Welcome to my new fiction everyone!

Just a couple of things before we start.

First of all, a disclaimer: I nothing relating to Harry Potter nor Magic the Gathering, except for some cards and books, but I certainly don't own the rights to any of the above. This is being written for mine and yours enjoyment, not for money.

With the legal stuff out of the way, let me give you a couple of info before we dive in.

Regarding the timeline, the story starts on the plane of Amonketh, in the middle of the fight between the Gatewatch and Nicol Bolas, right after Chandra was dealt a staggering final blow and Nissa was pleading her to run. You can find the whole fight on the Wizards of the Coast site if you're curious. I started writing this long before Ixalan came out, let alone any of the following, so I'll more than likely disregard anything pertaining Ixalan, Dominaria, Guilds of Ravinca and War of the Spark (and any other edition coming out after that). On Earth, meanwhile, is the evening of the 31th October 1994.

And now, let's roll!

CHAPTER 1 – Homeward path

Go! I'll be fine, you go!

Those where the last words Nissa had mouthed to her before she had been dragged away. She was pretty sure they were empty assurances to get her injured ass out of there, and she had been more than ready to disregard them hadn't it been for the blasted dragging sensation oh-so-similar to planeswalking that had surged in her, taking her away from the plaza.

In a second and a burst of blue flames that only Nissa had barely noticed, Chandra Nalaar disappeared from Amonketh, her last thought being a silent prayer to any god that would hear her out to spare her friends. Self-proclaimed god-pharaohs notwithstanding, of course.

Her planeswalking was rough and undefined just like her flames, just like her. Chandra knew this very well. Yet, it was a familiar sensation she had come to enjoy and relish. Whatever had taken her from Amonketh was even rougher though, and definitely unpleasant, which went just wonderfully with her cracked ribs.

Whoever had taken her from her fight and, more importantly, her friends was in for a world of pain when she arrived, that was for sure.

After a long time, far longer than any planeswalk she'd ever consciously done, the process was over and she reappeared in a blazing ball of blue flames in what looked like grand hall of some stronghold with thousands of floating candles and no roof. Even worse, there were hundreds of people staring at her like she was a curious animal.

The air was full of tension, like they were expecting her to do something. What they all could be waiting for, Chandra had no idea, nor did she care particularly.

"Ok," she said slowly breaking the utter silence of the hall and dropping in a fighting stance "I'll take a page out of Gideon's book and ask questions before burning this place down. Where I am? Who are you? And more importantly, why in the blazes did you take me here?"

It was more for show than anything. Not that she couldn't burn some palace into charred and melted stones, but she was hurt and acutely aware of it.

"Are you Rose Potter?" asked an old man with a ridiculously long beard, weird clothes and holding a small scrap of what looked to be parchment.

"Never heard of the gal, now answer my blasted questions otherwise-" she replied staring at him, before ruining her tough girl image by coughing up some blood and swaying a bit.

"You are in need of medical assistance it seems, Miss," said the man waving a woman decidedly past her prime over "Let our school healer look you over, I'll answer all of your questions after that, you have my word."

Chandra, a trail of blood running down her chin, weighted her options. On one hand, she had no reason to trust this people, but on the other she decidedly needed a cleric to patch her up. She closed her hazel eyes, sighed, nodded and relaxed her stance, signalling the stern woman in white and pale blue that her help was appreciated.

"But no rendering me unconscious, you hear me?" she warned as the woman came closer and took out some pointed, wooden stick.

Ignoring the latent threat, the woman waved the stick and muttered a series of incomprehensible words, with pale white and golden lights flashing occasionally.

After a minute or so she proclaimed: "Three cracked ribs, one almost punctured a lung, plus a number of hematomas all over. Drink this and you'll be fine in a couple of hours."

That said, she handed Chandra a smallish vial full of off-green liquid, an healing potion of some kind.

Knowing full well that a punctured lung was no laughing matter, and feeling like it was the honest truth, she decided to take the potion and thrust the woman. If it turned out to be poison, she wouldn't survive her outrage. Many burned husks around the Multiverse could attest to that.

Its smell was foul, and the taste downright vile, but she immediately felt the painful sensation of her ribs moving to right themselves.

Turning her eyes on the old man that had spoken earlier she said: "Ok, time to do some talking old man."

A couple of the adults sitting at the table next to him looked pretty miffed at her tone and words, but she cared little.

"Of course my dear," jovially said the man "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I'm the headmaster of this place, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. As for why you're here, I fear it might be a bit of a longer story, Miss. May I inquire on your name?"

