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28 August 1994
From the Daily Prophet

Chaos at Quidditch World Cup!
Historic Irish Victory Over Bulgaria
Overshadowed By Unprecedented Violence!

By Andrew Smudgley

By rights, Ireland's 170-160 win over the Bulgarians after a brutal four-hour match should be the story of the day. Tragically, the victory of our plucky Irish cousins was overshadowed by violence unprecedented in World Cup history and unseen on these shores since the fall of You-Know-Who. (Full coverage of the final match itself can be found in the Daily Prophet's sports section.)

Just after midnight, approximately two hours after the conclusion of the final match, the campgrounds surrounding the stadium were attacked by parties that have not been conclusively identified. Indeed, based on the confusing testimonies from eyewitnesses, it is possible that more than one group may have attacked the Cup for unrelated purposes. According to the preliminary reports issued by the Ministry, the attack began with the activation of a powerful jinx that covered the entire campsite and that blocked both Apparition and Portkeys. Or at least Apparition and Portkeys by the victims, as the attackers seemingly could use such magic at will. Ministry officials have offered no comment on claims that the jinx was linked to enchanted guidestones previously installed under the supervision of Ministry employee Bertha Jorkins. (See companion story on page A-9: "Missing Ministry Employee Connected to Cup Attacks?")

The appearance of the attackers seemed to vary by location. Those who attacked the Australian, Luxembourger, Bulgarian, and French sections were reportedly dressed in costumes designed to emulate those worn by members of the Death Eater Insurgency that ended in 1981. However, those who attacked the Irish, Scottish, Welsh, and English sectors were clearly attired in Australian Quidditch jerseys and masks. Oddly, some witnesses claimed that the Australians were actually wearing Death Eater costumes even though the majority of witnesses correctly identified the attackers as wearing Australian nationalist attire. Ministry spokes-wizards could not account for such discrepancies, and the Australian government categorically denies that any Australians were involved in the disturbance, which the Australians blame entirely on British blood-purist agitators. Thus far, no organization or government has claimed responsibility for the attack.

Regardless of its origin, perhaps the most disturbing detail about the incident is that the attackers who targeted the Australian sector were accompanied by partially transformed werewolves! Miraculously, no reports have been issued suggesting that anyone injured by the werewolves has contracted lycanthropy. If you or a loved one suffered a bite or claw attack at during the violence last night, we at the Daily Prophet urge you to seek treatment at St. Mungo's immediately.

Luckily, while several dozen attackers struck all across the Cup campsite, only twenty-three fatalities have been announced so far out of the tens of thousands of attendees, and the only British fatality whose name has been released by the Ministry was retired hit wizard Durwood Gibbon. But while fatalities were comparatively low, well over 400 wizards and witches suffered injuries, many of them serious. The low death toll can be attributed to the superlative work of the Healers at St. Mungo's, work which, according to some rumors, was aided by an unidentified Parselmouth who was on hand to use healing spells augmented by that traditionally Dark talent. Officially, the administration of St. Mungo's denies the rumors about a Parselmouth able to work medical miracles through the application of "Parselmagic," but this reporter has confirmed that Jim Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and a known Parselmouth, was present at St. Mungo's. Can it be that we can add "miracle healer" to the list of accolades young Jim has earned?

(See companion story "Unidentified Parselmouth Performs Medical Miracles!" on page A-5.)

Dan Granger's Apartment
London
2:00 p.m.

Per the terms of their trial custody arrangement, Dan and Hermione Granger were to spend two weeks together at the Quidditch World Cup. Or, as Emma Granger called it, "that FIFA-on-a-broomstick thing." In exchange, Emma would have custody of Hermione for the last few days before their daughter boarded the Hogwarts Express, plus the entire Christmas break. And so, Emma was somewhat surprised when she arrived to pick up Hermione only to find that the girl was not at Dan's flat. Dan invited Emma in and led her to the kitchen.

"Hermione's still with the Blacks," he said. "She'll come through the Floo when I call for her. But first, we … we need to talk about some things."

Instantly, Emma became suspicious. "What sort of things?"

"Would you like a drink?" he asked in lieu of answering her question. "You, um, might need it before we're done."

"Dan, what's going on? Why isn't Hermione here?"

He sighed loudly and carried two glasses and an already-opened bottle of Merlot to the kitchen table before sitting down. Slowly, Emma sat down opposite him.

"There … something happened last night at the Quidditch Finals. Something bad. And it upset Hermione a great deal." He paused. "No, that's not right. It traumatized her. Hell, it traumatized me, and I'm a grown man. That's why she's not here. I thought it best if we talked together first, because I was afraid you might become upset. Honestly, I won't blame you if you do. But I'm worried about how it might affect our daughter if you get upset in front of her right now and we both start shouting at one another."

He poured himself a glass of wine before sliding the other glass and the bottle over to Emma.

"So here's what's going to happen. I'll tell you everything that happened to us last night. To us and a lot of other people. And then … I'll tell you some things I learned today from Lord Black's solicitor and also from his Healer. Things about how Healers in Wizarding Britain help people to deal with traumatic events. Or more accurately, how they don't. And also things about exactly what sort of legal rights Muggle parents really have over their school-aged magical children while Hogwarts is in session. And then, you and I will work out what we're going to do. What's going to happen next. Only then will I call Hermione over so we can talk with our daughter as a family. Okay?"

Emma stared intently at the father of her child. Then, she poured herself a glass of wine as well.

"Alright. Start talking."

The night before …

After the harrowing events that took place following the QWC Final, the Grangers, the Blacks, and their associated friends had rendezvoused at Dan's SUV, and they quickly decided to drive straight to Blackstone, Harry's manor house in Wales, to regroup, as no one was in a condition to Apparate and Blackstone was significantly closer than London by car.

The group arrived at Blackstone at 4:00 a.m. and immediately summoned the Tonkses despite the late hour. For the most part, everyone involved had suffered only cuts and bruises, though Andromeda paled upon seeing that Harry showed signs of Cruciatus exposure. After a quick round of healing spells and potions, the children were sent to bed. Meanwhile, Ted repaired the last of Padfoot's injuries and undid Tiberius Nott's curse that had locked him into his Animagus form. Sirius resumed his true form only to be roughly shoved down onto a sofa by his younger brother when he looked wobbly on his feet.

Only then did the adults sit down and talk about what had happened to them all. For his part, despite the Calming Draught he'd accepted gracefully, Dan was horrified at everything that had happened, but most of all over the fact that his little girl had executed someone to save his life. Archie had no explanation of what magic she'd used, as Sectumsempra was not a spell he'd ever heard of before, but he assured the Muggle that Hermione would face no legal jeopardy for her actions. Aside from the fact that no one witnessed the werewolf's death at her hands, in Britain, it was effectively legal to kill werewolves on sight if they presented any sort of threat to others, a legal standard that was interpreted broadly and heavily against the werewolves. There was a reason that werewolves were seldom seen on British shores, notwithstanding the events of the previous night and also the notorious attack on Hogsmeade on Halloween of the previous year.

This, of course, led to a spirited discussion of the werewolf attack on Hogsmeade in November of the previous year, of which Hermione had said nothing to either of her parents. Being told by a sheepish Ted that Hermione had never been in danger from those werewolves because at the time she was trapped with him and Theo No-Name in a cursed and burning building did nothing to alleviate the Muggle's concerns.

"Okay," the man had said haggardly while rubbing his face with his hands. "Setting aside the total breakdown in trust between my daughter and both her parents if she's willing to conceal all the times she's nearly died in the last few years … the fact remains that she killed someone last night. Now you lot assure me that there's no legal concerns, but what about the psychological effects. Do wizards even have counseling for things like that?"

The blank expressions of the three Blacks present indicated a negative response, but Ted looked thoughtful and then began to explain Wizarding views on the treatment of mental health issues. While Dan found those views to be appallingly backwards, Ted did note helpfully that Muggle views on such matters had progressed rapidly over the last fifty years. For example, he noted that the clinical diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder was only formally added to the DSM-III in 1980, a statement which was met with blank stares from the other wizards present.

Soon after, Dan, Sirius, and Archie were finally persuaded to get some sleep. They woke around ten for brunch, followed by a renewed conversation between Dan and Ted about possible counseling for Hermione, a topic which was also of interest to Sirius and Archie, even if they didn't understand half of it. The kids were also present for this part of the conversation, although Harry seemed dubious about "counseling" of any sort.

"Look," he'd snapped, "I didn't die or anything. I didn't even go into a coma this time. So I really don't see what the big deal is."

The aghast expressions of the adults present immediately told the Slytherin that he'd badly misread the room. In any event, the "counseling" discussion was followed by a second conversation, this time with Hestia Jones after Sirius summoned the solicitor to answer Dan's questions about "alternative education" for his daughter.

The short answer was that—absent emigration to some other country—there weren't any such alternatives for Muggleborns. Dan's mood only worsened when she reluctantly answered his questions about what rights Muggle parents had when it came to their children's education. The list was short.

At 1:30, Dan Floo'd to his apartment after telling Hermione he'd summon her once he'd explained things to Emma. Two hours later, the call finally came, and the young witch turned to her school friends.

"Wish me luck! I'll see you all on the train. If I'm not on the train, you can assume my parents have decided to whisk me away to Australia or something."

And on that cheery note, she was gone. Soon after, Neville made his own goodbyes and departed for Longbottom Manor. The rest of the group separated, but Sirius asked Harry to stay behind and talk some more with Ted, one-on-one.

"Sirius, I'm fine!" the boy said in an annoyed voice. "Andromeda's potion worked wonders. I don't have any aftereffects at all. See?"

He held up his hand to show that there were no more tremors.

Except that despite his best efforts, there was still a slight tremor, which Sirius immediately noticed. Harry grimaced and resolved to pester Snape to accelerate his training into fourth-level Occlumency and especially how to shut off his pain receptors.

"Harry," Sirius said gently. "I know you're not fine. I know because I've been Crucio'd, and at an age not much older than you. However, I also understand why you don't want to talk to anyone about it. Because when I was your age, I couldn't bear the thought of other people knowing I'd been hurt that way. Of other people seeing me when I thought I'd been weak. But if you won't talk about it with Ted, could you at least tell me one thing? Truthfully answer just one question for me?"

Harry folded his arms. "What?"

"Harry … what in Merlin's name happened to you that you actually think was worse than getting hit with a Cruciatus?!"

Thirty minutes later …

Sirius Black sat staring into space, a tumbler of Firewhiskey in hand. Nearby, Ted and Regulus also sat, each with a Firewhiskey of their own. After a tense (and somewhat harrowing) conversation, Harry had angrily left for his room, leaving three troubled men behind.

"So…" Sirius began before stopping.

Regulus nodded. "So."

Ted just shook his head in amazement. "Harry opened seven mind-streams … in order to teach himself instant wandless magic … while falling to his death … in an effort to flee attacking werewolves."

The Healer took another sip of whiskey. "How normal is this for him?" he asked in wonderment.

"Far too normal, I'm afraid," Regulus replied. "So what do we do about it? You know, in light of the fact that things like this happen with terrible regularity. And also the fact that he's a legal adult, and we don't actually have the power to set any boundaries for him that he doesn't care to respect."

All three sat silently for several moments. For his part, Sirius was thinking about the earlier conversation he'd overheard between Ted and Dan Granger. A conversation involving an unfamiliar Muggle word: counseling.

"Ted, not to change the subject—even though it sounds like I am—but what's your employment situation like right now? The Tonks Clinic will be reopening soon, but didn't you say your injuries will prevent you from casting a lot of healing spells?"

The Muggleborn nodded. "I can cast most of the basic spells, but a lot of the more sophisticated diagnostic and surgical Charms require very precise wand movements. I still can't cast them accurately, and I can't renew my Healer's certification until I can. Andi will be taking over most of the work that requires actual spellcraft. I'll be sticking mainly to consultation and potion-brewing. Why?"

Sirius looked at him speculatively. "I need to talk to Dumbledore. But if he's amenable, how would you feel about taking on some additional job responsibilities of a more … academic nature? Paid for by House Black, of course."

Ted crooked an eyebrow. "Go on."

From the desk of Albus Dumbledore
29 August 1994
To All Hogwarts Students

Dear students,

By now, you will have all received your 1994 Hogwarts letters containing your booklists and other general information pertaining to the coming school year. I have elected to personally send out this addendum to apprise you all of certain new developments which could not have been publicly revealed yet at the time the supply letter was distributed. Those developments have since been finalized. Hence this missive.

(It was suggested that I should wait until the Sorting Feast to make the announcement so as "not to spoil the surprise." I found this suggestion preposterous, not least because by this point, "the surprise" is perhaps the worst-kept secret in Wizarding Britain.

But I digress.)

It is my great pleasure to inform you all that during this coming year, the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry will host the Triwizard Tournament. Or, less theatrically, Hogwarts will host an international academic competition between our own school, the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and the Durmstrang Institute, a competition which the ICW has elected to dub the Triwizard Tournament as a nod to the historical and somewhat infamous inter-scholastic competition last held in 1792. Personally, given the circumstances under which the original Triwizard Tournament was discontinued, I found it lurid and even disrespectful to revive the name, but on this matter, I was outvoted. For those of you who don't know what I am talking about, consider it an invitation to pursue self-study in international wizarding history. In any case, regardless of that somewhat bloody history, I assure you that in the new Triwizard Tournament, the safety of all competitors will be paramount.

In the coming year, our school will be host to a variety of academic contests which will pit our students against those of the other schools in friendly yet spirited competition. Tentatively, the plans call for competitions based on a variety of scholastic subjects, a junior dueling tournament, and, of course, some form of interscholastic Quidditch competition. But the centerpiece of the Triwizard Tournament will be the selection of three students, one for each school, to serve as the official school Champions who will compete in a series of three Challenges over the course of the year. The ultimate winner, in addition to bringing glory to their alma mater, will be given an award of 1,000 Galleons, a princely sum for an academic contest, I hope you will all agree!

The three Champions will be selected on the 31st of October. To ensure complete impartiality, the Champions will be selected by a magical artifact known as the Goblet of Fire (which was recently on display at the Quidditch World Cup). The Goblet will also set the three Challenges in which the Champions must compete, though the artifact will be guided in setting the Challenges by a series of design parameters which will be scrupulously reviewed by a panel of experts to ensure the safety of the Champions.

Nevertheless, while every effort will be made to protect the selected Champions from harm, I must remind you that the Challenges will be designed to test the skills of NEWTs level students, and so it is impossible to eliminate completely the risk of injuries. Accordingly, before a student can submit their name for consideration, they must either be a legal adult by the 31st of October or else have a signed permission form from a parent or guardian. Even then, given the Tournament's focus on NEWT-level education, it is unlikely that the Goblet would ever pick a Champion who was below Sixth Year.

The Tournament will formally begin on 29 October with the arrival of the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang delegations. In addition to several faculty members from each of those schools, Hogwarts will play host to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students representing ten percent of each school's student body. As part of this exchange program, visiting students will participate in several Hogwarts classes while select Hogwarts students will have the opportunity to study under visiting professors teaching in their individual areas of expertise.

We will also be joined on the 29th by the judges for the Triwizard Tournament, which consist of the Headmasters of the three schools, the Directors of the British Departments of International Magical Cooperation and of Magical Games and Sports, and a number of esteemed wizards and witches from across Britain and Europe. The judging panel includes the following:

Representing Hogwarts (in addition to myself)
Bartemius Crouch, Director, British Department of International Magical Cooperation
Ludovic Bagman, Director, Department of Magical Games and Sports
Elphias Doge, Master Herbologist
Griselda Marchbanks, Governor, British Wizarding Examinations Authority
Horace Slughorn, Noted Potioneer and Hogwarts Potions Master emeritus

Representing Durmstrang
Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster, Durmstrang Institute
Sandor Farkas, Hungarian Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures
Marika Oxenstierna, Coach (retired), Swedish National Quidditch Team
Dino Papadiamantopoulos, Editor, Transfiguration Today
Illyria Ramadani, Charms Professor emeritus, Durmstrang Institute
Luminita Zedescu, Senior Auror, Magical Romania

Representing Beauxbatons
Olympe Maxime, Headmistress, Beauxbatons
Julian Montmorency, Current Western European Dueling Champion
Porpentina Goldstein, Instructor, French Auror Academy
Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, Professor of CoMC, Beauxbatons
Gabriel Delacour, Special Attaché, French Ministry of Magic
Nicholas Flamel, Alchemist

I hope you will make all these esteemed guests and dignitaries welcome at Hogwarts. I look forward to the Sorting Feast on 1 September, when any additional questions you may have will be answered. Until then

I remain,

Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

P.S.

In light of the success of last year's pilot program with the Slytherin Third Years, the Board of Governors has elected to make private rooms an option for all students. All students will remain on the same dormitory floor as their year mates, but those who desire more privacy should return the attached request form to Professor McGonagall no later than the morning that the Hogwarts Express departs from London in order to have your private rooms configured before you move in.

Unidentified Parselmouth Performs Medical Miracles!

A private break room at St. Mungo's Hospital
29 August 1994
1:00 p.m.

As Ron reviewed the previous day's newspaper article that he'd found in the break room, he had strangely mixed emotions. The boy had asked, and the Healers had agreed, that his name and status as a Parselmouth be kept out of the newspapers. He honestly didn't know if it was truly possible to keep it a secret much longer, but he still recoiled from the idea of his identity getting out and his family bearing the shame of having a Parselmouth son. And worse, a son who acquired the Dark ability from Voldemort himself! Indeed, except for Ginny, the other Weasleys attributed his Parseltongue simply to "Lockhart's evil book" and didn't fully understand that You-Know-Who had literally been in his mind back in 1993.

Oh, and Merlin bless his Slytherin sister who'd been running interference for him every time another family member wanted to ask him questions!

But while Ron was relieved that no one knew him to be the mysterious Parselmouth who'd saved dozens of people, including his own brother Charlie, the day before, he was surprisingly ambivalent about his best friend, Jim Potter, the only known Parselmouth in Britain, getting all the credit for it. Under the circumstances, feeling jealous of Jim was a ridiculous response, and Ron tried to shove the emotion aside. After all, he was the one who'd insisted on anonymity, and Jim had certainly done nothing to claim credit for Ron's work with the Healers. In fact, Ron had been surprised when he and Jim had finally gotten to talk during one of Ron's rest breaks early Sunday morning, and Jim had seemed slightly jealous himself of the praise Ron had gotten from the Healers who knew of his power and encouraged him to use it to save lives.

"Emotions suck sometimes," Ron thought to himself. "I wonder if I could get someone to teach me that Oculo-thingy that lets you control them better. I bet Harry could find me a teacher."

But then, he sighed dejectedly. Jim had undertaken a brief study of Octomancy (or whatever the discipline was called) in Shamballa back during the summer of 1993 and gotten nowhere with it, which was why the Boy-Who-Lived had taken the even more extreme approach of becoming an Animagus. So if Jim couldn't learn Octobermancy, Ron thought there was no way he could possibly achieve it.

"Heck, I can't even remember how to pronounce it! Stupid magical dyslexia!"

His ruminations ceased when the door opened, and Healer Dagworth-Granger entered.

"Well, Ron? Are you ready? You're sure you're up for this?"

"I think so, Healer Dagworth-Granger. Though I'd like to go over the counterspell one more time."

"Of course. And please, call me Leonard. Healer Dagworth-Granger's a bit of a mouthful, I reckon."

Ron nodded, and Leonard took a few minutes to go over the spell with the boy. Finite Rictusempra. It was an obscure counterspell, as the Tickling Hex was a simple Second Year spell that could normally be negated easily with a common Finite Incantatem. But for what Ron was about to do, it was deemed advisable to use a countercurse that had a lot of s's.

After that, Leonard led the boy down a corridor in the Long-Term Spell-Damage Ward towards the waiting patient. Along the way, he talked amiably with the boy about his learning disability—which British wizards still referred to as Mordenkainen's Disjunction—and about possible ways to work around it. He promised to teach Ron a spell that would temporarily alter the typefaces used in his textbooks, as sometimes changing fonts would suddenly make illegible words plain to someone dyslexia. The Healer also raised the possibility of giving Ron a medical excuse for using a dicta-quill, something Ron had never even considered despite the fact that his condition also played havoc with his handwriting.

Moments later, they stepped into the private room that had been set up for hit wizard Lester Abbott, who was lying on a hospital bed under heavy restraints. His eyes were squeezed shut, and tears flowed down his cheeks as he laughed hysterically, just as he'd been doing for every waking moment since he'd been cursed five months earlier. While Ron had been briefed on the hit wizard's condition, he still shuddered in horror at the thought of being cursed with permanent uncontrollable laughter. But then, he steeled himself and summoned his Gryffindor courage before stepping forward to point his wand at the giggling, gibbering man.

"FINITE RICTUSSSSEMPRA!" Ron hissed.

There was a flash of light, and Abbott's braying laughter slowed and grew softer before coming to a stop. But then, the man's face crumpled in anguish, and he began to weep hysterically instead. Horrified, Ron stepped back, afraid he'd done something wrong. Dagworth-Granger stepped past him and efficiently cast several diagnostic spells before putting Abbott to sleep with a Somnium spell. He turned and noticed Ron's distress before putting his hands on Ron's shoulders. On his face was an expression of amazed joy.

"Ron, it's okay! Mr. Abbott's reaction was a perfectly normal response, and I'm a fool for not warning you ahead of time. He'll likely need weeks of mental health treatment to fully recover from the trauma of his experience, but Ron … you did it! The curse itself is gone! You … you broke the Toymaker's Endless Laughter Curse!"

Ron's eyes widened, and he broke out into a broad grin. At the moment, he was so happy to have saved someone from a dark curse that he didn't care who got the credit.

