Charlie Weasley stepped off the enchanted carriage with a well-worn travel bag slung over his shoulder, the crisp autumn air biting pleasantly at his freckled skin. After months in the rugged wilds of Romania, the familiar hills of Scotland felt oddly tame. He tugged his battered dragonhide gloves tighter, eyes scanning the mist-shrouded grounds of Hogwarts rising proudly in the distance. Home—though he hadn’t lived there in years, the castle still stirred something deep in his chest.

His boots crunched over the frost-kissed grass as he made his way toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where the tournament enclosures would be built. The Ministry had been adamant about top-tier security for the Triwizard Tournament, and Charlie’s expertise with magical creatures had earned him a summons back to Britain. He welcomed the challenge; dragons weren’t the sort of beasts you left to bureaucrats. If they were going to be part of this spectacle, he’d make sure it was done right—or not at all.

He grinned as he saw someone approach, looking up at the dragons. "Brilliant, aren't they?"