𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒; ᴘᴊᴏ x ʜᴘ (𝐑𝐄-𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄) (𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃)

𝟎𝟎𝟒; ᴇǫᴜɪᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛ ᴇxᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ

DURMSTRANG— had finished their entrance, and sat at the Slytherin table, while Beauxbatons sat with the Ravenclaws.

Cynthia moved her gaze to the she noticed a new object had made its way to the front of the Hall. A stone goblet taller than the Headmaster himself stood beside him, drawing everyone's attention.

'Is that Hecate's Cup?' Cynthia wondered. It's a valid question. The goblet bespelled by Hecate millennia ago for the first Olympian Demigod Games has been missing for centuries despite the numerous quests to return it to the Goddess's temple on Olympus.

"Behold the Goblet of Fire!" Said Dumbledore.

Cynthia suppressed a groan.

'Mhm, that is definitely Hecate's Cup.' Cynthia sighed knowing she will most likely be incharge of retrieving it.

"Students of seventeen and above from all three schools may put their name in the Goblet during the following week. That is, if they may wish to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. At the end of next week, the Goblet of Fire shall choose three Champions to represent their school during the Tournament. To avoid any younger students from participating, as we have discussed before, the Goblet will be guarded with a magical age-line produced from my very own wand." He announced.

'You mean the wand you stole from your ex?' Cynthia thought knowing that Dumbledore is in possession of the Elder Wand.

Soon the feast began.

"You putting your name in, Saern?" Questioned Marceau Lemieux, Bellefeuille's Quidditch Captain sitting across from her.

He had a masculine yet slim physique fit for a seeker like him and a sunkissed complexion, from always playing Quidditch. With sharp features from years of aristocratic lineage, bright chartreuse almond eyes, and windswept ash blonde hair.

He is courteous, earnest, and rational. Of course he's also charismatic, gracious and caring, but they're tainted by and mixed with habits of being disorderly as well. His courtesy though, this is what he's often admired for. People often count on this and his leadership in times of need.

Nobody is perfect though. As there are times his dominating nature and amoral nature risk ruining pleasant moods and beyond what people are willing to deal with even at the best of times. Fortunately his discipline is usually there to help mends things when needed.

"Obviously, Lemieux." Séraphine who sat next to Cynthia spoke up for her, Séraphine's tone was rather cold.

"Desrosier, I wasn't talking to you." Marceau had told her sharply.

Séraphine and Marceau, hate each other. To Cynthia, they are a slow burn enemies to lovers story, that has been going on since their first year. It's free entertainment after all. There are even bets surrounding the pair, and Cynthia cannot wait to collect her winnings.

Soon the pair got into another argument,

While Cynthia watched the pair bicker with each other over the dumbest things, she felt multiple eyes staring at her intently.

She knew who they belonged to.

Cynthia's birth mother.

After all as far as Cynthia is concerned her mother is the Queen of Olympus Hera.

"You're no gentleman!" Séraphine glared.

Marceau looked her dead in the eyes and laughed.

"Please you yourself are no lady."

Séraphine grabbed the chalice infront of her and threw the contents into Marceau staining his pale silken blue robes and completely drenching him, while getting everyone's attention.