His good cheer would last until a few hours later, when he took a rest break and decided to finish reading the Daily Prophet in the waiting area. He almost overlooked the small article on page A-9 ("Missing Ministry Employee Connected to Cup Attacks?") until he noticed the picture that accompanied it, one which depicted Bertha Jorkins, now missing and presumed dead, whose face provoked within him a sudden and terrifying sensation of déjà vu.

Bartemius Crouch Nearly Assassinated!
Was Rogue House Elf Involved?

29 August 1994
Crouch Hall
7:00 p.m.

As Percy waited patiently for Bartemius Crouch to join him so that the younger wizard could deliver his report, he took in the older wizard's study. Above the Floo from which he'd just emerged hung the Crouch family crest: a two-headed bird of some kind—either an eagle or perhaps a phoenix—clutching a wand in one claw and a sword in the other. The bird was cast in silver (or a good imitation thereof) on an azure background, and inscribed over its head was the Crouch family motto:

Per filios nostros, nos immortalis.
Through our children, we are immortal.

It was a tragically ironic motto considering the impending fall of the Ancient and Noble House of Crouch, whose children had all died a decade earlier and left a 70-year-old widower as the last of his line. Near the crest, moving photographs of both Mr. Crouch's late wives and four of his five deceased children hung on the wall. There was an empty nail sticking out of the oak paneling that hinted at where the fifth child's picture had once hung. After Percy's somewhat emotional conversation with Crouch on the topic of family, he had asked his mother and father what they knew of the man's wives and children. Naturally, between the two of them, Arthur and Molly Weasley knew all the gossip.

Bartemius Crouch Sr. had married Elaine Crouch née Doge in 1946. It was by all accounts a tempestuous and unhappy marriage. Crouch was allergic to certain ingredients in Amortentia, and if one party to a marriage could not or would not partake of the love potion, the other was legally forbidden to. Neither of them had cared for one another at school, and a loveless marriage did not improve things. Nevertheless, Elaine and Bartemius Crouch somehow managed to overcome their differences long enough to sire four children: Magnus, Olympia, Juno, and Trajan. All four went into Ravenclaw, but, as Molly delicately put it, none of them distinguished themselves. Molly and Arthur were both sorted the same year as Olympia. Molly did not remember Olympia Crouch fondly but declined to say more about it.

Elaine Crouch died in February of 1960 during a terrorist attack attributed to Alexander McAvity's Muggleborn rights movement. The widower Crouch married Melinda Burke the following year, which Molly thought was an indecently short time to wait before remarrying. But Arthur sensibly noted that, by that point, Crouch was a single father with four young children, so he was perhaps justified in seeking a new mother for them. For her part, Molly shuddered at the thought of stepping into the role of stepmother to four young children who'd lost their own mother unexpectedly and violently barely a year before. Crouch's only child by Melinda was born in 1962, and Arthur mentioned that it had caused a whiff of scandal that the child was named Bartemius Crouch Junior. While it wasn't illegal or anything to name one's child after oneself, it was considered to be bad luck among most numenographers.

Magnus, the eldest, went on to become a hit wizard, as his grades weren't quite good enough for the Auror Academy. He was also the first of his generation to die, killed in the line of duty during a Death Eater attack in the summer of 1977. As it turned out, while the Death Eater Insurrection would claim all the Crouch children in one way or another, Magnus was the only sibling to not die at the hands of their youngest brother. Evidence at Barty Jr.'s trial indicated that, as a boy, he'd been regularly mistreated and bullied by his older half-brothers and half-sisters, presumably due to their resentment both of their new stepmother and Barty Jr.'s own natural brilliance outshining them all. Arthur recalled that Barty Jr. had scored twelve Outstandings on his OWLs, just like Percy himself had, and he'd actually turned down the Head Boy position because he'd planned on sitting eight NEWTs and simply didn't have the time. During Barty Jr.'s youth, the elder Crouch had risen to become DMLE Director at the height of the Death Eater Insurgency and so was rather "hands off" when it came to childrearing, while Melinda Crouch was either unable to reign in her stepchildren or unwilling to do so out of a futile desire to overcome their resentment of her.

According to the testimony of Igor Karkaroff, the youngest Crouch took the Dark Mark soon after graduating Hogwarts. He participated in the 1979 Death Eater attack that wiped out Olympia Crouch Fawley's extended family during the Fawley Christmas Party—an entire Noble House exterminated in one night—and he personally murdered Juno Crouch and her fiancé, Lancelot Marchbanks (the Marchbanks Heir), just days before their wedding. Poor Trajan was still single when Barty Jr. cornered him and tortured him for twenty minutes with the Cruciatus before finally killing him. According to Arthur, Alastor Moody had speculated that Barty Jr.'s real purpose in attacking the Longbottoms might have been to take out Augusta, Frank, and Neville, the last living people other than Barty Sr. who could claim to be members of House Crouch.

And yet despite all the evidence, Bartemius Crouch Jr. denied everything to the last, even under Veritaserum. Arthur said the boy was still tearfully proclaiming his innocence and begging his father to believe him even as he was being dragged off to Azkaban. Supposedly, the Death Eater Crouch had been a protégé of Augustus Rookwood, and so his Occlumency was good enough to fool Veritaserum. Indeed, it was likely so good that Barty Jr. might well have genuinely believed in his own innocence in the murder of all four of his siblings.

As Percy grimly contemplated the near-extinction of the Ancient and Noble House of Crouch, the door opened, and the Lord of the House entered the room.

"Good evening, Percy," Crouch said wearily. "Sorry to have kept you waiting. Blimpy, my only remaining house elf, has spent most of his lifetime as a gardener, and he's … still adjusting to performing Winky's former duties."

"I'm so sorry to hear about what happened to Winky, sir," Percy said sincerely. "I know she must have been with you for quite a long time."

Crouch waved off the sympathy as he took his seat behind the desk. "She's at Hogwarts now. Perhaps I'll see her again in the coming year."

Percy nodded. He anticipated that both of them would be spending a good bit of time at Hogwarts with the Tournament.

"I've been wondering, sir. Have you given any thought to how Winky ended up with Jim Potter's wand?"

The older man frowned. "I find it inconceivable that Winky played any role in what happened to the Potter boy's wand or in what purposes it was used for, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, of course not, Mr. Crouch. But did you ever have the chance to talk to Winky after you brought her home?"

"Briefly, but she was too distraught to tell me anything useful. Indeed, I suspect she may have been Confunded or worse. But I have the beginnings of a theory."

"Oh?"

Crouch looked at his aide cautiously, as if wary of the troubling idea he was about to share.

"I believe you and I were not meant to survive the destruction of my tent."

Percy's eyes shot up in surprise as Crouch continued.

"Or more accurately, I think I was not meant to survive it. You just had the misfortune to be working late and then falling asleep at your desk. I think Winky did something to disrupt the collapse of the tent's spatial expansion Charms. The Dark Mark was cast above the tent, after all. My assassination in conjunction with the Dark Mark would have solidified the public view that Death Eaters were behind the attack. But Winky saved us. And then, for her troubles, she was cursed by my would-be assassin and then left stunned and with the intended murder weapon on her person."

"But why? Why try to implicate a house elf? And why stun her instead of killing her outright?"

Crouch shrugged. "And that is where my deductions fail me. I suspect that some elements of the attack did not go to plan, most notably, me not dying as intended. Perhaps the attacker had to improvise. Not for the first time, I wish Rufus Scrimgeour were still alive. He and I may not have been the best of friends, but I'll wager he could have figured out what was really going on."

"Mr. Crouch," Percy asked cautiously. "Do you really think it was the Australians behind all this?"

The man shook his head. "There's been too much misdirection. Too much smoke and mirrors. Last year, a group of foreigners, all apparently Metamorphmagi, staged a prison break from Azkaban and displayed a highly advanced understanding of warding to do so. Then, a few months later, people in Death Eater garb attacked Hogsmeade under the command of a member of Fenrir Greyback's pack except Polyjuiced to look like Sirius Black! Then, James Potter's own Seneschal is revealed as a Death Eater right before he breaks Augustus Rookwood out of jail and nearly cripples the Auror Corps in the process. And then, bloody McAvity shows back up, followed immediately by obviously fake Death Eaters who can nevertheless summon the Dark Mark! Smoke and mirrors!"

Crouch sighed in exasperation. "Did you know, Percy, that it was my intention to retire from politics next year? Retire, give the Crouch proxy over to House Longbottom, and devote my remaining years to gardening. Specifically, the cultivation of rare orchids. The Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament were to be the capstones of my career. And now the Cup has been marred by unprecedented violence, and the Tournament will be held at Hogwarts with the Dark Lord McAvity in attendance!"

"It's not as bad as all that, I'm sure, Mr. Crouch. If the DMLE moves quickly with its investigation, McAvity will be arrested and prosecuted if guilty or else he'll be released to return to Australia. Either way, the matter will hopefully be resolved before the other schools arrive."

Crouch smiled wanly. "I suppose you're right. Besides, Dumbledore, for all his … eccentricities, runs a fairly tight ship at Hogwarts. And anyway, it's just an academic competition. What's the worst that could happen?"

30 August 1994Poolside at Longbottom Manor
2:00 pm

"The problem is one of stability," said Sue Li while reapplying Muggle sunscreen. "Brooms are built to be aerodynamic, but only in the air. Once you add Protego Mutandis to the mix and then try to propel the broom through water, it destabilizes. Lean a bit too much one way or the other, and suddenly, you go into an uncontrolled corkscrew pattern."

Joining Harry and Neville around the Longbottom pool were Theo, Sue, Anthony, Amy, and Ginny. Sue wore a one-piece bathing suit that the Pureblood boys found endlessly fascinating, as apparently none of them had ever seen female thighs before. Ginny and Amy both wore bathing costumes that would have been considered quite risqué … in the 1890's. They were both simultaneously scandalized and jealous over Sue's attire.

"So what's the solution?" Harry asked before taking a sip of lemonade.

"We're not entirely sure there is one if we're limited to a single broom," Anthony replied. "We're running up against the symbolic properties of a broom operating in an environment it wasn't meant for. Remember what Professor Babbling said on our first day of Ancient Runes. A broom can fly because of the occult significance of the runes carved into it, one of which is Ehwaz, which in this context means a horse that can be ridden. But you don't ride horses underwater, so the symbolism breaks down."

Harry's brow furrowed. "What about two brooms flying in tandem? Linked together somehow?"

Sue shrugged. "I suppose that would solve the stability issues. But can brooms even do that?"

"Oh yeah," Ginny spoke up from the small raft floating in the pool. "Easily. Actually, most modern brooms are made to do that."

"That makes sense," Neville said. "Remember back in first year when we were going to ship Hagrid's dragon to Romania by broom?"

Harry smirked. "Yes, I do seem to recall rescuing you all from that plan."

Neville snorted. "Anyway, it turns out that if you sync up a pair of brooms, they can be flown in tandem with one flyer controlling the directions for both. That's how they were going to fly a baby dragon in a cage all the way to Romania while suspended between two brooms."

"Exactly," Ginny added. "I had to do that with Drusilla Crabbe's broom back during our first flying lesson when she went out of control. All you have to do is grab the other person's broom handle and concentrate hard enough to overcome the will of the other flyer—assuming they even try to resist. The other person's broom will sync up with yours, and you can control them both. It's a safety feature that allows, for instance, parents to sync up with their kids' brooms and made sure no one wanders off while flying in a group. It's also why there's such a serious penalty for intentionally grabbing another player's broom handle during a Quidditch match."

Harry looked thoughtful for a bit. Then, he picked up the notebook and pen that Anthony Goldstein had brought for taking notes on their experiments. Quickly, he sketched out the crude shape of two brooms with a chair in between them.

"How about this? Can we have a chair for the pilot to sit in with a broom on each side synced together and under his control? Would that work?"

The two Ravenclaws studied his drawing.

"It very well might," said Anthony. "We'd need a sympathetic link between the chair and the two brooms. Something to control them both along the lines of a joystick in a jet's cockpit."

"… Cockpit? Joystick?" Theo mouthed towards Neville, who didn't recognize the unfamiliar yet seemingly rude words either. Meanwhile, Sue Li's eyes widened. She snatched up the notebook and added a curved triangular shape that surrounded the brooms and the chair.

"That will work. But more than that! If we use the chair and the two brooms as a frame and then build a structure around it …! Anthony, we could build the external shape however we wanted! We can eliminate drag! We could make a hull strong enough to reinforce the Protego Mutandis and reduce the energy requirements while also enabling it to go deeper without collapsing. And we could inscribe whatever runes we wanted to in order to add additional magical properties!"

Anthony rolled his eyes. "Merlin's balls, woman! Are you still thinking about trying to find Lost Atlantis?!"

"No! Shut up!" Sue snapped, suddenly embarrassed.

"Waitaminute!" Neville interrupted with a laugh. "Atlantis?!"

Sue Li fumed before responding. "No, not Atlantis! If there ever was a real Atlantis, there's nothing left to find at the bottom of the ocean after thousands of years. But over 70% of the Earth's surface is covered by water. We have no idea how many ley line convergences there are under the oceans. There could be inexhaustible magical power down there just waiting for us to discover it!"

"And there could be ley line convergences on the Moon," Anthony added. "Why don't we take time off from our other projects to work on getting up there while we're at it."

Harry grinned as he studied the drawing. "Why not both? We're wizards and witches. Who says we can't multitask!"

The others laughed.

"Anyway," Anthony continued, "the biggest problem I see is figuring out how to link two different brooms into a single mechanism that you can sit in and pilot. And by 'problem,' I just mean that I don't know what Charms would be required. But we'll be at Hogwarts in a few days, and I'll ask Professor Flitwick about it."

"Flitwick?" Theo asked. "Not Babbling?"

"Well, aside from being my Head of House and therefore more approachable, Flitwick is the guy to go to about obscure Charms. Once we know what Charms we'll need to incorporate, then we can talk to Babbling about how to inscribe them properly."

Harry nodded but then grew thoughtful. "Off topic, but that reminds me. I've got a question about Filius Flitwick, and I thought if anyone knew the answer, it would be my two Ravenclaw friends. But just between us, is Flitwick part-Goblin?"

Anthony and Sue looked at one another. "Would it matter if he was?" Sue said cautiously.

"Not in the sense you probably mean," Harry replied. "It just … I've got that meeting at Gringotts coming up. And if Flitwick is part-Goblin but also, as you said, approachable, I was thinking I might contact him for advice on working with Goblins without getting cheated or, worse, beheaded or something."

"Okay, then," Anthony said. "I'll tell you what we know. First of all, I've seen no indication that he has any current connection with the Goblins or Gringotts. Or at least, no more than any other wizard. As for his ancestry, well, there are two theories about it in Ravenclaw House. One is that he is one-quarter Goblin on his father's side, and his Goblin ancestor is someone important at Gringotts. So much so that by the end of his First Year, he went from weird little outcast who everyone picked on as a 'tiny halfbreed' to the most popular Ravenclaw in his year who everyone wanted to be friends with. Of course it helped that, whatever his parentage, Flitwick's a genius even by Ravenclaw standards. First in his class every year he was in school and easily the shortest Head Boy in Hogwarts history. Plus, he brought home his first dueling trophy the summer after his First Year. But yeah, the most popular rumor is that Flitwick isn't just part-Goblin, he's descended from Goblin royalty."

"Uh-huh," said Harry with a dubious expression. "And what's the other theory?"

Sue laughed. "That he's a brilliant Halfblood or possibly even a Muggleborn who suffers from congenital achondroplastic dwarfism."

No one except Anthony recognized the term so she expanded.

"It's a Muggle medical condition that results in a person's limbs not growing properly so that they are unusually short their whole lives. Little people, they're sometimes called. The condition is basically unheard of among actual wizards, though apparently Squibs can develop it. I think I read somewhere that there's a small group of Squib little people in Aberdeen or somewhere who work as entertainers. But anyway, since no one had ever heard of a dwarf who actually had magic—and, in fact, a lot of magic in Flitwick's case—some Pureblood classmates overheard a reference to him being a dwarf and thought it meant he was part magical creature. The way I heard it, when the stories got back to Flitwick, he decided to run with it and managed to create the rumors about his royal Goblin ancestry through the tactic of loudly and vehemently denying that he had any such ancestry at strategic moments."

Harry grinned. "Strategically denying a false rumor in such a way that people only become more inclined to believe it. I'm gonna have to remember that trick."

Wizengamot Welcomes Two New Families:
Noble House of Abbott and Ancient and Noble
House of Warrington

31 August 1994
Outside the Wizengamot Chamber

As Corban Yaxley made his way towards Cassilda Selwyn in the aftermath of the Wizengamot session, he noticed a smirk on her face so faint that only family members who knew her well might possibly recognize it as amusement. She knew what he wanted to talk about and already found it funny. Corban clamped down on his Occlumency to bring his emotions under control … unsuccessfully.

"Warrington? Seriously, Warrington?" he hissed angrily.

"You question Grandfather's decision?" Cassilda asked in reply after putting up a privacy ward with a wordless flick of her wand. "Or mine?"

"I … yes, Cousin, frankly, I do! Because Antonius Warrington is an absolute arse-head! And you know it!"

"True," the Selwyn Seneschal replied airily. "But you have not been without missteps yourself, Cousin Corban."

Yaxley choked down his first three responses in favor of something more diplomatic.

"Cousin, my missteps consist of minor hiccups in the World Cup operation. All of them were the result of the actions of people not under my control or acting outside my orders, and none of them interfered in any way with the operation's success. Warrington, on the other hand, played no meaningful role in things except the minor and non-essential task of fixing an exhibition Quidditch game in order to ratchet up tensions between the British and the Australians. Alexander McAvity's mere presence did more to achieve that than anything Warrington did."

"Valid points, Corban," the witch said with a smile. "Of course, we cannot forget the embarrassment you caused House Selwyn when you spoke out of turn before our Lord."

Yaxley glanced around quickly to see if anyone reacted to that despite the privacy shield.

"Well, I certainly can't forget suffering the Cruciatus Curse for speaking out of turn, Cousin. But I fail to see how that faux pas places me in an inferior position to Warrington given the fact that we haven't told him anything about the Dark Lord's existence for fear he might do something stupid to cock things up!"

Before Yaxley could go into a full-blown tirade, Cassilda reached up and put a finger on his lips to silence him.

"Enough, Corban. I know your ambitions, and I promise you: If you remain loyal to our House and diligent in our cause, all that you desire will one day be yours. But that day will come when Grandfather decides and not before. And in the meantime, he has decided that House Warrington will be elevated to Ancient and Noble status and not House Yaxley. I suggest you come to terms with it. It would be a shame for all your hard work to be undone by intra-house jealousy."

Yaxley grimaced. "Very well. But at least tell me why."

She smiled and patted him on the cheek condescendingly. "There are two things I will reveal to you in answer to your question, Corban. First, remember that most gifts we grant come with strings attached. And I can assure you, Cousin, that the strings that now bind Cousin Antonius are not the sort of strings you want anywhere near you. More than that, I cannot say. But believe me when I tell you that Grandfather and I both value you too much to grant you the boon we have given to dear, sweet Cousin Antonius."

The Death Eater studied Cassilda Selwyn intently and then slowly nodded his head. He understood now. The Family needed the Warringtons to be an Ancient and Noble family, but despite the prestigiousness of the title, it was somehow a poisoned chalice from which he had been spared.

"And the other thing?" he finally asked.

"Merely that there was one reason above all others why we chose to grant this boon to Cousin Antonius rather than you, Corban."

Cassilda leaned towards him and smirked cruelly. "At the end of the day, Antonius Selwyn is prettier than you are."

And with that, the Selwyn Seneschal turned and walked away, leaving a confused and mildly insulted Corban Yaxley in her wake.

Amos Diggory of DRCMC Denies Reports
Of Barghests Used During Attack!
Are Followers of Grindelwald Involved?

31 August
The Diggory Household
7:00 pm

"Honestly!" Amos Diggory exclaimed as he perused the Daily Prophet. "A Barghest at the World Cup?! Stuff and nonsense! Amelia really should get her Aurors under control if they're going around spreading wild rumors like this. If there had been a Barghest running around at the Cup, one would think that someone who knows something about dangerous creatures would have reported it to my department, don't you agree?"

"I suppose so," Cedric mumbled while dragging his fork through his uneaten mashed potatoes.

"So, what do you think it really was?" he quickly added before his father chastised him. Amos always became cross when Cedric didn't enunciate properly. Perhaps because it reminded them both of how hard the elder Diggorys had worked with Cedric to get rid of his stammer before he started Hogwarts and embarrassed the family with it.

Amos frowned for a moment but then shrugged and returned to the article. "No idea. But Corban Yaxley says he thinks that Dawlish just got Confunded by one of those Australian Mudbloods and is too ashamed to admit it. So he's sticking with his story of getting jumped by an invisible monster. Sounds likely to me."

"Father, please don't … use that word, okay?" the boy said firmly.

Amos looked at him in surprise. "What? Mudblood?" Cedric gave him a disapproving look and, for once, was not the first one to look away. Amos sighed.

"Yes, yes. You're quite right, Cedric," he finally said. "It's not a proper word for a family of our social and political standing. I shall do my best to avoid it in the future."

Privately, Cedric thought the vulgar slur was inappropriate for anyone of any social or political standing, but he decided to remain silent and accept whatever small victory he could.

"Another slice of pie, dear?" inquired Mrs. Diggory as she returned from the kitchen.

"No thank you, darling," her husband answered without looking up from the paper.

She sat down next to her husband before turning to Cedric. "Oh, by the way, Cedric, I thought you might want to know. Molly Weasley sent a Floo message this afternoon. She says poor Charlie is expected to leave St. Mungo's tomorrow with a full recovery. Isn't that wonderful?"

A mixture of emotions washed over the Hufflepuff's face. "Yes, it is! A full recovery, you say?"

