto the square's marble floor. The droplets shimmered and transformed, grass sprouting where they landed.
In moments, the stark marble was replaced by a lush meadow. Flowers of every hue—red roses, yellow rhododendrons—bloomed across the field. A crystal-clear pond appeared in the center, its surface reflecting the magical sky above.
But it didn't stop there.
Among the ordinary flora, magical plants began to grow. Mandrakes stretched their leaves, hellebores bloomed like lotus flowers, and whomping willows swayed ominously in the breeze.
The wizards in the audience gasped.
"Sprout," McGonagall whispered, leaning toward her colleague, "what do you think of their imitations?"
Professor Sprout, the Herbology expert, studied the magical display intently. "Impressive. The details are remarkably accurate, even for an illusion. These students must have extensive experience with magical plants. They've been trained well."
Dumbledore listened silently, his sharp mind processing the implications. Lockhart's students display exceptional skill—not just in magic, but in disciplines like potions and Herbology. This suggests a higher caliber of instruction than I'd anticipated.
In the shadows near the front of the audience, two nearly identical young men sat side by side. At their feet rested a magical suitcase.
One of them, Voldemort, radiated a barely-contained fury. The other, Tom Riddle, watched the performance with a calm intensity.
"Are you sure this is the right time?" Voldemort hissed, his voice low but venomous.
Tom Riddle's lips curled into a faint smile. "The curse is deepening, and delay only increases the danger to us. Besides, this is the perfect moment. The attention of the wizarding world is focused on Lockhart. We'll strike where it hurts the most."
Voldemort's narrowed eyes betrayed his doubt. "And Dumbledore? He won't sit idly by."
"You leave Dumbledore to me," Riddle said smoothly. "He won't interfere until it's too late. Meanwhile, you and your forces will handle Lockhart directly. Or do you lack confidence?"
The taunt hit its mark. Voldemort's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Fine. Let's proceed as planned."
Tom Riddle's smile widened. "Good. And remember—if things go awry, the Portkey will ensure our escape. But imagine the chaos if Lockhart's students were turned into werewolves."
The thought lit a cruel gleam in Voldemort's eyes.
Together, they vanished with a sharp crack of Apparition.
The festive atmosphere in the square was shattered as dark figures materialized.
Tom Riddle appeared in the audience, his suitcase bursting open to release a squad of Death Eaters clad in black robes.
Simultaneously, Voldemort emerged near the students, flanked by snarling werewolves, gliding dementors, and dark wizards exuding malevolent energy.
Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd.
A translucent, dark green barrier materialized around the square, isolating the space.
An eerily calm voice rang out, amplified by magic. "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated. You are about to witness the clash between the Death Eaters and Kamar-Taj!"
The War Between the Death Eaters and Kamar-Taj
A group of wizards seated in the audience heard a voice that radiated elegance and arrogance.
At the edge of the square, directly across from them, a dark green barrier shimmered into existence, pulsing with intense magical energy.
Boom!
A burst of dark green light erupted in the sky, resembling a dazzling firework display. As the brilliance faded, a sinister emblem took its place—a dark green mark intertwined with skulls and serpentine shapes: the unmistakable symbol of the Death Eaters.
Dumbledore, standing near the barrier, rose abruptly, his sharp eyes locking onto the group of Death Eaters cloaked in black robes outside the magical boundary. Yet, his attention soon focused on one familiar figure at the center.
"Tom, is that you?" Though his words carried a hint of doubt, his tone was resolute.
"Long time no see, Headmaster," Tom Riddle replied with a nod, his youthful appearance restored.
Meanwhile, the ordinary wizards in the audience began to stir uneasily. The appearance of the Death Eater mark had sent waves of panic through them.
Some raised trembling wands, poised for either attack or defense. Others scrambled from their seats, rushing toward the rear in an effort to flee. Their frantic movements contrasted sharply with the calm demeanor of Dumbledore and the senior wizards seated at the front.