A wizard school uh? Like that Tolaria place I guess, she mulled over Makes sense with all the teens around.

"Name's Chandra Nalaar. You can just give me the highlights, or directly skip to why I have a feeling that planeswalking away would be a Bad idea, with a capital B."

"Very well Miss Nalaar. The short version is that someone used this artefact," he said pointing to a nearby wooden cup "To enter Rose Potter in the Triwizard Turnament and the Goblet of Fire recognized you as her, therefore summoning you here. As for planeswalking away, whatever that may be, I fear that the Goblet enforces participation from the chosen champions, preventing you from leaving."

"Ok, that's fine and dandy except that I've never even heard of this Rose Potter. Why would this blasted cup confuse me and her?"

"I might discover more on the matter if I had access to a drop of your blood," offered the elderly headmaster before hastily adding when he saw her expression darken "I can swear an oath on my life that I have no ill intent regarding your blood."

She had heard tales of the sangromancer lord of Innistrad, Sorin Markov, from Jace and Liliana and didn't like one bit the idea of giving her blood away to some stranger, but an oath was alright in her book. Even her, as chaotic as she was, respected her oaths.

She wiped her chin clean and presented her blood-smeared hand to Dumbledore.

"I want that oath though."

The headmaster whipped out his wand, a knobby piece of almost black wood, and swore his oath before levitating a single drop from her palm to him.

"A piece of parchment Minerva, if you would," he asked of one of the miffed looking adults at the table, a very old witch in clothes that the monks at the monastery would have though very conservative.

Pyromancers they might have been, but monks nonetheless.

Dumbledore levitated the droplet on the offered parchment while muttering something unintelligible before storing his wand away and reading some text that had appeared out of her blood.

"Chandra Nalaar, born Rose Potter from James and Lily Potter of Godric's Hollow, Earth, adopted by Kiran and Pia Nalaar of Ghirapur, Kaladesh. Does this sound alright to you, Miss Nalaar?" he asked passing her the parchment.

Before she could answer, an excited murmuring erupted in the hall courtesy of both students and adults.

She decided to cut them short by burning down the piece of parchment by igniting it into a small phoenix that she immediately banished.

"Are you asking if I knew of my adoption? Yes, mom told me years ago. I didn't know I was this Rose Potter you're talking about though. I guess it explains why your fancy cup choose me," she said a tad smugly at the all astonished faces gaping at her "Now, you said I'm forced to compete right? I don't have much choice then. What do I need to do?"

"Good," said the headmaster jovially indicating a door behind her "If you'd join your fellow champions, we'll give you four all the information of the case."

"Wait a minute Dumbledore!" said one of the adults getting up, a tallish man in furs that reminded Chandra of that mad shaman from Zendikar, Sarkhan Vol, "We already have three champions!"

"I'm guessing this man is opposed to my participation, right?" asked Chandra sounding bored "Am I not enforced then?"

"She has to participate," proclaimed an utterly unremarkable moustachioed man in a suit that still seemed to command some kind of authority "The Goblet is a binding magical contract. She needs an institution to represent though."

"There, problem solved!" she said in a fake cheerful tone "I'll represent the Gatewatch. It's the only thing I could somehow represent after all, the monastery burned down years ago."

That said she turned on her heel and marched through the side door, her fake smile disappearing as fast as ice under her flames.

After all the shit in Amonketh and that joke of a battle with Bolas, I really have no patience for petty men and their politics, she thought sourly I need to burn something down.

As soon as she entered the small antechamber, ignoring the three teens' looks and words, she marched to the fireplace, grabbed a chunk of dry wood and set it aflame with just a thought, before throwing it in the fire.

"Better," she muttered.

"Lady and gentlemen, may I present you Rose Potter, the fourth Triwizard champion!" boisterously proclaimed a fattish man in hideously coloured yellow robes as he stepped in.

He might have been an athlete of some kind once, observed the pyromncer, but time had been pretty bad on him. She also noticed that he was overall too damn cheerful, reminding her of that merfolk girl, Kiora.

"The name is Chandra Nalaar, none of this Potter nonsense," she replied tiredly.

She dearly wanted a bed. And something to burn to ashes. Not strictly in that order.

After some more debate, they were told that the first task of the tournament would be held on November the twenty-fourth, which told her nothing due to her being from a completely different plane, and that they had to face the unknown, which was once again remarkably useless.

Chandra decided that unless it was another of Bolas schemes, another fight with Eldrazi titans or the next Phyrexian invasion she didn't care one bit.

She then followed the stern looking woman to a private room where she took off all her clothes and went to bed.