"Well, for the most part," his mother answered with a somewhat sad expression. "I gather those scars left from the curse will never fade completely. He'll be up and about soon, but he'll always carry a reminder of what happened."

At that, Cedric suddenly looked stricken. "That's … that's a shame. Anyway, I think I'll go up to my room and make double-sure I packed everything. I'm not very hungry anyway."

With that, the boy left the table and headed upstairs, while Amos impassively watched him depart.

Moments later, Cedric was up in his room staring vacantly at his trunk, which he knew had been fully packed earlier that afternoon. He sat down on the bed and put his head into his hands while he willed his heart rate to slow down to something approaching normal.

"Cedric?" came a soft voice from the doorway. Cedric looked up. It was his father.

"We should have told them what happened," Cedric said flatly. "We should have been honest about everything."

Amos Diggory stepped into his son's room and closed the door behind him.

"Honesty is a Hufflepuff virtue, Cedric. I know. I was one too. But loyalty is also a House virtue for us. You heard what your mother said. Charlie Weasley is going to recover fully. I know that what happened was terrible and was almost a tragedy. But in the end, everything turned out okay. There's no sense embarrassing the family, damaging my political status, and undermining your own prospects out of a misplaced sense of guilt."

Cedric started to speak, but Amos cut him off. "And besides, Cedric, you know what it would do to your poor mother if this unfortunate business were revealed. Why, Molly Weasley has been her best friend since they were at school together. It would break her heart."

Cedric tried again to argue against his father, but the image of his mother crying once she knew the truth of what happened was too much. He looked down at the floor and then slowly nodded.

"Good, good," said Amos as he sat down on the bed. "Cedric, I know how … upsetting all that was. But you have to focus past it. This is an important year for you. I mean—The Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts! Think of what doors it could open for you! For a start, you'll be guaranteed as Head Boy next year. And with that comes your pick of Ministry jobs!"

"What if I don't want …" Cedric caught himself before finishing. "What if I don't want to be in the Triwizard Tournament, Father? I mean, people have died in this tournament before!"

Amos scoffed. "That was centuries ago, Cedric! I'm sure Albus Dumbledore will make certain that the competitors are perfectly safe. And whatever risk there is, my boy, I know you're more than up to the challenge. You've been top of your Year since you started Hogwarts. Quidditch captain. Ten OWLs, eight of them Outstanding. And now on the Auror track! You have nothing to fear from the Triwizard Tournament. And once you win that, there'll be no stopping you! You'll be the youngest Minister for Magic in history!"

Cedric didn't look up. "Is it really that you want me to be the youngest Minister in history, Father? Or is it more about how you just want to be the next Minister after Cornelius Fudge?"

Amos's eyes flashed angrily for a second, but then, he smiled with paternal affection. Or an approximation thereof.

"Why not both? I won't deny that I think I could do a better job than Cornelius. Or that you winning the Tournament might help me to win a few votes at the Septennial. But even then, surely you see how me becoming Minister will be good for the whole family. And haven't I always taught you that the most important Hufflepuff virtue is family?"

The boy finally looked up into his father's eyes as if searching them for something. "Right," he finally said in a thick voice. "Family."

The older man smiled and patted his son on the back. "Good! Now then, let's just forget about that unpleasantness at the Cup and look ahead to the future. And to the long and successful life that's ahead of you."

"… To the future."

Amos rose and opened the door before turning back to Cedric. "You know I'll always be proud of you no matter what, right, son?"

"Of course, Father," Cedric lied. "I've never doubted it."

The elder Diggory grinned and left the room, closing the door behind him. Cedric exhaled deeply and lay back on the bed before rubbing his hands over his face. He couldn't wait to be back at Hogwarts. The pressure there to be perfect was always intense, but it was somehow far more bearable than what he felt at home.

1 September 1994
4 Privet Drive, Surrey
8:45 am

"Come on, Jim!" James yelled up the stairs. "We need to get you through the Floo to the Burrow so I can get to work on time!"

If James Potter seemed unusually frazzled, it was because this was literally the first time that he had been solely responsible for getting the boy ready for school. In years past, either Lily had been on hand to help (along with a trio of house elves) or they'd sent Jim ahead to the Weasleys beforehand. But with the drama at the Cup, they had decided to keep Jim at home until the day the Express left only for Lily to be called in to Hogwarts unexpectedly. The Goblet of Fire was to be delivered to Hogwarts today, and Albus, out of a healthy sense of paranoia, had asked Lily to come in and assist with the protective wards he would be casting around it.

Perhaps worse, this was the first time in years that James had been in a job that didn't allow him to skive off work at his own discretion. Unfortunately, James had embarrassed Director Yaxley in front of the Minister and the Chief Auror during the Quidditch World Cup fiasco, and the ex-Death Eater had petulantly gotten his revenge by instituting stricter office hours for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Excessive time spent out of the office while not on official business (including tardiness) would result in docked pay, and at the moment, the Potters really couldn't afford that just because Jim had neglected to finish packing the night before. As it was, James would have to skip breakfast just to make it in on time.

Seconds later, a breathless Jim entered the room carrying Steve the Kingsnake's terrarium with a black cloth covering it. The boy also had a broom-carrying case slung over his shoulder. With a gasp, he set the two items on top of his trunk, which was already next to the fireplace.

James checked his watch again with a grimace and then reached for a pinch of Floo powder when Jim cried out.

"Wait!" The boy spent a few precious seconds patting his pockets before finally producing a crinkled piece of parchment. "I still need you to sign my Hogsmeade permission form."

"I thought your mother already signed it," James said irritably while reaching for his wand.

"I meant to give it to her, but I kept forgetting," Jim said sheepishly while holding out the parchment for his father.

"Honestly, Jim! You need to be more responsible about these things! SIGNARE!"

A flash of light from James's wand struck the parchment, instantly inscribing James's signature without even the need to unfold it.

"There. Now get a move on!"

Seconds later, Jim stepped out of the fireplace in the Burrow with his terrarium in hand. His trunk and other things followed soon after via James's levitation spell.

Only then did Jim's face break out into a broad grin as he pulled out the parchment once more to double-check that his father's signature was in place.

It was not a Hogsmeade permission slip.

From the Daily Quibbler

Minister Cornelius Fudge Accused
of Baking Goblins Into Pies!
Will Culinary Excess Lead To Revolt?

Gringotts Bank
1 September 1994
8:00 a.m.

With supreme effort, Harry Black fought down the urge to yawn. While normally an early riser, he'd had to get up extra early this morning. The Hogwarts Express was scheduled to depart at eleven o'clock on the dot, but this meeting with the Goblins was important to Eye-Spy's immediate future, and they would only meet with him on the first of the month. And so, Harry rose before dawn to make sure everything was packed for Hogwarts and ready to be sent off with Theo and Amy. Then, he put on his best robes and Side-Apparated along with his solicitors, Artemus Podmore and Hestia Jones, to the steps of Gringotts. Before entering, Hestia advised him strongly against yawning. Or, worse, looking at his watch.

Once the meeting began, Harry felt himself quite discomfited by the assembly before him despite his usual poise. With the drama surrounding the World Cup, interest in Eye-Spy recordings of the various matches was incredibly high. So high, in fact, that a group of Fourth Year students, no matter how gifted, couldn't possibly meet the demand once school resumed. And so, Harry had asked his solicitors to reach out to Gringotts, the one business entity that could assist in expanding the company. In fact, given the nature of the British wizarding economics, it was the only entity legally permitted to do so.

Artie and Hestia had spent several days on the preliminary negotiations and the development of a business plan and a contract. For a surprisingly small cut of the profits, the Goblins would oversee background checks on wizards, witches, and squibs who would handle the practical business functions of Eye-Spy Inc., including generating copies of the matches suitable for viewing, collecting orders, and shipping out both recordings and magic mirrors to play them on. The bank would also rent Harry a vacant property large enough to be converted into a factory and see that it was properly warded.

What Harry did not anticipate was that the final presentation, hopefully followed by mutual signing of the contracts, would require his physical presence and would have to be made before the Gringotts Board of Directors, with King Ragnok the Bloody himself presiding over things. The boy was even more troubled to realize that, of the seven Goblins sitting at the far end of the long table, Ragnok the Bloody had the least intimidating name. The other six, who all wore ill-fitting and badly wrinkled business suits—Harry was sure one of them had a bloodstain on his necktie—bore such names as Skull-Crusher, Throat-Slicer, Eye-Gouger, Rib-Splitter, Foe-Hammer, and Krunch (spelled with a K according to the Goblin's nameplate).

Harry privately thought Mr. Krunch was the most intimidating despite the handicap of apparent blindness. Certainly Krunch was the oldest, as he appeared quite decrepit and slightly mad. All of the Goblins had terrible, bestial faces with sharp jutting teeth, long pointy noses, and jet-black eyes. Mr. Krunch's eyes, however, were covered with what appeared to be a thick bandage fashioned out of a dingy-looking leather strap. Long scar running across his face and under the bandage hinted at what had led to the loss of both eyes. What Harry found especially intimidating was the fact that Mr. Krunch somehow seemed to stare intently at the boy through the duration of the meeting despite his blindness.

The boy sat quietly and sought to ignore Mr. Krunch's burning non-gaze while Artemus presented their business plan. The young Slytherin had a strong impression that the Goblins' intimidation tactics were largely for show, but Artie advised him to treat everything with the utmost seriousness. No matter how legitimate the Board's current hostility towards the three of them in particular was, all Goblins hated wizards in general due to wizarding laws that forbade Goblins (among other creatures) from using or even touching wands.

That unpleasant business only came up once during Harry's meeting. At one point, Hestia clarified that at least some of Eye-Spy's employees would have to be capable of wanded magic, though nothing beyond the OWL level. At the mention of wands, all seven of the Goblins growled audibly. After an hour of negotiations, however, the wizards and the Goblins hammered out a deal, which was then memorialized in contracts signed with blood quills. Then, after a few final perfunctory snarls and insults about "wand-waving fools," the meeting was ended.

"On behalf of Lord Wilkes, I thank you for your assistance in these matters," Artie said respectfully.

Ragnok the Bloody sneered in response. "We care nothing for your gratitude, wizard! Only for the gold to be made from your venture!"

With that, the two solicitors bowed towards the Goblins and then ushered Harry out of the meeting room. Just after the door had closed behind him, however, Harry stiffened, as he suddenly felt the now-familiar sensation of a kaleidoscope turning in his head. It was the precursor to his Legilimency giving him some insight through an incredible deductive leap. Only this time, the kaleidoscope kept turning but the insight never came. Surprised by this new sensation, Harry turned back and stared at the door to the boardroom as if willing himself to see through it to whatever lay beyond that he must have missed.

"Harry?" Hestia spoke up. "It's 10:30. We need to hurry if you're going to make the Hogwarts Express on time."

The boy glanced up at her and, just like that, the strange feeling was gone. He cast one last look at the door but felt nothing more. Harry shrugged and followed the two solicitors out of the bank.

Dark Lord McAvity Claims Sanctuary at Hogwarts!
Has Dumbledore Finally Gone Mad?

The Hogwarts Express
10:52 am

"Mad?" Daphne snorted at the Daily Prophet headline. "Of course he's gone mad! He's allowing a Dark Lord to lounge about in a school full of children! He might kill us all!"

Tracey gave an annoyed sigh. "Honestly, Daphne, calm down. McAvity isn't going to kill anyone. Even if he were that sort of wizard, he's under house arrest at Hogwarts, and if he gets caught trying anything, he'll probably go straight to Azkaban."

The two friends sat next to one another in their compartment on the Hogwarts Express while awaiting its departure. Initially, Tracey had hopes that they'd have the compartment to themselves, but to her quiet dismay, they were soon joined by a gaggle of Slytherin girls (including Daphne's sister Astoria and Pansy bloody Parkinson!), all of whom were active in the Cultural Preservation Society and all of whom were full of hysterical rumors about the Dark Lord McAvity and his dire intentions for the school's Purebloods.

Suddenly, Tracey was acutely aware of her status as the only non-Pureblood in the compartment.

"Pfft!" said Drusilla Crabbe who, as usual, looked as though there were a foul odor just under her nose. "He should already be in Azkaban, given his crimes! The whole thing makes a mockery of our judicial system."

Tracey said nothing, but she did crack her knuckles loud enough for Daphne to hear and glance over in her direction with concern. Both girls were well aware of the fact that Drusilla's father bore the Dark Mark and had escaped Azkaban himself due to an Imperius defense. Indeed, Daphne's father had warned both his daughters and also Tracey to never be in the room alone with any of the Crabbe children in case they'd been instructed to take revenge on House Greengrass for not supporting You-Know-Who.

"By the way," Astoria asked somewhat timidly. "Dumb question I know, but … what were McAvity's crimes. Was he a terrorist or something?"

There was a susurration from the Slytherin girls as they looked around the compartment and muttered softly. It seemed none of the girls could answer Astoria's question despite McAvity's notoriety.

"Well, I don't know the specifics," Pansy said with a sneer, "but I'm sure the filthy Mudblood deserved to be Kissed for them."

(Unbeknownst to Pansy, using that word in the present company immediately caused ten Galleons to be deducted from her father's vaults.)

"I know what his crimes were," Tracey finally said in a cold voice. Daphne looked at her in surprise.

"Tracey?"

The blond Slytherin ignored her friend. Instead, she just glared at Pansy with her chin raised.

"After Lockhart first mentioned McAvity back in Second Year, I was curious, so I went and looked him up in the Prophet back issues. He was accused of masterminding everything his followers supposedly did after he fled the country. But as far as actual charges? There was only one … academic fraud!"

The compartment went silent as the girls pondered Tracey's comment.

"Wait … what?" Astoria asked incredulously.

"McAvity had three articles published in the British Journal of Charms Research under a fake name because the Journal at that time had a policy of not accepting submissions from Muggleborns. After all three articles were published and one of them was even nominated for a prestigious international award, McAvity revealed the truth, hoping it would shame the Journal into reversing its policy. Instead, the editors decided to press charges of fraud, and the DMLE Director at the time—who I believe was your grandfather, Pansy—announced he would pursue the maximum penalty of fifteen years in Azkaban. Although I suppose he'd have asked for the Dementor's Kiss if it had been an option. Instead, McAvity was able to get out of the country before he could be arrested."

"… Well," Drusilla said after a long pause. "Surely the fact that he fled just proves he was guilty of something … right?"

Tracey looked around the compartment for a few seconds before nodding. "You're right, Drusilla. Obviously, he was guilty of something."

The Halfblood stood and moved to open the door before turning back to the other girls. Astoria stared at her wide-eyed while Daphne was already wincing.

"After all," Tracey said coldly, "McAvity could have always stayed in Britain instead and simply claimed he'd been Imperius'd into submitting those articles under a fake name, right?"

And with that, Tracey Davis slammed the door shut behind her and stormed off while the two girls she'd grown up with as sisters called after her to no avail.

Elsewhere, Jim Potter had just climbed onto the Express with Ron Weasley following after. To Jim's surprise, he was immediately met by Hannah Abbott, who was grinning excitedly.

"Hi, Jim!" she exclaimed before leaning in closer and whispering. "I just wanted you to know—my Uncle Lester still has a few weeks of recovery with the Mind Healers, but they say he's expected to make a full recovery! He'll be out of St. Mungo's by the end of the month!"

"Gee, Hannah … that's … wonderful?" said Jim with a degree of confusion. He was pretty sure this was the longest conversation he'd ever had with the bubbly Hufflepuff.

Hannah looked around conspiratorially to make sure no one else was listening.

"Listen, Jim. I know you want to keep this quiet. None of the healers ever mentioned your name. And I swear I won't tell anyone else, but … Thank you so much!

With that, the girl suddenly leaned in quickly and gave the Boy-Who-Lived a peck on the cheek before turning and darting back down the train.

Jim stared after her in abject confusion, while Ron just stood beside him with his mouth hanging open.

"Do you have any idea what that was about?" Jim asked his best mate, who for some reason gave him a look of sudden consternation.

"Let's just get a compartment," Ron grumbled before stepping past his confused friend and heading off in the opposite direction from Hannah.

The "Harry's Brain Trust" Compartment
11:15 a.m.

Harry made the Express just in time and quickly found the compartment that housed his closest friends (and adopted family in three cases): Theo, Neville, Hermione, Blaise, Luna, Amy, and Ginny. While Harry had many other friends and allies, these eight represented the ones he trusted with virtually everything. Or at least, he would be trusting them all once he could get Luna and Ginny somewhere he could swear them to proper oaths. Idly, he wondered if Ginny had any interest in learning Occlumency.

And speaking of Ginny, the second Harry stepped into the compartment, she gave him a pointed look. He responded with a curt nod followed by a slight tilt of his head to the left, which was Slytherin for "Yes, I have the illegal book you gave me, and I'll give it back to you soon." She nodded back and returned to the copy of Quidditch Weekly she was perusing. Of the others present, only Blaise and Theo were Slytherin enough to have caught the exchange, but neither of them gave any sign of interest.

For her part, Luna seemed engrossed by a book she was reading entitled The Art of Origami, which explained the dozen or so birds and other animals on the seat next to her that she'd been fashioning out of paper. As Harry sat down, she suddenly looked up and addressed him.

"I haven't seen you since June, Harry," said Luna. "Congratulations on what must have been an exciting summer."

"Exciting is not how I'd have described it, though I suppose it could have gone worse. And how was your summer? I followed some of your exploits in the Quibbler, but it was hard to keep up with them while I was busy having people try to kill me all the time."

Hermione tensed at that remark, and both Theo and Neville glared at Harry for making it after the trauma they'd all been through at the World Cup. Harry ignored them.

"Yes, I can imagine how distracting that would be," Luna continued, seemingly unperturbed. "Anyway, Daddy and I spent the summer in Brazil studying the Balamob."

"The … what?" Harry asked.

"Balamob," Neville replied. "South American jaguar-people. I met some of them the summer after First Year. They were quite nice up until they tried to sacrifice me to their sun god."

Luna nodded. "They mentioned that. The chieftain said that he'd never seen a human child run so fast."

Neville grimaced at the memory, but Hermione spoke up first.

"Before we get into thrilling tales of people almost dying, Harry, how did things go at Gringotts?"

Harry sat down with a loud sigh. "The business side of things went fine. They'll give us everything we asked for. There should be no problems getting the QWC recordings out in time."

"But …?" Blaise prompted.

"But nothing. The meeting went fine. It's just … meeting the Goblin King and the Gringotts Board of Directors was … weird."

"Were you expecting it to be otherwise?" Amy asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, I was expecting it to be weird. Because, you know, everything about the wizarding world is weird in some way. But … the Goblins were weird in a different way than I was expecting. Which, perversely, makes them even weirder than I was expecting!"

Gringotts Bank
Forty-five minutes earlier

"On behalf of Lord Wilkes, I thank you for your assistance in these matters," Artie said respectfully.

Ragnok the Bloody sneered in response. "We care nothing for your gratitude, wizard! Only for the gold to be made from your venture!"

With that, the two solicitors bowed towards the Goblins and then ushered Harry out the door.

As the door closed behind the three humans, several of the Goblins began to move and speak, but instantly, King Ragnok raised his hand, and they all went silent and still. He stared intently at the closed door as if he could somehow see through to the other side. Finally, after several seconds, he relaxed, lowered his hand, and nodded at the other board members.

In response to the unspoken command, each of the Goblins reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a wand. And very strange wands, at that. Not wooden wands as any wizard would expect, but rather wands made of precious metals—gold, silver, copper, brass, and platinum. And embedded into the center of each metal wand was a gemstone of some kind. Most of them were the expensive kind. For example, Ragnok's platinum wand had a 5-carat diamond built into it.

Instantly, the seven Goblins began to wave their metal wands in the air while muttering obscure phrases in their native language. In response, each Goblin's ragged and ill-fitting suit repaired itself to immaculate perfection and perfect fit, and Mr. Skull-Crusher's artistically rendered bloodstain faded away. But even more remarkable was the effect on the Goblins' physical appearances. Black eyes transformed into normal irises. Savage angular faces softened into more human-like visages complete with skin tones consistent with those of humans. Hair in various colors sprouted atop their heads, in most cases already pomaded into a dignified style. Several Goblins instantly grew thick handlebar moustaches that all curled up neatly on each end, and one produced a brass monocle from a pocket and placed it over an eye. Ragnok himself now sported an impeccable Van Dyke goatee.

In short, they looked like seven dapper (if anachronistically dressed) achondroplastic dwarfs.

Next to Ragnok, Mr. Krunch removed his eye-covering to reveal white eyes underneath. But his blindness did not seem to interfere with his wand-work. With a tap of his copper-and-emerald wand, the bandage transfigured itself into a pair of black spectacles, which he donned with ease. Finally (and practically in unison), each Goblin gave his wand a single flick, thereby causing a red carnation to sprout from the tip. Each Goblin in turn plucked his carnation and delicately placed it inside his lapel buttonhole as a boutonnière. Having made themselves presentable, the board members all turned to look at their leader, who produced a Cuban cigar which he lit with his wand. After taking a few puffs, he finally spoke.

"Right, gentlemen," said King Ragnok (whose real name was Mr. Periwinkle, Chairman and CEO of Gringotts Interdimensional). "So, what do we think of Hadrian Remus Black Lord Wilkes?"

The venerable Goblin glanced towards the end of the table. "Doolally!"

At that, Throat-Slicer (whose real name was Mr. Doolally, Vice-President for Accounts) jumped slightly. At 83, Mr. Doolally was the youngest member of the Board and was still a bit nervous during meetings. He quickly summoned a file with his wand and flipped through it.

"Lord Wilkes is already the inheritor of enormous financial assets. He is easily the youngest millionaire in Wizarding Britain and is also the Black Heir. Between his own resources, those of his godfather, and those of his allied families, the amount of capital at his disposal is roughly equivalent to that of House Selwyn and dwarfs any of the other Wizengamot families. Should the Eye-Spy venture meet our expectations, and should wizards respond to the advent of modern mass communications in a manner comparable to that of Muggles, Harry Black will likely become the wealthiest wizard in the world within ten years."

