Names We Never Chose • M.R · Y/n story by @gigi

The Great Hall had never been this loud. Hundreds of students filled the long tables, their voices overlapping beneath the enchanted ceiling as they craned their necks towards the enormous doors. Tonight was different. The Triwizard Tournament was returning.

Ron Weasley

leaning forward, eyes wide So the first task in the old tournaments was— dragon, right? pauses, frowning Or was it a sphinx? I can’t remember—

Hermione Granger

Ron, for the last time, nobody knows what the tasks are. The Ministry keeps them secret until the champions are told. sighs It’s supposed to be a surprise.

Across the hall, Draco Malfoy sat surrounded by Slytherins, pretending he wasn’t interested. He was. Everyone was.

Theodore Nott

quietly, not looking up from his goblet The Durmstrang ship docked an hour ago. Viktor Krum’s with them.

Blaise Zabini

smirking You sound almost impressed, Theo.

Theodore Nott

glances at him I read the Quidditch finals last year. He’s talented. That’s an observation, not an endorsement.

Then the doors opened. The talking stopped. Then the Durmstrang students entered. Their arrival was impossible to ignore. The students marched into the Great Hall in dark uniforms, their presence immediately commanding attention. Conversations broke out again in whispers as everyone tried to get a better look.

Fred Weasley

whistling low Blimey. He looks even more intimidating up closeสนิท.

George Weasley

grinning I give him three days before he’s got a fan club. Two if Pansy Parkinson gets to him first.

For a moment, silence returned. Until opened again. This time, the atmosphere changed completely. The Beauxbatons students entered. Several Hogwarts students immediately began whispering. Everyone was whispering and watching with amusement. The Beauxbatons girls glided down the centre aisle with an elegance that seemed almost rehearsed, their pale-blue uniforms catching the light from the enchanted ceiling. A few Hogwarts boys wolf-whistled. A few girls rolled their eyes.

???

at the front of the Beauxbatons procession There’s the champion potential. Watch your step, Celeste. The floor’s sticky.

Celeste Laurent

without turning her head You’ve said that twice already, Élodie. It wasn’t funny either time.

Élodie Moreau

grinning It’s a little funny.

But then the final group entered. And there was one girl among them who didn’t look impressed by any of it. Y/N Lestrange walked silently beside her two closest friends, Élodie Moreau and Celeste Laurent. She kept her eyes forward. Because she already knew what would happen. Someone would recognize her. Someone always did.

Élodie Moreau

murmuring under her breath Keep walking. Don’t make eye contact. We’re almost there.

Celeste Laurent

her voice low The Slytherins are looking. pause All of them.

Élodie Moreau

Of course they are. We’re the only interesting thing that’s walked into this hall all year.

Then her eyes briefly moved across the hall. And stopped. Mattheo Riddle was staring directly at her. He simply watched her. No smirk. No recognition. Just observation. Like he was cataloguing her, filing her away for later. Y/N looked away.

Mattheo Riddle

quietly, to Blaise, not taking his eyes off the Beauxbatons group That’s interesting.

Blaise Zabini

following his gaze Which one? The blonde? The one who looks like she’s planning a murder?

Mattheo Riddle

a small, unreadable smile The one walking like she’s trying to disappear.

At the centre of the hall, Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat. The Great Hall slowly fell silent. The Goblet of Fire burned brighter. Blue flames twisted upwards. Tonight, it would choose the champions. Three names. Three schools.

Albus Dumbledore

his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall Welcome. Welcome to Hogwarts. I know this year will be one of excitement, challenge and— his eyes twinkling —a fair amount of chaos. But first, the selection. The Goblet of Fire is impartial. It judges worth alone. And tonight, it will decide who among you will carry their school’s honour into the tournament.

Dumbledore raised his wand. The Hall went silent enough to hear the candles flicker. The Goblet’s flames leapt high, turning from blue to a brief flash of white. A piece of parchment rose from the flames, crisp and burning at the edges. Dumbledore caught it, unfolded it slowly. His expression flickered. Ever so slightly. Then he read the name aloud.

Albus Dumbledore

his voice steady, but the pause before the name was almost imperceptible {Y/N} Lestrange.

The silence lasted half a second. Then the whispers exploded.

Draco Malfoy

turning sharply in his seat Lestrange?

Pansy Parkinson

eyes widening Bellatrix’s daughter?

Ron Weasley

spluttering That’s impossible—she’s not even—she’s from Beauxbatons—

Hermione Granger

quietly, urgently Ron, keep your voice down—

???

somewhere down the Gryffindor table Wait, the Lestrange? The one whose mother—

Y/N didn’t move. She stood frozen beside Élodie and Celeste, her face carefully blank. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard herself thinking: I told you so.

Élodie Moreau

grabbing her arm, whispering fiercely Don’t you dare freeze. Walk. We’ll deal with this after.

Dumbledore’s expression had changed. Mattheo’s eyes never left her. The Goblet continued burning. Another piece of parchment rose from the flames. Dumbledore caught it.

Albus Dumbledore

his voice quieter now Mattheo Riddle.

The room erupted. Mattheo stood. There was no surprise on his face. Only something dangerously close to amusement. He walked towards the Goblet, his pace unhurried, his gaze briefly flicking towards Y/N as though they now shared some private joke. She didn’t return it. Then came the third name. The flames surged again, higher than before. The parchment twisted in the air. Dumbledore caught it, unfolded it, and the barest crease appeared between his brows.

Albus Dumbledore

Viktor Krum.

The Hall erupted again. But this time, Y/N wasn’t listening. Her heart was pounding too loudly. Three champions. One from each school. She’d been chosen. She didn’t want this. She hadn’t even touched the Goblet. But here she was, standing in the middle of Hogwarts, the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange, about to compete in a tournament she never asked for, while a boy named Riddle watched her like he already knew something she didn’t.

Mattheo Riddle

quietly, almost to himself, as he passed her on the way to the champions’ chamber Well, Lestrange. a pause Looks like we’re both going to find out what we’re made of.

Celeste Laurent

her eyes following him,voice low I don’t like him.

Élodie Moreau

squeezing Y/N’s arm Neither do I. But you’re going to have to deal with him now. pause We’ll figure it out. We always do.