Tom Riddle observed the scene before him with a detached amusement. The chaos, the fear—this was the power of the Dark Lord's reputation, and he relished it.
"Silence."
A gentle, commanding voice broke through the commotion, and the panicked wizards began to settle. It was as if the very sound carried a calming spell. All eyes turned to Dumbledore.
"Remain calm," Dumbledore said, his voice steady and reassuring. "The Ministry of Magic, school professors, wizards, and Aurors are all present. We will do everything in our power to protect you."
At his words, the professors and officials from various schools and organizations began to rise. Snape, McGonagall, and other Hogwarts professors stood, their wands raised, ready to defend. Similarly, the Vice-Principal of Durmstrang, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, and the Minister of Magic joined them, flanked by their colleagues. Their expressions hardened, their grips on their wands tightening as they faced the Death Eaters outside the barrier.
Cornelius Fudge, however, had gone pale.
Tom Riddle's voice rang out, cutting through the tense atmosphere. "You have nothing to fear. We have no intention of harming you—unless you interfere. This is a battle between the Death Eaters and Kamar-Taj."
He smiled thinly, his words dripping with menace. "But should you intervene, we won't hesitate to unleash the Killing Curse upon the ordinary wizards."
The moral dilemma weighed heavily on Dumbledore and his allies. Tom's veiled threat caused a flicker of hesitation to cross the faces of the gathered professors and officials. Dumbledore's brow furrowed deeply. This was not a favorable development, and he was already contemplating his next move when—
"Tsk, tsk, Albus," a mocking voice chimed in. "I suggest you listen to the Dark Lord for once."
The voice belonged to Grindelwald, and Dumbledore's expression darkened further.
"Let's see how Lockhart and Kamar-Taj handle this," Grindelwald continued with a sly smirk. "Surely you're curious about their true power."
The presence of two Dark Lords in the fray made Dumbledore falter. Even with the strength of the wizards around him, he couldn't ignore the mounting threat. He had no choice but to wait and watch.
Through the translucent green barrier, the square came into sharp focus. Once a serene landscape of marble, lush greenery, and vibrant flowers, it had transformed. A section of the square now bristled with hostility—a stark gray marble expanse teeming with werewolves, dementors, and dark-robed wizards, their leader unmistakable: Voldemort.
"My loyal followers," Voldemort intoned coldly, his voice slicing through the air, "this is the first step toward reestablishing order. Use every ounce of your skill and malice to construct the foundation of my dominion."
He glanced toward Lockhart, sneering. "I'll deal with him myself. As for the students... kill them all. The one who claims the most lives will be richly rewarded."
The werewolves howled in anticipation, their bloodlust palpable. Dark wizards let out guttural shouts as they surged forward, and dementors swooped from the skies, drawn to the young and vulnerable souls before them.
Yet the students stood firm. There was no panic in their eyes, no trembling in their hands. They raised their wands in unison, as if they had been waiting for this moment.
"The third form: Fire from Heaven!" Ian, Vera, Remy, and Wanda's voices rang out in harmony, their cries a declaration of their resolve.
The entire square shuddered as a surge of magical energy erupted from the students. The air grew stiflingly hot, and the once green grass withered under the intensity. The sky transformed—white clouds ignited into blazing fire-colored masses.
A powerful wind swept through, but instead of cooling the scene, it carried the oppressive heat, drying throats and singeing fur. The werewolves hesitated, their primal instincts warning them of imminent danger. Even the dementors faltered, their movements sluggish in the rising heat.
High above, the fire-filled sky began to rain death. Massive fireballs, their heat distorting the air, plummeted toward the enemy forces. The werewolves and dark wizards were consumed by panic, scattering as the fiery onslaught descended.
The students' wands directed the flames with precision, transforming the sky into a fiery inferno.
The spell: Heavenly Fire Descends to the World.
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