Doolally coughed diplomatically. "Well, that is, assuming external factors don't intervene."

"What sort of external factors are we worried about?" asked Foe-Hammer (whose real name was Mr. Butterdish, Vice-President for Security and Conflict Resolution).

"Well, us for a start, since the agenda of this meeting is in part to decide on a plan of action vis a vis Lord Wilkes. He has some degree of backing from the Department of Mysteries, but at the same time, he's poised to make an enemy out of House Selwyn and is already the enemy of several Houses that were aligned with the Death Eater Insurrection. And if Eye-Spy Inc. is perceived to be a threat to any powerful faction within the Ministry or the Wizengamot, there will likely be efforts to ban his magitech and bankrupt him. Or worse."

Doolally grimaced. "And, of course, there is the very real concern that he might have or acquire access to the Wilkes Vault and with it the Lestrange Formula."

Mr. Periwinkle shook his head. "I believe I shall err for now on the side of hoping that the young lord is not the sort of person who would ever make use of that formula. Still, better safe than sorry. Go ahead and draft a Flamel contract for Lord Wilkes. Just in case."

Doolally nodded and made a note for his file, while Periwinkle moved on.

"And since the topic of the Unspeakables has been raised, let's hear what they have to say about the matter?"

At that, Mr. Skull-Crusher (whose real name was Mr. Camembert, Vice-President for Occult Espionage) leaned forward.

"Our contacts inside the DOM report that very little has been said about Lord Wilkes, mainly because his file is now classified as U7. We do know that Saul Croaker and Number 17 paid a visit to Hogwarts and met with Harry Black and one of his confidants, a Miss Hermione Granger, followed by an emergency Oversight meeting later that afternoon. From the context, it is likely that either Black or Granger made use of the Time Turner, which would have automatically flagged them as Agents of Fate pursuant to DOM guidelines."

"Hmm," said Mr. Periwinkle while taking another puff on his cigar. "Prophecies of note? Other than the obvious ones?"

"Several," Camembert answered grimly before explaining for his peers who did not share his departmental interest in such things. "In addition to being implicated in the 1780 Dark God prophecy and the 1980 One With The Power prophecy, both to the 9th degree of certainty, we have recently learned from Sibyl Trelawney uttered another True Prophecy just last March. We don't know its contents yet, but rather coincidentally, it was uttered in the presence of the aforementioned Miss Granger on the day before two Unspeakables met with her and with Black."

Mr. Camembert then flipped open a different file folder and withdrew a list.

"Furthermore, research suggests that he is potentially implicated in several other prophecies known to us to at least the 6th degree of certainty. Most notably, the 1437 Flying Fortress prophecy, the 1893 Thirteen Against the World prophecy, and, most disturbingly, the Dreamer In the Tower prophecy. The date of utterance for that last one is unknown, but it was found in the records of the Dark Lord Ekrizdis. All five of the aforementioned prophecies range from CK to ZK in potential severity."

A pall fell over the room as the implications of that sank in.

"So," Mr. Periwinkle said glumly. "Harry Black will likely play a pivotal role in outcomes that might range from the collapse of the current system of government in Wizarding Britain to the end of all existence. Or anything in between."

"Basically … yes," answered Mr. Camembert.

Mr. Periwinkle tapped the ash from his cigar as he considered those portents. "So what do we actually know about the boy? What does Flitwick say?"

Eye-Gouger (whose real name was Mr. Bumbershoot, Director of Human-Inhuman Resources) answered readily.

"Agent Flitwick has provided considerable information about the boy's known capabilities, but in the end, he's a Slytherin and a gifted one. And because some of his more provocative adventures have involved either the Boy-Who-Lived or the Unspeakables, Flitwick thinks that there's still a lot more going on with Black than is publicly known. He has considered offering himself as a dueling instructor for the boy in hopes of gaining his confidence, but that window may have already closed. Flitwick is quite certain he's already receiving instruction from an unknown tutor or tutors of championship caliber quality. Perhaps Severus Snape or Lucius Malfoy. Perhaps others."

"Does Flitwick know anything about the Prince of Slytherin?" asked Mr. Camembert.

"No," replied Mr. Bumbershoot. "Agent Flitwick has never been cleared for any information about the Prince of Slytherin. At the time of his initial assignment, there was concern that investigating the Prince of Slytherin when we knew nothing about what the term actually meant might give away his status as an undercover operative."

"Get him in as soon as is possible for a briefing," interrupted Mr. Periwinkle. "Proceed with your report."

"Yes, sir. To continue, Agent Flitwick says that Harry Black is consistently near the top of his class and is a prodigy in some areas. He also surrounds himself with the others in his year who are academically gifted and is working to incorporate them into a 'think tank' structure. Black is a skilled Occlumens and has an unknown degree of Legilimency but definitely at least Level 3. He carries the potential for shapeshifting, but it is unknown if he is actively developing it. Flitwick claims that, if he does, it will be Metamorphmagery, even though he has sympathetic links to Animagery through both his father and his godfather. However, his brother Jim is pursuing Animagery and, by all accounts, doing a poor job of keeping it a secret. From his observations of the two boys and in light of the Oath of Enmity between them, Flitwick thinks that Black would choose Metamorphmagery over Animagery just to avoid emulating his brother and father, even if there weren't already tremendous advantages to being a Metamorphmagus who is skilled in the psychic arts."

"Anything else?" asked Mr. Periwinkle.

"Only that there are rumors that Black had already mastered a wandless spell before the age of 14!"

Next to Periwinkle, the blind Goblin Krunch (whose real name was Mr. Paradiddle, Vice-President for Matters of the Soul) barked out a laugh.

"Something to add, Mr. Paradiddle?" asked the CEO cautiously.

"Merely that Flitwick is wrong. Lord Wilkes has not mastered a wandless spell, though the results are quite similar, so his mistake is understandable. Rather, the young wizard has done something far more extraordinary."

"And what might that be?" Mr. Periwinkle asked, as his eyes narrowed.

"He has, through an act of supreme will-and, I suspect, entirely by accident-carved the words Accio Wand into the very material of his soul!"

The other Goblins looked at one another in surprise.

"Soul magic?!" exclaimed Mr. Bumbershoot. "Before the age of fourteen?!"

"Accidental soul magic before the age of fourteen," said Mr. Paradiddle with a laugh. "Which is, ironically, even more impressive than if he'd made a study of the art. And yet, in my opinion, that is merely the second most interesting fact to be known about the state of his soul."

Mr. Periwinkle sighed loudly. "Alright then, Mr. Paradiddle. What's the most interesting thing about Harry Black's soul?"

"At the moment … he's carrying two of them!

Next: Hogwarts at last! 

Chapter Text

Hogwarts
1 September 1994

The ride to Hogwarts was uneventful, at least compared to years past. Indeed, the biggest hurdle was the torrential rainstorm that struck Hogsmeade upon their arrival. As Harry and his crew made their way from the train station to the waiting carriages beneath the protection of Umbrella Charms, Amy gasped in surprise at the sight of the thestrals. Harry and Theo both looked at each other. While none of them had personally observed the death of Tiberius Nott, Amy had seen the man's incapacitation and then heard his death-screams and the sounds of a Barghest tearing him apart. Apparently, that counted as "witnessing death" for purposes of the strange magic of thestrals. Of Harry's closest friends, only Neville and Ginny were still sheltered enough to not be able to see the eerie steeds.

Harry helped Amy into one of the carriages and then paused to look around. Nearby, he noticed Daphne and Astoria Greengrass boarding another carriage along with Pansy Parkinson and Drusilla Crabbe. He was surprised to see a somewhat sullen Tracey Davis board a different carriage farther back and wondered what sort of argument had split her off from the Greengrass sisters. Then, a sudden impulse seized the Slytherin.

"Please, let me help you up," he said somewhat loudly while holding out his hand to Ginny Weasley. The youngest Weasley nearly said something sarcastic about not being an invalid when she noticed him glance surreptitiously off to the side. She cut her eyes in that direction and noticed Daphne glaring at them.

"Why thank you, Harry!" Ginny said with what she hoped sounded like a coquettish laugh. "You're a true gentleman!"

Harry followed her into the carriage, where Theo and Amy were both looking dubiously at the pair. Ginny just smirked.

"Are you actively trying to make Daphne Greengrass jealous, Harry?" she asked.

"Maybe," Harry answered with a smirk.

The Sorting went off with only minor hitches. First, most of the student body was unpleasantly damp. While the older Slytherins and most Ravenclaws were quite familiar with the Umbrella Charm, the Hufflepuffs were less so, and the Gryffindors seemed to relish getting drenched in the rain. To make things even wetter, Peeves went after Jim and Ron with water balloons, and young Dennis Creevey (who seemed even more hyperactive than his relentlessly cheerful brother, Colin) had managed to fall into the lake. Naturally, young Dennis followed his sibling into Gryffindor, which was good, because it meant he had to walk past Hermione, who was the first person with the presence of mind to cast a Drying Charm on the poor boy.

As Harry took his seat, he noticed that the Head Table seemed a bit longer than usual this evening, complete with a few extra chairs for guests. In particular, Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman were both present, presumably for Dumbledore's announcement about the Triwizard Tournament. Percy Weasley was also present, sitting next to his boss and looking distinctly uncomfortable to be sitting at the Head Table. And speaking of the Triwizard Tournament, the fabled Goblet of Fire was already in position on a pedestal directly in front of Dumbledore's chair. A circle of faintly glowing runes surrounded it. Presently, Bagman seemed engaged in a hopeless effort to converse with Professor Snape who resolutely ignored the fatuous man. Harry also noticed that the chair on Dumbledore's right was empty at the moment.

Another unexpected addition to the Head Table was Ted Tonks, who Dumbledore introduced as a new faculty member. Ted would be teaching introductory healing courses, acting as the official Healer for the Triwizard Tournament, and assisting Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing as needed. According to Dumbledore, Ted had some degree of training as a Mind Healer, and he would also be on call to act as a counselor should any of the student body wish to meet with him in that capacity. Harry's eyes narrowed at that, and he privately suspected this was more of Sirius's scheming to get him "the help he needed" after the various traumas of the last few years. What sort of counseling a 4th level Occlumens might need was beyond Harry, but apparently, his godfather was not letting the matter go.

At the conclusion of the feast, Dumbledore rose to make his closing remarks, which included his announcement that the Quidditch House Cup would be cancelled for the year on account of the Triwizard Tournament. However, there would be Quidditch after a fashion. Hogwarts would field two interhouse teams that would play against Quidditch teams from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang later in the year. The Hogwarts teams would be captained by Adrian Pucey and Head Boy Roger Davies. Both Pucey and Davies were Seventh Years and also captains of their House teams, and the opportunity to lead the interhouse teams had been offered as consolation for their lost seasons.

"And now," Dumbledore continued, "to give you all some more information about the Triwizard Tournament, I am pleased to introduce—"

Suddenly, the Headmaster was interrupted by a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. A man that Harry Black was delighted to see: Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody!

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall as the retired Auror made his way to the Head Table where he shook Dumbledore's hand. The two spoke quietly for a few seconds before Dumbledore directed Moody to the empty seat. Nearby, Crouch rolled his eyes at the dramatic entrance.

Dumbledore turned back to the student body. "And on that exciting note, allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Moody."

At first, there was silence in response to the announcement, but then the applause of Dumbledore and Hagrid was swiftly joined by that of Harry and his coterie, followed by most of Slytherin House (who were all confused but generally eager to curry favor with the new Lord Wilkes) and then the rest of the students. For his part, Moody nodded towards Harry but otherwise ignored the applause in favor of dinner, as he speared a few sausages with a knife he pulled from his jacket and then poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

As the applause died down, Dumbledore spoke once more. "Actually, my introduction was not completely accurate. While Professor Moody is the official DADA professor for this year, he will only be teaching classes until the end of October. The other classes will be divided among several instructors—both professors from the visiting schools and also several of the Triwizard Tournament judges—who will be teaching DADA symposiums throughout the year. Rest assured, however, every effort will be made to ensure the highest level of education for all students and especially those preparing for your OWLs and NEWTs."

At the Slytherin table, Harry crooked an eyebrow.

"Clever," he muttered just loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Dangerous. But potentially very clever."

"What's clever?" asked Blaise, as the Headmaster listed the names of the various DADA lecturers the students would study under in the coming months.

"The DADA curse. Dumbledore's experimenting to see whether it can be beaten by not actually having a formally-structured DADA course. If it works, he can probably just arrange for a succession of Aurors to come in for a few months at a time in future years."

"Do you think that will actually work?" asked Theo.

Harry shrugged. "No idea. I hope so. Because otherwise, that's a lot of DADA instructors for the curse to tear through in a single year."

Up at the lectern, Dumbledore continued.

"And now, with that matter out of the way. I shall turn things over to Directors Crouch and Bagman. I would, of course, have explained all this myself, but Director Crouch was concerned I might inject some levity into this solemn occasion with a risqué joke."

"Which one?" asked Fred Weasley loudly.

"The one about the troll, the hag, and the leprechaun who all go into a bar …"

"Albus!" interrupted Crouch sharply.

"Ah, well," Dumbledore said. "It was worth a try. And with that, please give a warm Hogwarts welcome to Bartemius Crouch, Director of the Department for International Magical Cooperation, and Ludovic Bagman, Director of the Department for Magical Games and Sports."

The welcome wasn't particularly warm, but it was polite.

"Thank you," Crouch began. "The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took turns hosting the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities."

"Until, that is," Bagman interrupted with a cheery grin, "the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

No one laughed at the poor attempt at humor, and Crouch fixed Bagman with a gaze the Basilisk would envy.

"To continue," Crouch said acidly. "There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament, none of which have been very successful. However, we at the Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports decided that the time is ripe for another attempt. I assure you all that we have worked hard over the summer to ensure that, this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."

"That's right, Barty!" exclaimed Bagman, who didn't seem to notice how Crouch's lip curled at his use of the older man's first name. "Representatives and students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween."

At the Slytherin table, Harry frowned. He and Halloween did not have a good history together.

"To ensure that the Tournament will be conducted with the utmost fairness," Crouch said, "an impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons in prize money. It will also decide the nature of the challenges so that no champion will have an unfair advantage due to information obtained on the sly from a contest organizer or judge."

He pointed towards the Goblet of Fire.

"That is our impartial judge. The Goblet of Fire. For untold centuries long before the commencement of the Triwizard Tournament, it was used to settle disputes between ancient wizarding nation-states that might otherwise have gone to war with one another. Each side's ruler would submit a list of potential champions. The Goblet would choose the best champion for each side and generate a list of challenges in which they would compete. Whichever side's champion won would also be the winner in the conflict. By invoking the Goblet's power, the rulers themselves along with their subjects would be magically bound to accept the outcome … and also to do nothing to interfere with the competition. That same magic will bind all the judges and other signatories of the Tournament, including all the competitors, thus ensuring that everyone involved will be magically compelled to comply with the Tournament rules and eliminate any possibility of cheating on anyone's part."

"cough—Durmstrang!—cough," Bagman said while pretend-coughing into his hand.

That finally got a few laughs from the students, though Crouch fumed visibly. Ludo blanched at the other man's expression before speaking up.

"To further reduce the chance of harm, it has been decided to limit participation to those who are of legal age as of Halloween or to younger students whose parents have consented. We warn you, however, that the three challenges will be geared towards NEWTs level studies, and it is highly unlikely that any student who has not yet passed their OWLs would be chosen."

"The visiting schools will arrive at the end of October," Crouch said, "one week before the drawing. For 24 hours prior to the selection, eligible students from the three schools will have an opportunity to enter their names. Those of age can enter their names at any time. Those who are underage will only be allowed to enter their names after presenting a permission slip signed by a parent or guardian to Professor McGonagall or Headmaster Dumbledore. Any approved underage participants will then be allowed to enter their names under supervision just before the Goblet makes its final selection. The reason we're doing things this way is because the nature of the Goblet's magic requires a 24-hour window during which the names of potential champions can be submitted. So to prevent any students attempting to enter the tournament through chicanery of any kind, there will be a series of wards around the Goblet that will prevent anyone at all from approaching it before the evening of the 30th, at which time all the wards will be disabled except an age ward designed to block anyone under the age of 17 from entering their names. Naturally, the wards will also prevent anyone from entering someone else's name! The age line will be deactivated at the Opening Ceremony, at which time the approved underage competitors will be allowed to enter their names."

"That's assuming none of you bright lads and lasses under the age of 17 can figure out how to get past your Headmaster's age line, eh?" Bagman said with a booming laugh. "Even if you're not picked, after the Champions are chosen, the Goblet will provide a list of everyone who was entered, so at least you'll get the bragging rights, wot?"

Crouch's head snapped in Bagman's direction in a sudden fury. Behind them, Dumbledore suddenly leaned forward in his chair, his eyes decidedly not twinkling.

Meanwhile, out in the audience, Jim Potter's eyes lit up. "So there is a way around the age line," he muttered to himself.

"What's that, Jim?" Ron asked.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Jim said with a cheeky grin. "Just … thinking to myself."

Ron didn't reply, but his eyes narrowed.

Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, Theo leaned in closer to Harry. "So, just between us, as an emancipated adult, are you not fully eligible to enter the Tournament?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably, if for some reason I was dumb enough to care about this Tournament. The phrase 'we promise it's not going to be as deadly as it used to be' isn't very encouraging if you ask me."

After a few more perfunctory announcements, Dumbledore finally dismissed the students to their dorms before quickly ushering Crouch and Bagman out a back door.

"Ludo," the Headmaster said in a tight voice, "might I ask you why you thought it a good idea to encourage underage students, likely without parental consent, to try to enter their names into the Goblet of Fire?!"

Bagman swallowed in response to Dumbledore's fierce gaze. "Well, I don't see any harm in it! I mean, how many underage students could even figure out a way past an age line you put up? Or get selected if they did? It's just another little something else to encourage interest in the Tournament. And besides, Barty said it would be okay!"

"I … said … WHAT?!" Crouch roared in a fury. Bagman looked at him in confusion.

"Yeah, just this morning. I said 'Wouldn't it be fun if we hinted that a clever underage student could get around the age line just to see if any of them could manage it,' and then you said 'Oh yes, Ludo, brilliant. We should absolutely do something like that!'"

"THAT WAS SARCASM!"

Ludo Bagman blinked a few times. "… Oops?"

Later in Gryffindor Tower …

Jim looked around his small bedroom with mixed emotions. For his first three years at Hogwarts, he and all his male year-mates had shared a single dormitory. But starting this year, all Hogwarts students now had the option of private rooms. Jim had not requested one himself, but it seemed that all four of the other Gryffindor boys had, with Molly Weasley signing Ron up for a private room without even asking him. While Jim's newfound privacy was perhaps welcome, his individual room was rather spartan: just a bed, a dresser, a small armoire, and a desk. His room at 4 Privet Drive was homier, to say nothing of the spacious bedroom he'd once had at Potter Manor.

"Or Blackstone now, I guess," the Boy-Who-Lived thought ruefully.

But more than that, Jim already missed the camaraderie of a shared living space. Among the Fourth Year Gryffindor boys, Seamus and Dean stuck mostly to themselves, while Neville spent more time with Harry's inter-house network of friends than with his fellow Lions. Which was a shame, Jim thought, because after all this time, he was still grateful for how Neville had stuck with him two years earlier when the whole house had rejected him over that Heir of Slytherin nonsense. Now, without shared sleeping quarters, he wondered how much time he and Ron would get to spend with the other Gryffindors.

And speak of the devil …

There was a soft knock on Jim's door, and he heard Ron's voice from the other side. "Jim? Can I come in?"

Jim opened the door to admit his best friend but was immediately struck by Ron's pensive expression.

"Ron? What's wrong?" he asked as the redhead stepped inside.

Ron hesitated before bracing himself and diving in. "Jim? Are you going to try getting into the Triwizard Tournament?"

Jim looked at him in surprise. "Um … maybe? I mean, you heard what Ludo Bagman said. There's ways for underage competitors to get into the Tournament. We just need to figure out what they are!"

Ron started to speak but then Jim's words registered. "We?"

Jim grinned at his best mate. "Sure. Wouldn't you like a shot to get into the Triwizard Tournament? A chance for fame and fortune and all that? Plus 1000 galleons?"

The other Gryffindor shook his head. "Jim, there's no way I could get picked even if I got my name in. And to be honest, I'm not as interested in fame and money as I used to be. Besides, you heard Dumbledore. This competition is for NEWTs level students. Do you really think you can get picked? Or if you did, that you could do as well in the competition as an older student? This could be really dangerous!"

The other boy scoffed. "Relax, Ron. It's me, the Boy-Who-Lived, remember? I've been in and out of danger since I got to Hogwarts and I've always come through."

Ron didn't reply at first. Indeed, Jim's comment had rendered him temporarily speechless.

"Jim," he finally said slowly. "Just because you've come out of a lot of dangerous situations in one piece, that doesn't make it a good idea to go looking for them! And aren't you famous enough already?"

Jim shrugged and turned away. He had not been expecting Ron to be so opposed to the idea. "It's not just about fame, Ron. I mean seriously, it's not like anyone remembers the names of any of the past winners. But think about it—a thousand Galleons! That could make a big difference for my family right now!"

Ron frowned. "I suppose so … if you win. But still, what makes you think you can win a competition full of NEWT level tasks? And what even makes you … think …?"

He trailed off and then his face darkened somewhat. "Jim … are you just assuming that if you can just get your name in the Goblet, you're automatically going to get picked just because you're the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Honestly, Ron?" Jim said with a laugh. "The way my life usually goes, I half expect my name to get put into the Goblet whether I want to enter or not. So yeah, I reckon that whole 'Chosen One' thing will make up for me not having finished my OWLs yet."

Ron sat down in a nearby chair and massaged his temples for a few seconds.

"Waitaminute! Even if you get your name in, you'd need your parents' permission to compete. There's no way your Mum or Dad would let you enter. I mean, you were complaining about it all last summer!

At that, his friend just smirked. "Yeah, well, luckily for me, my Dad can get easily distracted when you catch him at the right moment. I got him to sign my entry slip by telling him it was my Hogsmeade Permission Form!"

Apparently, Jim had been expecting Ron to be impressed with his resourcefulness, because he was quite surprised by the look of shock and even disappointment the other boy showed instead.

"Seriously, Jim?! You actually tricked your own father into giving you permission to enter the Triwizard Tournament?!"

Jim stiffened defensively. "Well, why not?" he spat. "It's not like lying to one another isn't a proud Potter Family tradition at this point!"

Ron just shook his head angrily. "That's no excuse! You're being dishonest to your own father. And worse, you're going to try to enter your name through some sneaky trick because there's no way your Mum would let you get anywhere near that Goblet. And you're counting on the fact that you're the Boy-Who-Lived to make up for the fact that you're not as qualified to be the Hogwarts Champion as probably a dozen or so older students!"

At this point, Jim started to get angry as well. "I am every bit as qualified to be the Hogwarts Champion as anyone else! Do you think Diggory would be a better choice than me? Or Pucey? Angelina? How many of them killed a Basilisk?"

"I was under the impression," Ron said through gritted teeth, "that you fought the Basilisk to save me and to defeat You-Know-Who! Not for fame, fortune, and a thousand bloody galleons!"

"That's not fair!"

Ron jumped up out of his chair angrily. "You're going to lie to your parents, cheat your way into the Tournament, and put yourself into deadly danger … again! Only this time you're doing it because the Boy-Who-Lived and the Heir to House Potter can't stand the thought of being poor! Because for you, not having a big fancy house or a new broom whenever you want it is the worst thing in the world!"

"WE LOST EVERYTHING!" Jim bellowed. "Everything that's been my birthright since I was in nappies is GONE! And it's because every single adult in my life has let me down! So yeah! I want to compete in this tournament and get a thousand galleons and maybe get my name in the papers again for something other than yet another Potter Family scandal! Because if I don't look out for my future, NO ONE ELSE WILL!"

Ron said nothing. He just stared at Jim for a long moment. Then, without another word, he turned towards the door.

"Are you going to rat me out?" Jim asked sullenly. Ron whirled around angrily but caught himself before saying anything he might regret.

"No, Jim. I'm not going to tell anyone about what you're doing. And what you've already done. But I'm not going to help you either. You're on your own this time." He opened the door and called back over his shoulder. "Good luck in the Tournament, Jim."

Then he was gone, leaving the Boy-Who-Lived alone once more.

Meanwhile in the Slytherin dungeons …

After the Sorting Feast, the Slytherin students adjourned to their Common Room for a meet-and-greet overseen by the House's prefects. Unsurprisingly, most of the Snakes were exceptionally cordial to the young Lord Wilkes, though Pansy Parkinson was as snotty as always. Most of the Slytherins were also guardedly polite to Blaise Zabini and, perhaps to a lesser degree, to Theo No-Name, with any lingering ill will engendered by Theo's "No-Name" status and Blaise's "foreigner son of a suspected serial killer" background outweighed by the patronage of someone as rich and influential as Hadrian Remus Black Lord Wilkes.

As he looked around the room, Harry noted that Pansy's small clique now included Caroline Avery (who, according to Ginny and Amy, was dating Peregrine Derrick), which meant that the Seventh Year Prefect wouldn't be setting foot inside the Prince's Lair any time soon. And while Parkinson's group also still included Cassius Warrington, he wasn't sitting with them at the moment. In fact, to Harry's surprise, he saw the Warrington Heir making his way over to where Harry was standing with Blaise and Theo. The Carrow Twins followed close behind Warrington.

"My Lord Wilkes," Cassius said with a respectful bow. "Well met. May I have a moment of your time?"

Harry crooked an eyebrow and then cut his eyes over to Theo who stood beside him observing the scene. It seemed to Harry that Cassius was intensely trying not to even look in Theo's direction, presumably because his conduct towards Theo the previous year had been so awful that any current interaction would probably turn out badly. On the other hand, for once the boy wasn't sneering.

"Tracey Davis was right," Harry thought. "Cassius isn't bad-looking when he's not looking at you like something to be scraped off his shoe."

"Well met, Heir Warrington," he said aloud. "How can I help you?"

Cassius took a deep breath. "I wish to take this opportunity to apologize for the many offenses which I have given you over our time together at Hogwarts. In the past, I have shown you much disrespect, which I can only attribute to immaturity on my part. I have, hopefully, matured somewhat, certainly enough to feel shame over my prior conduct. We are both scions of Ancient and Noble Houses. It is … unseemly for us to be at odds."

Then, Cassius actually did look over to Theo.

"Indeed, as I reflect on matters. I am proud that my family and our patrons, House Selwyn, could join with House Wilkes and your alliance to repeal the Ultimate Sanction that afflicted your friend, Theo No-Name. Now that I am no longer under the influence of that baleful mind-altering magic myself, I find myself quite embarrassed at my actions. I understand if you do not wish to accept it, but for what it is worth … Theo, my apology extends to you as well."

Theo's eyes widened at that. He glanced over to Harry, who nodded almost imperceptibly. "I … accept your apology, Heir Warrington. I hope that this marks the beginning of a new and more positive … relationship between us."

"As do I, Theo. And please—I would be honored if all three of you were to call me Cassius."

"I also accept your apology, Cassius," Harry said cautiously. "And I would likewise be pleased if you called me Harry."

"I'm Blaise, by the way," said the third member of the Silver Trio with a cheeky smile.

Cassius smiled with some degree of convincing warmth. "Of course, Blaise. It's good to finally introduce ourselves after three years of school together."

Then, Warrington gave a somewhat forced chuckle. After a few more moments of small talk, he finally bid the three good evening and departed. The Carrow Twins followed behind silently.

"That was weird," Theo said.

"Yeah," Blaise added. "But well-scripted. And for the most part, convincingly performed. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry said nothing as he watched the three departing Purebloods with an intense gaze. Then, he stiffened in confusion. Suddenly, the young Legilimens had the oddest feeling in the back of his brain. The familiar sensation of a kaleidoscope whirling into focus to reveal some important Legilimency deduction. Only this time, the kaleidoscope kept spinning and spinning without ever giving the expected insight. Even more disturbing, Harry had the strangest sense of déjà vu, a certainty that he'd experienced this sensation before, though for the life of him, he couldn't recall when.

"Harry?" Theo inquired while nudging his friend in the arm. "It's ten o'clock. We really should head to … um, to bed, I guess."

Harry jerked slightly and turned to Theo, and whatever odd thoughts had been troubling him were instantly forgotten. "Right. To bed."

The trio made their final rounds and wished all their Slytherin friends a good evening. Then, they each made their way to their separate bedrooms. Once in his own room, Harry looked longingly at his bed. After a very long day, it looked inviting, but as a Muggle poet once wrote, he still had miles to go before he could sleep. With a sigh, Harry stepped over to an armoire set against the wall with a full-length mirror mounted on the front. He paused to check his appearance and especially his hair. A few strands were out of place, so he reached up to adjust them only to pause his hand. Then, he stared at his own reflection with a look of concentration. There was a slight tingling sensation in his scalp, followed by his hair spontaneously grooming itself into a perfect coif.

"The benefits of Metamorphmagery," Harry thought to himself. "I'll never have to waste money on a comb or brush again."

His "Potter hair" tamed once more, Harry opened the armoire and slid his hanging clothes aside to reveal a small circular knot in the wood of the armoire's back. He tapped it three times and then twice more. There was a click, and the entire armoire slid to one side, revealing a small hidden area with a ladder leading downwards.

Two minutes later, a trapdoor within the Prince's Lair opened up, and Harry Black entered up a short flight of stairs before taking his seat on the Hydra Throne. Blaise and Theo sat on either side of the Throne, with Ginny and Amy one seat down from them on opposite sides. Adrian Pucey was not in attendance, as he had prefect duties. And in any case, there would be topics for discussion at tonight's meeting that were not for his ears.

"Right," said the Prince of Slytherin. "Welcome to the Inner Circle."

Two hours later …

Just before midnight, Harry wrapped up his meeting with his Slytherin peers and sent the others on to bed while he remained behind in the Prince's Lair. It had been a productive first meeting with each of his four associates. (He refused to call them "acolytes," which was Regulus's term for the members of his own Inner Circle, let alone "lackeys," which was the term Lucius had recommended.) In the coming weeks, Harry, Blaise, and Theo would use Cassius Warrington's invitation as a pretext to join Ginny and Amy at the meetings of the Cultural Preservation Society, with the eventual goal of staging a "soft coup," as Blaise put it, and directing it away from Pureblood bigotry and into more socially beneficial pursuits.

Meanwhile, Blaise and Theo would continue to attend SPAM meetings as well to be Harry's eyes and ears in that group. Harry assumed Jim would remain a member, and the Oath of Enmity between House Black and House Potter made being in the same room with his twin outside of class more trouble than it was worth. He hoped that Hermione would be understanding about it, though her strange hostility towards Daphne Greengrass and the rest of the CPS leadership was troubling.

Happily, he would have opportunities to interact with Hermione outside of SPAM, as they had agreed to spin-off the "magitech research" aspect of SPAM from its "Muggle culture" side. Tentatively known as "The Innovation Club" (though Harry was open to suggestions for a cooler name), this group would include himself, Hermione, Anthony, Sue, the Weasley Twins, and, somewhat surprisingly, three Third Years: Ginny Weasley, Colin Creevey, and a Muggleborn Ravenclaw named Jacob Harrison. Ginny, through dint of hard work—plus two years of tutoring from Percy, Fred, and George in all her core subjects—was sixth in her Year. Colin wasn't quite so high but had demonstrated a knack for Charms and, of course, a Muggleborn perspective on magic that might be helpful so long as they could keep him from trying to Transfigure anti-matter.

In fact, it was Harrison who was at the top of Ginny's class, much to the chagrin of the Pureblood Ravenclaws who, while not as openly bigoted as the worst of the Slytherins, still took umbrage at being shown up in class by a Muggleborn whose father programmed "com-pewters." Harry had been surprised when Jacob had personally sought him out on the Hogwarts Express to ask if Eye-Spy Inc. had any openings for interns. The Innovation Club would continue the work of Harry's brain trust, but under a new name because Sue Li had balked at having yet another wizard's name attached to her work. Naturally, Anthony had proposed that the entire enterprise be called "The Goldstein Group" (to loud boos from everyone else).

Finally, Ginny and Amy would both be joining Theo in the informal Wu Xi Do defense lessons that Padma Patil would be giving to Jim Potter and Ron Weasley. Ginny had wanted to spend time with Ron doing something fun, while Amy admitted to Harry that she would like to spend time getting to know her other cousin, since she wasn't disposed to hate the Boy-Who-Lived because of the Oath of Enmity. When he found that explanation somewhat dubious, she huffed a bit and then added that she also wanted to learn self-defense for its own sake.

"You've saved my life twice, Harry," Amy had said. "And I'm grateful. But I don't want to go through the rest of my life as a damsel-in-distress. And since being your de facto little sister means that I'm a target for every Death Eater, werewolf, and general weirdo who wants to kill you, I need to learn how to save myself for a change!"

Harry found that depressingly logical, and it was decided that, after each week's lessons, Theo—who had shown a real flair for the magical martial art—and the two girls would hold follow-up training sessions with Harry to teach him what they'd learned. It was not the ideal environment for learning a magical martial art, but Harry's experience at the Paris Open dueling competition had persuaded him that he would need an edge if he wanted to succeed in open class, and Regulus thought that Wu Xi Do might be it.

And speaking of the boy's dueling coach, Harry was suddenly distracted from his thoughts by the sound of a chime emanating from the nearby fireplace. He glanced at his watch and stood up to toss a pinch of Floo powder into the flames.

"Malfoy Manor," he said. Instantly, the flames rose higher, and seconds later, two figures emerged from the fireplace: Regulus Black and Lucius Malfoy.

"Welcome home, Princes-Emeritus," Harry said with a smile.

"Princes-Emeriti," Lucius corrected absently as he regarded around the Lair somewhat fondly. Then he turned to the Hydra Throne almost longingly before taking a seat to its left. Regulus took the seat opposite, pausing just long enough to tickle Delilah's chin and cause her to utter a soft "Ki-ki-ki." Harry took the Throne once more.

"So why did you both want to meet with me here tonight?" he asked.

"Mainly so that we can discuss matters best kept secret by the strongest protections," Lucius answered. "And there are few protections stronger than the magic of this chamber."

"Okay. What sort of secret matters?"

"Well first of all," Reg said while withdrawing a parchment from an inner pocket, "I wanted to give you this. While not as impressive as the Marauders' Map that my brother helped make, you may find it useful. It's a map of the school with notations of which portraits are in each room, as well as a list of every portrait-serpent in the whole castle. You can pass a message to any of the portrait-snakes by way of the Throne and direct it to hide in a portrait and spy on your behalf."

Lucius chuckled. "Well, it's not always that easy. The people within most animated portraits will often notice if a strange snake slithers into their frame and will frequently cause a scene. So I would recommend sticking with smaller, more innocuous snakes for espionage purposes."

"Yeah," Reg added. "Siobhan's really good for that, as I recall. Also Egbert."

Harry's brow wrinkled in surprise.

"How were you able to use the portrait-snakes for spying on people if you weren't Parselmouths?"

Lucius pulled out his wand and flicked it silently towards the bookshelf. A weathered tome flew off the shelf to land in front of the Prince.

"On page 217 of this grimoire you will find a Charm that provides a limited form of Parseltongue for brief periods of time. It lasts for no more than an hour or so once cast and only works with snakes found in portraits or otherwise magically animate. It will not work on real or even summoned snakes, but it can allow communication with other Parselmouths. Indeed, as a practical matter, it is of little utility outside of Hogwarts, as few other places have such a large quantity of enchanted serpentine iconography. It is through that spell that most Princes not descended from Salazar Slytherin attained the Hydra Throne. I found a copy of it in my family's library the summer after my Third Year when I contemplated how useful portrait-snakes could be as spies, and that eventually led me to the Sentinel."

Reg nodded. "I actually found it in the Hogwarts Library." Then, he suddenly looked embarrassed. "Um, Narcissa mentioned it to me when I was a Third Year. She said it might help me to impress the Dark Lord if I could speak his language when I got older. I imagine Tom Riddle knew of it during his school days, and as Lord Voldemort, he passed the idea on to her."

Then, Reg paused and suddenly looked at Harry with alarm. "Speaking of the Dark Lord, you have instructed the Hydra to order all the other snakes in the castle to listen only to you, right? We don't want a repeat of what happened in your Second Year if any more Horcruxes somehow find their way into the school!"

Harry scoffed. "Please! I did that ten minutes after taking the Throne. Neither Tom Riddle nor Jim Potter nor … any other Parselmouths lurking about will be able to talk to any of the castle's magical snakes."

"Good," said Lucius. "That said, you may find it helpful to share this Charm with your Inner Circle so that you may discreetly send messages to them by way of portrait-snakes. Annoyingly, most of the dormitory rooms do not contain portraits, but you can have Tweak relocate a smaller portrait suitable for snakes into the private rooms of your allies, now that Hogwarts offers such private accommodations."

Harry turned to him with a curious expression. "If I may ask, who was in your Inner Circle?"

"I kept my council small," Lucius replied. "Just Wilbur Crabbe and Clotilde Goyle. Both were the heirs of their respective houses at the time, and we grew up together. Both of them were far more intelligent than their younger siblings, whose sons are in your year. And neither of them had any great love for my older brother Claudius. The summer after we graduated, I was able to help Clotilde flee an unwanted marriage contract to a distinctly repulsive Pureblood some twenty years her senior. Last I heard, she was living in South Africa. Sadly, Wilbur died in Azkaban after being convicted as a Death Eater. Which was sadly ironic, as he really was a victim of the Imperius Curse."

Reg crooked an eyebrow. "And you didn't take any steps to get your good friend out of Azkaban?"

"At the time of his death, Regulus, I was in the next cell," Lucius said quietly. "I had not yet been freed by Narcissa's machinations and the false confession of your brother. Wilbur went too quickly. He was a good man."

Regulus winced. "Sorry. My apologies for bringing up unpleasant memories."

Malfoy sighed. "It is the past. Let us return to the present and the future."

With that, he reached into a satchel he'd brought along, and from it, he produced two copies of the bound manuscript that Harry had provided just over a week earlier. The one that bore the title Animagery: The Deeper Mysteries.

"Here," he said. "The original to return to your estranged sibling and one copy to be kept here and added to the Prince's collection."

Harry frowned. "I'd promised Ginny that we could get her a copy since she was the one to bring it to me."

"And she can read it in here since you've given her access," Reg said grimly. "But we strongly encourage you not to let it out of the Lair. It is not something that should be floating around in public. To be honest, I wish there was a way to keep Jim Potter from getting it back, but I suspect that might cause more problems than it's worth."

The boy frowned at the books. "Merlin's pants," he thought. "What has my idiot brother done now?"

"What's the problem with it?" he asked aloud. "Beyond the general problem of Animagery being a ticket onto the Conscription List?"

"Well for starters," Reg continued. "That book didn't come from Remus Lupin like your brother said to Ginny. We think it came from Peter Pettigrew!"

Harry's nostrils flared in anger. "Do you mean to say that Jim Potter accepted another cursed book from that rat?!"

"No," Lucius answered. "Well, the book is not cursed, though obviously, it did come from 'that rat.' In fact, the tome has no spells upon it whatsoever. It doesn't even contain any spells other than those specifically used in mastering the Animagus transformation. But according to Sirius, it did indeed come from Pettigrew."

"Yeah," Reg added. "He turned into a big black dog, sniffed it for a few seconds, growled at it menacingly, and then turned back into a man to confirm it. I thought for a second he was going to chew it up or piddle on it in his dog form, but for once, he showed some restraint."

Harry rubbed his eyes. "Okay, so other than the fact that it came from Pettigrew—which is bad enough, in my opinion—what's so bad about the book?"

The two older men hesitated and looked to one another. Finally, Lucius spoke.

"Do you recall a conversation we had in this very room at the end of your Second Year, Harry? One in which the term Wild Magic was broached?"

The boy's eyes widened. "Yes, I do."

Regulus looked down at the book as if it were a coiled snake. "Animagery: The Deeper Mysteries is, for lack of a better word, a philosophical treatise on how to pursue an Animagus form through Wild Magic rather than through the well-known and well-established Human Transfiguration techniques used by most Animagi. Or at least, most registered Animagi. From our study of this tome, we believe it can aid in mastering Animagery with incredible speed. But more than that, it potentially allows the Animagus to develop additional abilities related to his form accessible without fully transforming, abilities related not to the physical nature of the animal form but to its symbolic nature."

"I … don't understand," Harry said.

"Well, to be honest, I'm not sure I do either. I went the Metamorphmagus route, so I know little of Animagery. But this book suggests that instead of just turning into an animal, you can invoke the idea of that animal to perform, well, free-form magic not dependent on wand movements or incantations so long as they in some fashion invoke the cultural ideas associated with the animal."

"Indeed," Lucius added. "Having perused this book, I now feel I have a better understanding of why the Ministry, and especially the Unspeakables, have such a strong interest in conscripting Animagi. I had always wondered why they would insist on conscription for all Animagi, even those with innocuous or even seemingly useless forms. But I now suspect that the true reason for conscription of Animagi is to either monitor them to prevent them from exploring these magical avenues … or to coopt them so that such innovations can be put to use by the government."

Regulus continued. "And since our government is deeply, deeply paranoid about anything that smacks of Wild Magic, this book is absolutely something that neither you nor any of your friends should be caught with. The penalty might be Azkaban … or worse."

Harry shuddered as he recalled Serena Zabini's warning from over two years before that those caught practicing la Magia Caotica or even suspected of doing so might be flung straightaway through the Veil of Death (whatever that was).

"But what can an Animagus do, even with Wild Magic, that is so dangerous that it could trigger so much paranoia?"

"We can only speculate," Lucius said. "But consider: Peter Pettigrew started out able to transform himself into a harmless rat. But during his notorious rampage through the Ministry last spring, he was able to command entire hordes of rats and, I'm told, to use the Gemino Curse to cause them to continually replicate, something that should be impossible with living organisms. Indeed, I have heard rumors that when he killed Rufus Scrimgeour, he did so with some form of magical disease, one he was able to generate due to the widespread belief that rats were responsible for the spread of the Black Death in the Middle Ages."

"They weren't?" Harry asked in surprise. Lucius hesitated to a degree that the boy found suspicious.

"The origins and workings of the Black Death were … complex. And also not ripe for discussion at this time. But to the extent that the illness had a mundane vector, it was actually spread by the fleas that the rats carried. And yet, the symbolic connection between rats and the Black Death is so strong that Pettigrew was able to manifest an imitation of the disease that was almost instantly fatal."

"Sirius and Severus both have copies of the book," Regulus said. "Severus is a Dark Arts specialist, and Sirius is, well, the only Animagus we have on board."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Is it really safe for Sirius to be mucking about with a super-illegal book on Wild Magic Animagery?"

Regulus grimaced. "He is a grown man and the Lord of my House, Harry. I can't get you to listen to any of my concerns about your mental and physical health. What makes you think I can do so with him? But I must admit, I am concerned, mainly because I am not certain exactly what sorts of symbolic connections Sirius might invoke."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean that Sirius can transform himself into a big black dog, and from what we know about Pettigrew's techniques, Sirius should be able to learn how to communicate with and control other dogs and to perform seemingly impossible feats of magic with them."

Regulus paused and looked back down to the tome in front of him uneasily.

"But some people might look at that big black dog and see a Grim. And a Grim, Harry, is an omen of death. So what kind of magic do you think Sirius can work with that?

Blackstone, Wales
Sirius Black's Room
1:30 a.m.

Though the hour was late, Sirius Black was still wide awake as he studied the books on his writing desk, pausing only to make occasional notes in a journal he'd begun. Nearby sat a fresh pot of coffee that Buttercup, Harry's kitchen elf, had prepared for him. One of the two tomes was a copy of Peter Pettigrew's Animagery: The Deeper Mysteries. The other was Newt Scamander's Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

The latter book was open to the section for magical beasts whose name started with the letter G.

Harry's room
2:00 a.m.

After meeting with the former Princes for nearly two hours, a thoroughly exhausted Harry finally and gratefully made his way to his bedroom and changed into pajamas before climbing into bed. Among other topics of debate between Lucius, Regulus, and himself had been where the Azkabal could find more Basilisk venom, and the two older men were visibly shocked when Harry casually mentioned he might have a source depending on whether the newest version of Slytherin's Monster had hatched yet. While Harry was confident that he would be able to communicate with and influence the Basilisk (assuming it was up and about) so long as neither Voldemort nor any of his Horcruxes were on hand, that confidence did nothing to reassure his alarmed co-conspirators. The meeting ended with Harry promising not to revisit the Chamber of Secrets alone until after they'd discussed the matter and made some contingency plans.

His verbal agreement said nothing about visiting the Chamber and taking a friend or two with him.

The next day promised to be just as long and tiring. Herbology with the Puffs first thing, followed by CoMC with the Gryffs. The boy was quite worried about the latter. For one thing, it would be the first time he'd been in close quarters with Jim Potter since the last school year ended. For another, he'd noticed at the Sorting Feast that Hagrid seemed really excited about something. Seeing as how the year before had started off with learning to ride Hippogriffs on the first day, that felt ominous.

Furthermore, he wanted to find time during the day to speak with Professor Moody, and he'd received a note from Professor Snape directing him to meet with Ted Tonks at some point. The note did not mention anything about 'counseling,' a thought that filled Harry with near-revulsion, but Snape was one of the few people he couldn't just flat-out ignore despite being an emancipated adult. So he resolved to meet with the Healer first thing so that he would have the excuse of Herbology to cut the meeting short if necessary.

With that, the boy laid back on his pillow, closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to come. His eyes shot open a moment later in response to the odd feeling of his upper body rising up into the air. But a quick, panicked glance around showed Harry he was wrong. His body wasn't rising per se. Rather, the head of his bed was lifting up, tilting the entire bed from a horizontal position towards a vertical one and rather swiftly. Alarmed, Harry grabbed the top of his bed to keep himself from sliding down (and hopefully, brace himself before leaping to safety), but that quickly became difficult.

As Harry struggled, his cover sheets and quilt slid off the mattress, which was now at a steep angle, and fell through a large trap door which had inconveniently opened up just below the foot of the bed. Desperately, Harry scrambled to hold on, but it was no good. With just a foot to go before becoming completely vertical, the bed suddenly gave a lurch and then slammed upright, the force of the impact knocking Harry loose and dropping him unceremoniously through the hole in the floor.

"GAAAAH!" the boy screamed as he fell onto a steep slide that sent him rocketing downwards at an alarming speed. It reminded him of the slide from Myrtle's bathroom to the Chamber of Secrets. Odd that he'd just been thinking of how best to navigate that slide safely just before he'd gotten into bed. The slide continued to twist and bend like a rollercoaster. It even had one harrowing corkscrew turn that reminded Harry of the Indiana Jones and the Temple of Peril from his disastrous trip to Disney Paris. Somehow, Harry slid through the turn without losing a bit of momentum. Harry's Gryffindor side would have enjoyed the experience under different circumstances.

Finally, with one last terrified shriek, Harry shot out of the slide's end to land unharmed in a pit of some kind. After a brief moment of panic where Harry thought he might be drowning despite there being no water, the boy finally calmed down and stood up. It was at that point that he realized he'd landed in a pit of multicolored plastic balls of the sort that Muggle children might play in while at a carnival or perhaps at a higher end McDonald's.

Harry looked around in utter confusion. The first thing he noticed was that there was no sign of the slide he'd ridden to reach this strange place. The second thing he noticed was the nature of the place itself. The children's ball-pit was in the middle of a garden of some kind, complete with what looked like oversized plum bushes. Except that the plums were enormous, orange, and growing upside down. As he watched in amazement, one of the strange plums came loose from a branch only to float gently away on the breeze. Overhead, the sky was bright blue with a brilliant noon-day sun. There were several clouds resembling white balloon animals, and a brilliant rainbow traversed the entire sky from on horizon to the other. Then, Harry jumped at the sound of a horse's whinny from behind him.

The young Slytherin whirled about and then did a double take. It was not a horse that had whinnied, but a unicorn. Only this unicorn had a golden horn and rainbow-colored wings. And presently feeding a large orange plum to the winged unicorn was Luna Lovegood, who was dressed in equestrian gear complete with jodhpurs, a brilliant red coat, and a black riding helmet. She turned to Harry and gave a bright smile.

"Oh good!" she exclaimed. "You wear pajamas to bed! I couldn't remember if you preferred to sleep in the altogether. How embarrassing that would have been for us both! Tee-hee!"

With that giggle, Luna walked over to help pull Harry out of the ball-pit. Another of the floating orange fruit wafted by, and she snagged it out of the air and offered it to him.

"Dirigible plum?" she said.

Harry glared at the proffered fruit in annoyance. Then, he looked around the peculiar scene more carefully and with all of his Legilimency senses active.

"This is a dream," he said with authority.

"Yes," Luna replied with a nod "You were dreaming, and I was dreaming, and then we started dreaming together. Just like before."

Harry's head snapped back around. "What do you mean 'before'?"

Luna shrugged and took a bite of the orange plum. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before answering.

"Well, I think the first time it happened was November of last year while you were in that coma you put yourself into. You know, after all that business with the werewolves and your wand and all the other shenanigans and goings-on. That's the one I most clearly remember—well, for some definitions of remember—but I think we might have had a few more last year. None over the summer, but then, I spent most of it in South America, so even assuming range isn't a factor, I doubt we were ever sleeping at the same time."

"Uh-huh," Harry said flatly. "And how and why are we sharing a dream, Luna?"

"Well, the how is obviously Heliopathy. Or at least I assume so. I mean, we don't really know what Heliopathy does because no one remembers what it is. So it's possible that 'dream-travel' or whatever I'm doing is just a completely unrelated superpower I happen to have in addition to seeing nargles and wrackspurts and all the rest. But I think it would be silly for me to be blessed with multiple incredible superpowers. That's more your thing, right?"

"Um, what?"

The girl gave a mischievous smirk. "Occlumens, Legilimens, Metamorphmagus, Genius, Champion Duelist with an unnaturally good vocabulary, a preternatural ability to summon wands at will, and an expertise on the works of Oscar Wilde. Have I left anything out?"

The boy coughed with an odd feeling of embarrassment. "I'm, uh, also studying Wu Xi Do."

"Of course! Mastering an ancient mystical martial art would certainly be right for your idiom!"

Harry narrowed his eyes at that remark. "Yeeeah," he said slowly. "My idiom. So now that you mention it, I suppose that is a lot of, um …"

"Remarkable achievements for a boy of fourteen? Quite so, I should say. Plus you're a millionaire and Lord of an Ancient and Noble House!"

He stood silently for several seconds. "You know, I don't think anyone has ever quite described my … lifestyle in those terms before."

Luna took Harry by the arm and led him over to a nearby park bench that hadn't been there a few seconds earlier.

"Actually, Harry, I am nearly positive that you were the one who pointed out how improbable your life story is during one of those shared dreams I barely remember. I seem to recall it was something you found alarming at the time once you really thought about it. And that was before the whole millionaire-lordship-dueling champion thing."

"And we've had lots of these … shared dreams?" Harry asked weakly.

Luna shrugged. "Not lots. Just a few, I think. I mean, that involved you and me. I'm pretty sure I've had dreams like this with other people. Hermione, Neville, Theo, Ginny. Even a few with Jim, though those don't go well, what with all the disturbing death imagery and the feathers everywhere. I just have trouble remembering what happens in my dreams from one to the next, though I've gotten better. But I still can't remember any of them when I wake up! Most vexing!"

"I can imagine," Harry said drily. "Can I help?"

"That depends. Do you feel up to teaching me Occlumency during our shared dreams? Hermione mentioned that once as a possibility. You teaching me in dreams, I mean."

She paused and frowned. "Or maybe it was Neville who suggested that you teach me but for some reason he was wearing a dress. Oh well. Anyway, the idea was that it might be possible for us to remember the important bits of our dreams by using secondary thought-streams."

The Slytherin rubbed his face with his hands. Then, with some annoyance, he plucked a dirigible plum out of the air and took a bite out of it. It was surprisingly tart. Then, he sat up straighter.

"For us to remember our dreams?" he asked suspiciously. Luna nodded rather somberly.

"Yes. Because the dreams aren't the only thing you've forgotten, are they?" She leaned forward. "Harry, think. Really. Think. What have you forgotten that you really should have remembered by now?"

He swallowed nervously before closing his eyes and Occluding, searching his memories for something that wasn't quite right. Almost immediately, he recalled his earlier conversation with Cassius Warrington, as the two discussed settling their differences and starting fresh. Something about this scene suddenly made Harry feel deeply uncomfortable, and he remembered the disturbing feeling of his Legilimency failing him … and how he'd promptly forgotten all about it. He reviewed the memory again, more slowly. Warrington's glib remarks. Blaise's sarcasm. Theo's bemusement. The Carrow Twins, Flora and Hestia, standing nearby, observing the exchange with wide, unblinking eyes.

Suddenly, Harry shuddered uncontrollably. Then, he redoubled his efforts and reviewed the memory again, this time focusing on the Carrows while listening to Warrington drone on in the background. Harry shuddered once more and fought to maintain his Occlumency in the face of what he now realized was a powerful compulsion to just stop thinking about things. Aware now of the compulsion, Harry neatly stepped around it, abandoning the memory of his conversation with Warrington in favor of other memories. Specifically, every memory he had of Flora and Hestia Carrow. There weren't many, as he rarely interacted with the Pureblood twins.

Flora and Hestia at breakfast. Flora and Hestia sitting together in the Common Room. Flora and Hestia following him down the hallways. Always together. Never talking. Always watching.

Never blinking.

With a gasp, Harry opened his eyes and turned towards Luna.

"The Carrow Twins! Their eyes! They don't blink … ever!"

Luna nodded sagely. "Good! You can see it. Well, in your dreams, at least."

He snorted angrily. "Well fat lot of good that does me! So what the hell are they?!"

"I don't know, Harry. I can't research them because when I'm awake, I can't remember that they're something deserving of study. I just know two things."

"What?"

"That they're important, Harry. Important … and very, very dangerous."

Before Harry could respond, he jumped at the sound of a loud crack of thunder in the distance. He turned in that direction and saw that the previously blue sky was darkening rapidly, with the fluffy white clouds thickening and turning black and the rainbow fading from existence. The air around him grew colder as the wind picked up rapidly. Then, lightning lit up the sky, accompanied by an even louder and more menacing thundercrack. Harry looked around in sudden alarm.

"What is this?! What's happening?!" he yelled over the growing storm. Luna just sighed and patted him on the shoulder.

"It's okay. Don't worry, Harry. I'm pretty sure it's just your alarm going off."

Harry's Room
7:00 a.m.

Harry's eyes shot open, and he gasped loudly at the sound of his alarm clock's clamor. With a snarl of annoyance, he reached over and slapped the top of the clock to silence the alarm. Then, he yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes.

"I was having the strangest dream," he thought to himself. "Something about going horseback riding with Luna Lovegood during a thunderstorm. Weird."

He took a moment to think back over the odd dream and wonder if it had any significance, but the details were already fading. Harry shrugged and groggily rose from his bed to start the day, putting the dream out of his mind as he did.

It probably wasn't important anyway.

Chapter Text

2 September 1994
(Harry and Ted Tonks)

Before heading to breakfast, Harry decided to bite the bullet and drop by Ted Tonks's new office, which was conveniently located adjacent to the Hospital Wing. As he knocked on the door, Harry briefly wondered if Madam Pomfrey had any reservations about a fully licensed Healer intruding into her domain. He'd never been entirely clear on what the difference was between a "Healer" and a "Mediwitch" or, indeed, which term best fit the Hogwarts Matron.

"Then again," he thought, "I'm sure Madam Pomfrey's professional enough to be fine with Ted's presence, especially if he sticks to …" Harry suppressed a shudder. "counseling!"

"Come in!" said Ted from inside the office in response to Harry's knock.

The boy entered to find a surprisingly cozy office. Healer Tonks was sitting behind a desk with two chairs facing him. On the other side of the room were two additional stuffed chairs and an actual sofa. Harry had seen enough Muggle television to be familiar with the trope of patients lying on sofas while pouring their hearts out to psychiatrists. He fought down the urge to roll his eyes.

"Professor Snape sent word that you wanted to see me, Ted … er, Healer Tonks, I guess."

"Ted is fine when it's just us, Harry," the Healer said amiably as he pointed his wand at the door. He uttered a word that Harry didn't recognize, and the door lit up in a bright flash.

"Privacy wards," Ted explained. "The Headmaster and Severus both assisted in setting up the strongest privacy wards we could think of. Most magical folk have no awareness of mental health counseling, which is more of a Muggle thing. And I doubt any Pureblood would ever agree to counseling unless they were assured that no one else could listen in. Please, take a seat."

With some trepidation, Harry sat down opposite him.

"Now then, the reason I asked you here is to discuss the counseling services I'll be providing. Basically, I'll be giving Hogwarts students the chance to speak to a healthcare professional in a safe and totally confidential setting, with all our discussion bound by a Healer's Oath of Confidentiality, which is one of the most powerful secrecy oaths in existence. My hope is that students who have suffered traumatic events that they're not dealing with properly will avail themselves of these services so that proper treatment can be provided, even if only in the form of someone with whom they can talk candidly about their feelings."

"Uh-huh," said Harry, who had absolutely no desire to talk candidly about his feelings to anyone.

"With that in mind, I asked you here today because I have a favor to ask of you."

"Oh?" Harry replied while bracing himself for Ted's request that he submit to a session.

"Yes, I was hoping that I could prevail upon you to speak to your friends Hermione and Theo and encourage them to come see me for counseling."

At that, Harry blinked in confusion. "Hermione and Theo?"

"Yes," Ted said. "As you know, both of them suffered harrowing experiences at the Quidditch World Cup barely a week ago. Hermione was forced to kill a werewolf in order to save her father's life, while Theo was responsible for causing his birth father, who had previously been abusive to him, to lose his magic and then die rather unpleasantly. They're both only fourteen years old. To have killed another person, even under completely justifiable circumstances, can be deeply traumatizing. Hermione's parents had concerns about even letting her return to Hogwarts, but the promise of counseling availability persuaded them that it was the best solution for everyone. And, of course, poor Theo suffered from abuse long before his father's unlamented demise. I think treatment of the sort I'll be offering will be of tremendous benefit to them both, don't you?"

"Uh, yes, I'm sure," the boy said. "But why are you telling me all this? What about all that confidentiality … stuff?"

"Well, confidentiality only applies to the conversations I have with my patients during each session, and anyway, you know as well as anyone what they've been through. I'm asking for your assistance because you're a very close friend to both of them, and I thought a suggestion to come see me might be better received from you. You also know all the pertinent details about what they've both been through, details of which very few others have even a clue."

Harry nodded slowly. "Of course. And … you're right. I think counseling would be helpful. For them, I mean."

Then, he chuckled. "To be honest, I'd assumed you summoned me here because you wanted me to attend a counseling session."

"Do you think you need one?" Ted asked. "I gather from Severus that you're a remarkably skilled Occlumens for a person of your age and experience."

Then, Ted smiled. "But please don't tell him I said that. He specifically said not to as—oh, how did he put it? Do not give the boy any reason to become even more arrogant and overconfident.' Or words to that effect."

Harry chuckled. That did sound like something Snape would say about him.

"Anyway, I gather you're somewhere between a level three and level four if not higher," Ted continued. "So I would assume you're perfectly capable of attending to your own mental and emotional health. I mean, you do meditate and go through an emotional self-assessment at least twice a day, right?"

The boy coughed slightly. "I … certainly try to."

In point of fact, while that had been Snape's recommendation since Harry's Occlumency training began, the boy had been a bit lax in recent months. With everything he'd been through, one meditation session every few days had been the best he'd been able to get in.

"Hmm. Well, try harder. Your ability to regulate your own emotions is incredibly useful in maintaining good mental health, but only if you make proper use of it. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of what turned poor Tom Riddle into You-Know-Who, after all."

"No," Harry said quietly. "Not at all."

"Good, good. Mind you, if you're interested, I believe these therapy sessions might well be beneficial to an Occlumens such as yourself as a form of psychometric decompression."

"Psycho … metric …?"

"Decompression. It's a technique useful for an Occlumens in allowing himself to feel complex or difficult emotions in a controlled setting. Think of it as the psychic equivalent of getting a therapeutic massage to relieve strained muscles. After all, just because a man can carry 500 pounds, that doesn't mean it's a good idea for him to do so all the time. Psychometric decompression allows an Occlumens to simply let all of his psychic defenses down for a brief period so he can experience genuine emotional responses. This alleviates the strain on his psychic architecture and allows him to go longer without buckling in response to stress overloads. Severus can probably explain the process better than I, so you should ask him about it if and when you resume training under him."

Ted took a deep breath. "Still, while that's something for you to consider, it's probably not as big a priority for you as therapy would be for Hermione and Theo. After all, each of them is responsible—in some sense of the word, at least—for killing another human being. That's a profound mental trauma that can damage the minds of even an experienced Occlumens, let alone someone with little or no training."

"I've no doubt," said Harry, as he tried not to think about bloody chunks of Remus Lupin sliding down the wall of the Shrieking Shack. Granted, Lupin got better, but still! Suddenly eager to leave the room, Harry looked at his watch.

"Ooo, look at the time! Listen, I really need to get to breakfast. But I promise I'll talk to Hermione and Theo. You're right. I'm sure counseling will be very helpful. For them, I mean."

Ted nodded as the boy rose and headed towards the door. "Thank you, Harry! I appreciate it."

The boy paused before opening the door as a sudden thought struck him.

"Ted? Out of curiosity, are you a Legilimens?"

The Healer chuckled. "Only to the extent necessary to have a good bedside manner."

Harry nodded thoughtfully at that. Then, he turned to open the door only to be surprised at who was on the other side about to knock: Ron Weasley. Harry took a step back in surprise.

"Ron?"

The Gryffindor was equally startled by Harry's presence.

"Um, sorry? I can come back later if …"

"No, no," Harry said quickly. "I was just leaving."

With that, he stepped past Ron and strode down the hall. Meanwhile, Ron entered Ted's office and closed the door behind him. Ted was both surprised and pleased to see him.

"Why good morning, Ronald! What can I do for the young man to whom I owe my life?"

Ron blushed at that description. "Uh, before we get into that … what can you tell me about your Healer's Oath of Confidentiality?"

(Harry & Friends in Ancient Runes)

Later, Harry and Blaise made their way to the Ancient Runes classroom, where they were joined by Hermione, Anthony Goldstein, and Sue Li. Susan Bones of Hufflepuff was also back for the second year, as was Daphne Greengrass. Immediately, Harry felt the temperature drop when Hermione and Daphne noticed one another, but neither said anything. Michael Corner, Terry Boot, and Lisa Turpin (all Ravenclaws) rounded out the group. The class was smaller this year, a fact that Professor Babbling remarked upon at the start of class.

"Welcome, students, to Year Two of Ancient Runes. Last year, we began the course with twenty-three students. As you can see, we are now down to ten. While I hope you all persevere, I must warn you that the demands of this class will only increase from here. In year one, we explored the thirty-six Elder Futhark runes used in the practice of European spell-crafting. However, our studies included only the most superficial understanding of those runes."

With a flick of her wand, Babbling drew several flaming runes in the air, a sequence the class was familiar with after the previous year: Eiwaz, Raido, Ehwaz, and Sowilo.

"Mr. Zabini, I trust you haven't forgotten the common symbolic meanings of these four runes?"

"I have not, Professor. Eiwaz means wood, Raido journey, Ehwaz horse, and finally, Sowilo means power. When used in that sequence, they can enchant a broom to fly."

"Correct. Three points to Slytherin. But tell me, class, can any of you tell me what effect it will have on our flying broom if we do this?"

With a flick of the teacher's wand, the runes began to change. The Ehwaz, which normally looked like a jagged capital M, flipped upside down. The Raido, which looked like an equally jagged "R," rotated 180 degrees instead of flipping. The Eiwaz flipped on its vertical axis so that it looked like a mirror image of itself. Finally, the lightning-shaped Sowilo rotated 90 degrees clockwise so that it rested horizontally rather than vertically. Babbling pointed at each rune in turn.

"Runes depicted in the standard setting, as you have spent the past year studying them, are referred to as being normal. When a rune is flipped on its horizontal axis, it is said to be inverted. If flipped on its vertical axis, it is reversed. One rotated 90 degrees clockwise is sunward, while one rotated 180 degrees is merkstave. Continue rotating it clockwise until it is 270 degrees—or simply rotate it 90 degrees anticlockwise, which yields the same result— and it's said to be widdershins. There is, of course, some overlap. Some runes look identical when presented in different settings. For example, the Ehwaz looks the same in both its normal and reversed settings, and when presented in its inverted and merkstave settings, both of those look the same and also have the same meaning. An upside-down Raido, on the other hand, looks different depending on whether it is reversed or merkstave.

"While you have already learned the basic concepts associated with the normal runes, each of those varied settings also brings a different meaning to the affected rune. In some cases, the meaning changes only slightly, while in others, the meaning is seemingly unrelated to the normal interpretation. To make matters even more confusing, the meaning of a given rune also changes depending upon which runes are adjacent to it in the rune scheme. That is, the meaning of Eiwaz in any of its six settings might differ if it is positioned between Sowilo and Uruz or between Kaunan and Wunjo. And of course, each of those adjacent runes can also be set to any of those six positions, which means that just these four simple runes can be arranged in several thousand

formulations. Consider also that there are thirty-six Elder Futhark runes and that the most powerful arrays may incorporate as many as forty-nine interlocking runes. The possible combinations run into the millions or perhaps even billions!"

Babbling turned back to the floating rune scheme.

"Now, let us study these runes in this familiar array but in the new positions. Ehwaz normally means 'horse,' but when inverted, means 'fish.' Raido means 'journey,' but a merkstave Raido means 'home.' Had we inverted Raido instead of rotating it to merkstave, it would have meant 'prison.' Eiwaz means 'wood,' but in its reversed position, it means 'iron,' or more generally, 'metal.' Finally, a sunward Sowilo for purposes of this discussion means 'sunset,' or more broadly speaking, any diminishment of power."

She turned back to the class.

"So with all that in mind, would anyone care to venture a guess as to what this scheme is intended to accomplish with these four runes in their current settings?"

There was silence for several seconds as most of the students concentrated on trying to think of a spell that combined the concepts of fish, home, metal, and sunset. Then, Harry slowly raised his hand, and Babbling called on him.

"Could it possibly be something involving an aquarium? I mean, that's a place where fish live, and they often have metal components as well as glass. Maybe something to clean out a fish tank every night?"

Babbling laughed. "No, Mr. Black, that's not it, although you do win three points to Slytherin both for a clever guess and for being bold enough to guess at all. To be honest, this was actually an unfair challenge. You see, this particular array means … nothing at all. While there may be billions of possible combinations of runes, not all of them have a coherent meaning when put into an array together. Indeed, the overwhelming majority are, magically speaking, gibberish, just as most random arrangements of letters from the English alphabet do not form recognizable words. Or, I suppose I should say that arrays such as this are gibberish as far as we know. Every ten years or so, some gifted researcher puzzles out a meaning to an array previously considered meaningless and figures out how to use it to enchant an object. So yes, Mr. Black, it is entirely possible that these four runes might form the basis for an enchanted self-cleaning aquarium, though it would likely take more than just four runes to achieve that effect.

"But more importantly, every fifty years or so, a truly brilliant Runologist goes farther than just enchanting an object with a runic array. Instead, they combine the principles of Runology with those of Arithmancy, reduce the array down to a series of wand movements, and marry it to a linguistically and mathematically appropriate incantation to create a new spell! Theoretically, then, one could use these four runes as the basis for a new Charm that might let you instantly clean an aquarium. Or not. It is quite possible that there simply is no true meaning that can be divined from that particular array. The Ministry oversees experimentation in spell design and publishes a yearly catalog of Runology experiments. The vast majority of them consist of simply entries listing a sequence of runes subjected to a Runological study, followed by the word NAMU, which stands for 'No apparent magical utility.' The British Journal of Ancient Runes is kept in the Hogwarts Library in bound form and presently contains 287 volumes dating back to the 17th century, and the NAMU entries make up about 90% of each book."

The teacher slashed her wand again and the flaming runes disappeared.

"Because of the truly vast number of potential meanings that can be ascribed to the Elder Futhark runes in their varied settings and combinations, true mastery of this field generally requires either a lifetime of study or else access to the Elder Futhark language potion. And usually both. Through a grantfrom the Wizengamot intended to promote the study and advancement of Runology, the language potion will be available for free to any Fourth Year Ancient Runes student who wishes to take it. Raise your hand if you have ever taken an educational potion before."

To Harry's chagrin, nearly all of his classmates had done so, as educational potions were commonly available for Purebloods and magically-raised Halfbloods. In fact, Michael Corner was the only other student to have never taken one. Even Hermione had taken a language potion the year before, though she'd used it to master Italian rather than Elder Futhark. Then again, Harry's mild jealousy was offset by the queasy looks he saw on the faces of some of the students who had taken educational potions before, and he recalled Hermione and Anthony's descriptions of the unpleasant side effects of learning an entire language out of a bottle.

"The potion will be available from Madam Pomfrey beginning in October. It can be taken throughout the year, but Madam Pomfrey advises me that she will only provide it on a Friday and not one preceding Hogsmeade weekends or other weekend activities. Also, she will not allow more than one person to take the potion on a given weekend as she does not wish to see the Infirmary overrun by ill students. You see, many people have adverse reactions to the Elder Futhark potion and may find themselves bedridden for a day or two. This is an unfortunate consequence of taking the free potion which, to be honest, is free because it's an older formula that hasn't been updated in over a hundred years. But there has been little change to the knowledge conveyed through the potion in that time. The newer formulas simply have some additional NEWTs-level information and are less likely to cause physical illness. They are also harder to brew and call for more costly ingredients, so if you wish to incur the personal expense of one of the newer potions, you should probably wait until after completing your OWLs."

Babbling suddenly grew more serious.

"I should add that taking the potion is not a requirement for Year Four and, to be honest, will not be especially helpful before January. And while taking the potion will certainly make things much easier for you in the long run, the Ancient Runes OWL can be passed without it if you commit yourself to vigorous self-study. That said, in my time teaching this course, no one has achieved an Outstanding on the Ancient Runes OWL who has not taken the potion, and NEWT-level Runology will likely be incomprehensible to those who have not done so. Of course, many of you will see no need to continue the course past your OWLs. The vast majority of job opportunities in the field of Runology simply involve analyzing and copying existing arrays, and the NEWTs curriculum is geared towards future curse-breakers, Aurors, and spell researchers."

Harry made a note of Babbling's comments about the Elder Futhark language potion, but he was hesitant about taking it. In particular, he had discussed the matter over the summer with Regulus, and the older wizard gave him surprising advice.

"Before you take the official Ministry-sponsored Futhark potion," Reg had said somewhat cryptically, "talk to George Weasley."

(Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid)

"So, explain to me why I'm coming along for this meeting?" Harry asked irritably. "And skipping most of the lunch period to do so?"

Hermione huffed. "Do you really need to ask after what happened in Care of Magical Creatures?"

"Well, in that case, I assume it has something to do with those Blast-Ended … thingies that Hagrid threw at us today."

"Skrewts," Hermione supplied.

"Whatever. I'm pretty sure that's even less of a word than Cryptohedron."

The young witch slapped his arm and then looked around to make sure no one was around to hear. Technically, neither of them was under an oath not to reveal the existence of the Cryptohedron, the Time-Turner, the DOM's possession of both, and the fact that they had both time-traveled a few months before. But they had both agreed that doing so was probably a bad idea.

"And you would be right," Hermione snapped. "There's nothing about Skrewts or anything remotely like them in any of the magizoology books I've read so far. But they look like creatures that are part Manticore and part Fire Crab. As if someone had been breeding them together!"

Harry crooked an eyebrow dubiously. "By someone, can I assume you mean Hagrid? Even though the International Ban on Experimental Breeding would make that an Azkaban-worthy crime?"

"Exactly!"

"Uh-huh. Still waiting for the part that explains why I'm here."

"Moral support?" Hermione said hopefully. Harry just looked at her.

"Oh alright," she continued. "I wanted you here because … you're so good with people!"

The Slytherin snorted. But then, he narrowed his eyes, as the familiar kaleidoscopic whirr-click in the back of his mind supplied the answer.

"You want me to legilimize Hagrid. To get him to reveal the truth about whether he illegally bred the Blast-Ended Whatsits…"

"Skrewts."

"Whatever! And then … Hermione, are you expecting me to use my powers to manipulate Hagrid out of continuing with … well, whatever the hell he's doing?"

"It would be for a good cause," the girl said hopefully.

"Which, with a slight variation, is what's inscribed atop the gates of Nurmengard!" Harry snapped. "I do not want to use mind-control on Hagrid or anyone else! It's … unethical."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "As opposed to using it on your friends? Like you did with me on our first train ride together when you talked me out of being an obnoxious know-it-all with my hand stuck up in the air all the time just with a few well-chosen words about Pureblood culture and etiquette?"

Harry looked away suddenly. "I didn't know what I was doing then," he said softly, almost as if ashamed.

"And if you had, would you have refrained from giving me that extremely useful advice? With the end result that I probably wouldn't have made a single friend that year? Harry, I'm grateful for what you did that day, even if it was unintentional."

Harry swallowed and still wouldn't make eye contact. "Well, you would say that. On account of, you know, being mind-controlled and all."

Hermione stopped walking and sighed loudly. Then, she took Harry's hand.

"Harry, you're my best friend, and always will be. I don't believe you would ever use your powers to make me do anything I felt was morally wrong or bad for me. And no matter how good a Legilimens you are, I'm still not sure you could if you tried. As for Hagrid, if it makes you uncomfortable, I'll do all the talking, and you only step in if you feel it's necessary. Otherwise, you really will just be there for moral support. You helped us keep Hagrid out of trouble over Norbert. Just think of this as more of the same."

Harry regarded his first friend intently before finally relenting. "Okay, okay. Let's see what the CoMC instructor has to say for himself."

Moments later, Harry and Hermione were seated in Hagrid's hut drinking tea and pointedly ignoring the rock cakes. And to the surprise of them both, it turned out that Harry's Legilimency was entirely unnecessary.

"Well, ah course ah bred the Skrewts meself!" Hagrid said proudly. "And let me tell ya's—tweren't no easy feat milkin' a Manticore of its …!"

"Hagrid!" Hermione exclaimed, both in surprise over Hagrid's casual admission of a serious crime and to stop any further discussion of what, exactly, had been milked from a Manticore as part of this magical breeding project. "Interspecies magical creature-breeding is illegal!"

The half-giant let out a belly-laugh. "Tosh, 'Ermione! It's only illegal if'n you ain't got permishun from the Ministry!"

At that remark, Harry nearly spit out his tea.

"The Ministry … gave you permission … to cross-breed Manticores with … anything?!"

Hagrid puffed up in pride. Then, without answering, he stood and moved over to a cluttered desk in the corner and started shifting items around (and eventually just tossing some things over his shoulder). Finally, he gave a loud "A-Ha!" and returned to the table with a crumpled brown parchment, which he placed on the table. Harry and Hermione crowded together to read the document with increasingly astonished expressions.

While the parchment had several grease-stains and one large circle that looked to be from where a coffee cup had been resting on it, the writing was still clear. It was an official approval form from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures granting "Rubeus Hagrid, a Hogwarts Gentleman" permission to crossbreed Manticores and Fire Crabs for research purposes. It was signed by some functionary whose name Harry didn't recognize, but below that, it was countersigned by "Amos Diggory, Assistant Director for Regulatory Enforcement."

"That's … that's … HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!" Hermione finally shrieked.

"Well, ya see," Hagrid began while completely ignoring the girl's outburst, "I had ta put in a perposal fer me Mastery, an after all the muckity-mucks at the Ministry looked it over, they signed off on it. I started the breedin' experiments last summer! It's all very exciting!"

"M-Mastery?!" Harry stammered. "Forgive me, Hagrid, but … weren't you expelled as a Third Year?!"

"Oh, that! Well, they did expel me from Hogwarts, that they did. Way back in the Spring of '44, it was. And they snapped me wand! But the ban on studying magic was only fer fifty years, and that ended last May! But even if'n I couldna study wanded magic, I hadn't been sittin' on me …"

He paused suddenly as he remembered the two were still students.

"Well, les jus say 'sitting around all that time.' Bein' expelled don't stop ya from reading books, after all! So the week after the Hogwarts Express left last June, I went to the Ministry and sat me CoMC OWLs! And got an Outstanding! Then, I studied fer a month and went back ta take me CoMC NEWT and passed it as well! So now, I'm workin' on me Mastery!"

Harry and Hermione sat gaping for several seconds.

"So … who is your master?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Mina Grubbly-Plank from Beauxbatons! Lovely lass! She was Wilbur Grubbly-Plank's oldest girl and a firstie the year I got expelled. She'll be here most of the year as a judge fer the Tournament, and she'll spend part of that time overseein' me and mah Skrewts."

Then, he coughed in mild embarrassment. "That's … kinda why I gots all my classes workin' with 'em to see what ta feed 'em and figure out how they work afore she gets here. Ta be 'onest, they don't rightly look like what I was expectin' when I started all this."

"I should hope not," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Alright, I suppose I feel a little better about all this," Hermione said aloud. "But Hagrid … why Manticores and Fire Crabs?!"

Hagrid just laughed. "Well, it's like this ya see. Manticores is XXXXX-class beasts—way too dangerous fer most wizards ta handle, but their venom is really useful and really expensive, and their stingers can be used as wand cores. And Fire Crabs is an endangered species cuz their shells make good cauldrons for some difficult potions, their blood is also a valuable potions ingredient, and, well, I'm told they taste delicious! A bit like snapping turtle but with a spicy kick!"

"Sooo," Hermione said slowly. "You're trying to create a creature that has some or all of those benefits but is easier to breed and handle? That's … surprisingly logical now that I think about it."

"Pfft!" Hagrid said while puffing up his chest in pride once more. "D'ye think the Ministry O' Magic would let just any old wizard breed deadly monsters together and give 'em to school children ta handle?"

"No, of course not," Harry said with barely concealed sarcasm. "Who would ever expect the Ministry to do anything like that!"

(Harry and Snape)

Harry waited patiently by the door to the Potions lab as the Sixth Year NEWTs class exited. Or most of them did, at least: Adrian Pucey, Cedric Diggory, and several older students Harry didn't know personally. Adrian stopped to make small talk with Harry for a moment, but they were distracted when the last member of the NEWTs class stormed out. It was Fred Weasley, who stalked off angrily down the hall. After sending Pucey on his way, Harry entered the Potions lab and closed the door behind him.

"Trouble with one of the Weasley Twins already, Professor Snape?" he asked good-naturedly.

Snape snorted from behind his desk without even looking up from the papers he was reviewing.

"I'd been hopeful that after five years, I would at last be free of them. But Terror #1 received an Outstanding on his Potions OWL, so I must persevere it seems. Unless, in a fit of pique, he drops the class."

"He did seem angry just now. If I may ask, what did you say to him?"

"Aside from the usual threats to send his mother a Howler if he set one foot out of line in my class, I also made clear my disdain for the thought of wasting my valuable time on someone who sought NEWTs level instruction but had no higher purpose for it than … pranks. Furthermore, I made continued participation in my advanced class contingent on him providing me with copies of formulas for all of his experimental compounds he has developed so far so that I could review them for safety. He took umbrage at the insinuation that he might be marketing dangerous and untested potions and mixtures to minors, even though that is patently what he and his twin have been doing for years now."

Harry thought about that for a moment. "I can see how that would have upset him. Though I get the feeling you have an ulterior motive for wanting to double-check his work."

"One point from Slytherin for using Legilimency on me and being arrogant enough to be obvious about it. But if it will satisfy your curiosity, I am reliably informed that the Terrors have devised a means to effect human-to-animal Transfigurations through the innovative and experimental use of candies and, on at least one occasion, in an aerosolized form. I want to see how they did it."

"Ah, the Canary Creams. They mentioned the product a few times last summer, though I never got to see them in use. Am I right in thinking that sort of potion is hard to brew?"

The Potions Master finally looked up with an expression of visible consternation.

"No more so than any other potion which someone might brew as part of a Mastery level project! Human-to-animal transformations are beyond the scope of standard potioneering techniques and generally require a knowledge of an obscure and specialized and, in some nations, illegal field of magic known as biothaumaturgy, a term which Fred Weasley had never even heard of before I mentioned it to him just now."

Harry blinked a few times. "Wait, so Canary Creams are forbidden dark magic or something?"

"There are likely no specific laws on the books regarding it, but that is why I wish to review his formula—to determine whether he is engaging in magical research of the sort that often has unsavory connotations and might attract unhealthy attention from certain segments of our government."

Then, he gave Harry a pointed look. "And by the way, the only reason I am telling you any of this is because you have taken it upon yourself to provide the Terrors with financial backing for reasons that elude me. Potentially, you might be exposed to some degree of liability if their activities draw unfavorable attention."

Harry shrugged. "I owe George a life debt, and the family's too Gryffindorish to just accept a big lump sum payment. Of course, if their joke shop is going to get raided by the Unspeakables …"

"An unlikely outcome at the moment, but I wish you to keep me advised as to just what sorts of … jokes they are presently able to mass-produce."

Harry nodded. "Of course."

"Good. But you didn't come here to talk about the Terrors, I don't have Fourth Year Potions until later in the week, and we are not fielding school Quidditch teams this year, so I can only assume you're here to discuss some illicit business. What is it?"

"Well, it's nothing too dramatic. Or at least, not compared to getting assassinated by the Unspeakables over forbidden dark sweets. It rather ties in with what you just docked me a point for. I was wondering if we can continue meeting regularly for some Occlumency and Legilimency lessons this year even with all the Tournament business going on."

"I do not anticipate my time being any more limited than it was last year. Any tournament-related activities will involve interaction with foreign dignitaries and will require a degree of diplomacy that the Headmaster realizes I do not possess and have no desire to cultivate. Now then, we have previously discussed several useful psychic arts which you should be capable of developing at this stage of your journey. What specific areas do you wish to prioritize? Beyond, of course, an introduction to secondary personality development, which is the obvious next step in your psychic training."

"Oh … it is?"

"Honestly, Black," the man snapped. "You have come this far in the study of Occlumency and are party to multiple secretive conspiracies of at best dubious legality. Do you mean to suggest that you don't have any desire to learn how to lie convincingly while under Veritaserum?"

"Well, obviously I have desires about that sort of thing. I take it the secret to beating Veritaserum lies in being able to shift to a different personality that doesn't even know the secrets you're afraid of revealing?"

"Essentially, yes. The technique begins with small, carefully constructed alterations to your own personality. Review chapter 32 of Pathways of the Mind and chapters 7 and 9 of Moste Hidden Arte. Then, begin small by creating a secondary personality which differs from your true personality in only a single, unimportant detail. Your preference for desserts at supper, for example."

Snape then gave him a 'don't be an idiot' look.

"I recommend writing down exactly what changes you are making to your psyche before beginning the process. Until you become proficient, there is a nontrivial chance that you will be unable to remember which personality is the original. While it would be relatively harmless to accidentally turn yourself into a vegetarian, other personality alterations have a far greater potential for damage to your mind."

Then, he gave Harry a pointed look. "And speaking of damage to your mind …"

Harry put up a hand. "I spoke to Healer Tonks this morning first thing." Then, the boy hesitated. "He indicated that so long as I meditated and did emotional self-checks regularly, I wouldn't need a counseling session with him … though I'm pretty sure that was an attempt at reverse psychology. He also said I should talk with you about the benefits of psychometric decompression."

Snape nodded. "There are benefits to that practice, certainly. Personally, I have not undertaken decompression of the kind Healer Tonks recommends for many years. Then again, I am not the paragon of a mentally healthy Occlumens and so should probably not be your role model in such matters. I take it Healer Tonks's presence at Hogwarts is at the instigation of your godfather?"

"Yes," Harry replied somewhat pensively. "Though to be fair, I think there are plenty of other people who could benefit from counseling with a Mind Healer."

"But not us?" Snape asked somewhat sardonically. "You are a talented Occlumens and Legilimens. If you think you might benefit from the services Healer Tonks is offering, sign up for a session. If you start to feel uncomfortable at the thought of exposing too much of yourself, you are certainly capable of persuading him that you are actually a perfect specimen of mental health and that future sessions are unnecessary, which, even if patently untrue, will at least reassure those members of our little club who do not understand what it means to be either an Occlumens or a Slytherin."

Harry nodded again, though slower this time. "A Slytherin counseling another Slytherin to lie to the Hufflepuff in order to reassure the Gryffindor. Right. Got it." Then, he looked at Snape somewhat suspiciously.

"Unless, of course, everything you just said was you using reverse psychology on me to get me to accept counseling and you're just better at it than Ted."

Snape sighed in annoyance. "I should note for the record that a paranoid belief that everything another Legilimens says to you might possibly just be an exceptionally subtle form of manipulation is itself powerful evidence that you might need counseling of some sort. That said, I understand your ambivalence about opening up to anyone else about deeply personal matters. Fortunately, you are at or near a level of proficiency where an alternative approach is available. Tell me, Mr. Black—how much progress have you made on developing your Advocatus Diaboli?"

Harry winced. "A little, but it's been slow going. The reading material you gave me for that was … difficult. I have the framework ready to activate—I think, anyway—but I didn't want to proceed to the next step until I felt more confident about it."

Snape crooked an eyebrow. "Confidence has never been an issue for you before, not even when it should have been. Are you quite certain your reticence isn't because you are afraid of who your Advocatus might end up being?"

The boy grimaced. The Advocatus Diaboli (or "Devil's Advocate") was an artificial secondary personality that, once activated, would basically live inside a discrete corner of his head. Based on Harry's personal understanding of the mindset of one of his most trusted friends, his Advocatus would provide advice and perspectives that Harry himself would normally not consider. However, while Snape had been evasive on his own Advocatus, Harry (in one of his usual flashes of deductive insight) had realized weeks before that Snape's Advocatus had almost certainly been a teenaged Lily Evans.

Aside from Harry's general horror at the thought of a Gryffindor permanently living in his mind (let alone any member of his birth family!), the boy was also troubled by the fact that he would not consciously pick his own Advocatus. Rather, he would create a mental framework and then allow his own subconscious to pick the best person to serve in the role. From what the Occlumency books had said, he could attempt to guide his subconscious towards choosing a particular person, but ultimately, the Advocatus would be whoever would be the best person for the job, and there was absolutely no guarantee that it would be someone Harry would want to take advice from.

"It's … a concern, sir," he finally said. "But if you think this should really be a priority right now, then …"

"Only you can answer the question of whether awakening your Advocatus Diaboli is a priority at this time," Snape interrupted. "As the first teacher of Occlumency, Thales of Miletus, said: 'Temet nosce. Know thyself.' That maxim lies at the heart of all the psychic devotions, but especially Occlumency. If one is to truly master Occlumency, one must first know one's own mind."

"Even when you're using Occlumency to deceive yourself?" Harry asked.

For just a second, a strange look passed over Snape's face. It was gone in an instant, and only a Legilimens of Harry's caliber could have noticed it at all. But for a fraction of a second, Harry's blunt question left Snape stricken.

"Yes, Mr. Black," he said gravely. "It is because of our power to deceive even ourselves that truly knowing our own hearts is so vital. For without self-knowledge, we are lost."

(Harry and George Weasley)

"Hello, Harrikins!" George Weasley said cheerfully while walking up behind Harry and clapping him on the back. "Hermione said you wanted to talk to me. What's up?"

"Just wanted to offer, well, an exchange of ideas between friends, George," Harry replied with a grin as he led the older boy into an empty room. Then, he reached into his bookbag and produced a fairly thick set of parchments bound up into a scroll, which he handed over to George.

"For you and your brother to play around with. That's the complete spellwork that went into the Marauder's Map."

George gasped, and his eyes widened in delight. "Blimey! I thought that bit of magic had been lost forever! Where did you get it from?"

"Remus Lupin gave it to me last spring."

The Gryffindor looked at him in confusion. "Why did last year's school caretaker and later emergency fill-in DADA instructor have the spellcrafting notes for the Marauder's Map?"

"Because he was a Marauder, maybe?" Harry replied with a grin. "I believe you might also know of him under the name Moony."

George's eyes widened. "Get out! Professor Lupin was Moony?! That bloke who stalked around the halls for most of last year, yelling at us for tracking in mud and whatnot up only to take over DADA classes after Scrimgeour died, was actually one of the Marauders?!"

"Yes," Harry said while suppressing a twinge of sadness over the reminder of Rufus Scrimgeour's death. "Lupin first came to Hogwarts undercover as the new Caretaker, Malachi Sturgeon, in order to help protect Jim. And apparently, he thought it would be funny to do a continual Argus Filch impersonation as part of his assignment."

George made a sour face. "Yeah, but now he's gone, and we've got the original back and as surly as ever!"

Harry nodded in commiseration. While Ted Tonks and Alastor Moody had each gotten a round of applause after Dumbledore introduced them, the announcement of the return of Argus Filch and Mrs. Norris had been met with stony silence.

"So whatever happened to Lupin … or Sturgeon or Moony or whatever he's calling himself nowadays?" George asked.

"He's somewhere in the Far East, I gather," Harry said. Then, he blinked a few times as a sudden thought flitted around the edges of his awareness. But before he could focus on it, George spoke again, and the thought was lost.

"And you're just giving this to us?" he asked.

"Well, you're the runes prodigy, and you and Fred both are geniuses in general. I honestly have too much else going on to work on it, so if you two can get a new Map working, I could just ask you to make a copy for me."

George nodded as he put the bound notes away. "It would be a pleasure. Thanks for this, Harry. It means a lot to me, and I know Fred will feel the same."

"Don't mention it," Harry said. "And besides, I kind of have a little favor I was going to ask for in return."

"Name it."

"Well, it's been suggested to me that you might have access to a version of the Elder Futhark potion that's better than the one offered by the Ministry. If that's the case, I was wondering if you could set me up with a sample. I'll pay for any ingredients … of … course …"

Harry suddenly trailed off uncertainly in response to the look on George's face. The Slytherin's natural Legilimency usually enabled him to read other people like a book, but he could still be surprised from time to time, usually when Harry used his power with incomplete information and the person with whom he was interacting reacted with emotions that Harry had not meant to trigger. For example, he recalled his first conversation with Lucius Malfoy, which had almost gone very badly for them both. Harry had innocently mentioned the name Tom Riddle without realizing that the former Death Eater might have recognized that name for other (very dangerous) reasons.

He was reminded of that encounter as George's face went pale, and the Gryffindor literally took a step back in shock.

"Who … who told you about that?" George asked in an intense whisper. Harry blinked once, and then dilated for a single heartbeat while he pondered how to respond.

"I … can't exactly say, to be honest. Honor among Slytherins, I guess you'd say. But it was someone who saw how quickly you adapted to Ancient Runes without ever taking the Ministry potion yourself. No offense, but am I right in assuming you probably couldn't have afforded one of the newer potions two years ago?"

George didn't respond for an uncomfortably long time.

"I need to talk to Fred," he finally said. "Before I can … before I can talk about any of that. Is that okay?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Of course. Take whatever time you need. I didn't mean to put you on the spot or anything."

George shook off his disturbingly pensive mood and his usually gregarious smile lit up his face. But this time, Harry knew it was an act.

"Not a problem, Harry. I'll get with Fred and let you know as soon as we can, alright?"

The two exchanged a bit of banter before George made his excuses and practically fled the room. Harry just shook his head.

"Dammit, Regulus!" he thought to himself. "What have you gotten me into now?"

(Harry and Moody)

As the Sixth Year DADA class let out, Harry waited patiently to enter, but he was delayed for a few minutes by an odd interaction with the Weasley Twins. Fred and George had left the classroom together, both with serious expressions for once. And those expressions only grew grimmer when they noticed Harry at the end of the hallway. Intrigued, Harry held back, and as the two passed by, Harry distinctly heard Fred whisper "Room 227, 9 o'clock" even though his mouth never moved. Impressed with this bit of ventriloquism, Harry watched as the twins moved on, having given no indication that they'd noticed Harry at all. Somewhat nonplussed by how the two Weasleys were acting—'cloak and daggery,' he'd have called it, since Blaise wasn't here to object—Harry moved past the other students and into the classroom.

"Good evening, Professor Moody," the boy said jovially. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

Moody, who'd been wiping the blackboard clean with a flick of his wand, turned to face the boy.

"That's quite enough sentimental claptrap out of you, Potter. Got enough of that last night. I'm a bit surprised, actually, that you'd out yourself as a fan of mine to the point of getting most of Slytherin House to give me a standing ovation. Do you know how many students at that table have Death Eater relatives either dead or in Azkaban because of me?"

"Sixteen by my count, most of whom are ambivalent if not actually happy at having those people out of their lives. Also, the name isn't Potter, anymore."

"Oh yeah, I'd heard something about that. It was hard to get a Daily Prophet in the backwoods of Eastern Europe, but I gather there was some ridiculous spectacle you made in the Wizengamot, during which you changed your name. So what should I be calling you now?"

"Officially, it's Hadrian Remus Black Lord Wilkes, but I prefer to go by Harry Black."

Moody snorted. "Yeah, that is a bit less of a mouthful, I reckon."

"So, how was your trip to Albania? You were gone for eight months. Some mission for the Headmaster, as I recall. Was it successful?"

"Not just Albania; I ended up taking a tour of the whole misbegotten Balkan Alliance. As vacations go, I've had worse. The mission for Dumbledore, however, was a complete bust. No signs of Death Eater activity anywhere in the region."

The man barked out a laugh. "Ironically, while I was off in Eastern Europe, Fenrir Greyback and his whole damned pack were back here the whole time until the Aurors took 'em all down. Shoulda stayed home."

Then, Moody looked at Harry speculatively. "So, Lord Wilkes, dare I ask what sort of exotic bequests you got from claiming the Toymaker's estate?"

"Nothing too exotic, I'm afraid. I got a lot of galleons and an incredibly creepy painting of the prior Lord Wilkes, but that's been it so far."

For a second, Moody's magic eye whirled wildly. "You actually talked to Erasmus Wilkes's painting?"

"Once. It was unpleasant. I was lying about everything, and he was cryptic and deranged."

Moody tilted his head slightly. "I look forward to hearing more about it. I can say from experience that talking to the man himself wasn't much better. And in other news, I read something about you making a big show at the Paris Dueling Championships, too. Could have sworn I told you to keep a low profile."

"I did! Well, relatively speaking. I mean, I didn't use hardly any of the spells I'd have cast if it was an actual life-or-death situation. And I didn't really show off until I was in the finals against a Junior Death Eater!"

Moody sighed almost in disappointment. "Well, what's done is done. Just remember that if you ever have to fight that same Junior Death Eater for real, he'll know some of your tricks and be able to guess some others, and so will any other Junior Death Eaters he might have traded stories with. Remember!"

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" they both yelled in unison before each of them laughed at the catchphrase.

"I will, Professor Moody. And that's kind of why I'm here. I wanted to know if you might have time for some private lessons during your time here."

"Hmmm. It would have to be in secret and also later in the year. Aside from accusations of favoritism, I don't want anyone to know there's a pre-existing connection between us, and I don't want to put a target on your back. Or vice versa. I have quite enough enemies of my own without attracting any of yours."

"Mine? I wasn't aware I had any enemies worth worrying about. I mean, You-Know-Who and his remaining Death Eaters, but they're pretty much everyone's enemies, aren't they? I can't imagine any of them caring about who I might be taking private defense lessons from."

"Then you should broaden your imagination, Pot—Black. You do realize, I hope, that everyone and his brother thinks that Wilkes left behind a hidden treasure trove of dark artifacts somewhere. And as his heir—well, for some definitions of heir—you're the person most likely to know where it is."

Moody paused and his whirling eye suddenly fixed itself on Harry. "Do you know where any such hidden trove might be? Or any clues?"

Harry grimaced. "Well, I have a clue. Sort of. But nothing I can share at this time. I promise to let you know if I make any progress on that front."

Moody shook his head. "See that you do. Anyway, there's another reason I can't give lessons, at least right now. In addition to my DADA classes, I'm also keeping an eye on that damned Goblet that's sitting in the Great Hall waiting to do … something."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "You're worried about the Goblet of Fire being a danger to the students?"

"No, but Albus is, and he's decided to put my overdeveloped sense of paranoia to good use."

Moody narrowed his one good eye. "You planning on entering your name, Lord Wilkes? I assume if you've claimed that title, you're adult enough to beat the age line."

"I have no immediate plans to get involved in the Triwizard Tournament in any fashion and can't imagine the Goblet of Fire picking a Fourth Year. Besides, I really have too much to do this year to worry about it."

"Sensible. Anyway, let's get through the end of October. That's when the Champions get picked and also when I hand over the reins of the DADA position to Albus's posse of 'special guest lecturers' and we get to see just how broadly the curse interprets the term 'DADA professor.' I might have more free time after that. In the meantime, you might find my first class for the Fourth Years interesting later this week."

"Oh? What are we covering?"

Moody gave a grim smile. "Unforgivables, Black. We'll be talking about the Unforgiveables."

(Harry & Ginny in the Prince's Lair)

"So what you're saying is—I'm permitted to study out of a copy of that Animagery book I was clever enough to blackmail out of Jim Potter, but only if I come in here to do so?" Ginny said with obvious annoyance.

Presently, she and Harry sat alone in the Prince's Lair where he'd asked to meet with the girl just after dinner. That was when he had returned to her the original copy of Animagery: The Deeper Mysteries and also showed her where the Lair's copy was stored. In response to her complaint, Harry set aside the Ancient Runes homework he'd been working on when she arrived. It was getting frustrating anyway; he was having trouble telling apart the inverted Uruz and the widdershins Kaunan, as both of them simply looked like a badly rendered letter-V. Since the first meant protection and the second meant inferno, it would probably be bad to confuse them.

"Yep," Harry answered. "It's now officially a part of the Prince's Library and can't be taken from here without my consent or that of some future Prince. It's too dangerous to allow it to be caught in the hands of … well, anyone I actually like."

Ginny snorted softly. "But you don't mind Jim getting caught with it?"

Harry started to respond sarcastically, but then, he caught himself and closed his eyes. After his earlier conversation with Ted Tonks, he'd resolved to be more mindful. So after a quick self-scan to assess which of his current emotions were legitimate and which were the result of his magical enmity against House Potter, he filed away his initial response of "Stupidity is its own reward" in favor of a more nuanced response.

"Jim is apparently already a full Animagus. I assume, or at least hope, that if he gets caught with the book while still a minor he'll be let off with a fine and conscription instead of …"

"Azkaban?" Ginny finished. "Do you really think they'd ever put the Boy-Who-Lived in Azkaban even for being an unregistered Animagus?"

Harry cleared his throat somewhat hesitantly. "I was going to say 'instead of quietly murdered by the Unspeakables.'"

Ginny's eyes widened at that blunt remark, while Harry continued.

"The issue isn't the Animagus stuff per se but rather some of the general magical concepts from the book that underlie the Animagery process. Apparently, according to Lucius Malfoy and Professor Snape, futzing around with that book can lead to an understanding of certain theoretical magical principles that our current government considers 'politically dangerous.' Which is why I would appreciate it if you could return it to Jim in a way that will discourage him from sharing it with others and, ideally, result in him just hiding his copy away forever. And while I won't do anything to prevent you from studying the Lair's copy—I think you've earned my trust by now—I do want you to remember why I don't want the book getting out of here and to be incredibly cautious about reading from it."

Ginny crooked an eyebrow. "By 'the book' that's 'politically dangerous to even read,' you're talking about the same book that you've added to your personal library and that I know for a fact you've been reading yourself, right?"

Harry glanced down at the copy of the forbidden text sitting on the table in front of them.

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm an awful hypocrite. But for me, it's just for research purposes, since I don't want to become an Animagus. I'm doing Metamorphmagery, and the two are apparently mutually exclusive. I'm just studying the general principles in hopes of getting some insights into what I can expect from Peter Pettigrew if we have another run-in. And, I suppose, preparing myself for when Jim's studies of the book go horribly wrong, and I'll have to clean up the mess."

"And also," Harry thought ruefully, "preparing myself in case my godfather's studies of his copy go horribly wrong as well."

Ginny looked at him in consternation. "But … the general principles are the part that's dangerous to know and might get you murdered by some shadowy government cabal, right?"

"Exactly," Harry replied without concern. "Which is why you and I are only studying from a copy we're keeping here, in one of the most secure rooms in Magical Britain and which is also protected by a magical secrecy oath so powerful not even a master Legilimens can see our memories of what goes on here."

The girl nodded slowly. Put that way, Harry's paranoia made a bit more sense.

"So do you plan to study from the book?" Harry asked. "Study and eventually become an Animagus?"

The youngest Weasley considered the question.

"I don't know. I may study it like you are—not to learn Animagery but just to understand the underlying concepts. I may even study it enough to learn what my form would be. But I'm not sure I want to go all the way with it."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Well for one thing, the animal I'm most likely to associate with is probably a weasel, and I'll be damned if I get stuck with a weasel-form just because of my family name. That would just be … humiliating!"

Harry laughed. "And the other reasons?"

She hesitated with a look of mild embarrassment on her face. "Despite everything, I'm still the baby of the family and the only girl. And so my whole life, I've had girlish things pretty much thrust upon me by all my relatives. So I have this fear that my Animagus form might be, I dunno, a sparkly pony or something ridiculous like that."

"Not a unicorn?"

"Oh, I considered it, but I'm pretty sure they're too magical to be a proper Animagus form. But a horse? One that would make someone like Lavender Brown squeal with delight? Yeah, that would be completely dreadful!"

"Fair enough. Though I would definitely try hard to get Jim to keep the book a secret. Even if Ron has no interest, I'm sure Fred and George would seize on it if given the chance. And I shudder to think what their forms would be."

"Penguins, I think," Ginny replied instantly. "Identical Emperor penguins. So anyway, what do you want me to tell Jim to get him to hide his copy away and never show it to anyone?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure you'll come up with something clever. You're very manipulative."

"I beg your pardon!" Ginny said, somewhat offended.

"We're Slytherins, Ginny. I meant it as a compliment."

"Hmmph. Then as a fellow Slytherin, I suppose I'll accept the comment as you intended."

Then, she grew thoughtful. "Speaking of being manipulative Slytherins, I've been meaning to ask: Are you trying to use me to make Daphne Greengrass jealous? I mean, I'm not exactly opposed to the idea—watching her reactions to it has been hilarious—but I can go to Hogsmeade weekends this year, and to be honest, I'd like to date around a bit. I suspect getting caught up in some weird love triangle with two older students would probably get in the way of that."

"Go right ahead, then," Harry answered. "I'm not actively trying to make Daphne jealous. That was just … an experiment."

"Ha. You hardly needed to an experiment to figure out that she's got a crush on you. I could have told you that much from the start."

"Oh, Daphne's interested in me … for some reason. But I doubt it's a crush."

Ginny gave a long-suffering sigh. "Harry, you're brilliant in a lot of ways. But when it comes to romance, you really need to defer to Amy and me."

"I thought we just established that you haven't even started dating yet. What makes you the expert on romance?"

"Six older brothers, all of whom have had their share of romantic complications. Well, five—so far, Ron's not interested in girls so long as there's Quidditch, food, and his never-ending adventures as Jim Potter's sidekick. Plus, I have a mother who could have been a professional matchmaker if it paid well enough, and I also several years stuck at home alone with nothing to do but listen to radio dramas on the Wizarding Wireless. Young Mediwitches In Love was Mum's favorite."

"I withdraw the objection. Obviously, you're fully qualified to manage my love life."

"Well, someone needs to," she said with authority. "I think sometimes you're too wound up in Slytherin intrigue and Wizarding politics and saving the world from, what was it, the Dark God? Anyway, you're amazing at handling all that stuff, but when it comes to something like just asking a girl out on a date, no offense, but you're a bit clueless."

Harry didn't reply at first. He simply stared down at the table for a few seconds before turning to look at Ginny eye-to-eye.

"Maybe it's not that I'm clueless," he said quietly but intensely. "Maybe I'm just trying to figure out exactly how to approach the one girl I really want. Someone who's been by my side for some time now, only I was too dense to see it until we both grew up a little more. Someone who really understands the burdens of sitting in this chair. Someone who knows me better than I know myself."

Harry paused to adjust his glasses with his hand, and Ginny's attention was drawn to the vivid green of his eyes. She'd always thought Harry's eyes were as beautiful as they were intense. The young girl flushed slightly.

"Oh … Harry …!" she gasped.

But before she could say anymore, Harry abruptly broke eye contact and leaned back into the Throne.

"BOOM!" he said loudly. "And just like that, I've got you!"

Ginny blinked in confusion. "… Wait, what?"

"I look you straight in the eye while talking softly and then adjust my glasses to get you to focus on the green of my eyes. You think my eyes are my most attractive feature, so that's enough to get you to go all … gooey."

"Excuse me?!" she said, her anger starting to rise. Harry just continued as if she'd not spoken.

"Of course, not nearly as much as when Draco Malfoy tilts his head slightly and runs his fingers through his hair now that it's gotten longer. That's what really gets your attention!"

Then, Harry actually ran his fingers through his own hair in a perfect imitation of how the Malfoy scion did it.

"Dammit, Harry!" Ginny almost yelled. In response, Harry just broke into a broad grin.

"Ginny, I'm a natural Legilimens who specializes in reading the tiniest hint of body language in order to understand the emotions of others and instantly know how best to influence them. If you're ever under the mistaken impression that I am clueless about some form of social interaction, you may safely assume that I'm probably just occluding heavily to block my own Legilimency because I've found myself surrounded by a large group of people in the grip of strong emotions."

He frowned suddenly in annoyance. "Case in point: Apparently, I'm going to have to occlude constantly in all the classes we have with Gryffindors this year because over the summer Lavender Brown developed breasts and it's all the Gryffindor boys can think about!"

Harry paused while Ginny absorbed that.

"As for me being able to ask someone out on a date, let me assure you that with my abilities, I could have any girl in this school I wanted. And probably a third of the boys! If, that is, I was willing to be an absolute creep! But since I do not wish to be an absolute creep, I intentionally block myself from using my own psychic abilities to influence people that I might be attracted to."

Ginny looked at the Prince of Slytherin with a mixture of consternation and sadness (and also, strangely, fondness). The most eligible bachelor of her generation was apparently too gallant to pursue dating opportunities because he feared accidentally making someone fall in love with him against their will.

"So what about Daphne Greengrass?" she finally asked.

"Ah, her. Yeah, what you said about her at the Quidditch World Cup got me thinking, so yesterday, I made a big show of helping you into the carriage in front of her so that I could drop my Occlumency for a bit and thoroughly read her responses. It was quite illuminating. I have to tell you, though, that your conclusions are completely wrong."

At that, Ginny blinked in surprise. "Are they?"

He smiled and nodded. "You saw Daphne become visibly distressed when you gave me a gift at the Cup and later when I helped you into that carriage. From that, you inferred that Daphne has a bit of a crush on me and she was unhappy that you'd drawn my attention."

"… Go on."

"In point of fact, Ginny … it's exactly the opposite!"

Ginny's brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to figure out what Harry meant. Then, she actually did figure it out … and blushed brighter than before.

(Harry, George & Fred)

At the stroke of nine, Harry stepped into Room 227 to find the Weasley Twins already waiting for him. They seemed more relaxed than during the earlier encounter, but there was still tension in the air. As soon as the door closed, both Twins started putting up various anti-eavesdropping Charms, and they invited Harry to do the same. Bemused, he complied and added some of the special wards from the book of secret charms Lucius had pointed out in the Lair.

"Okay, before we get to the big stuff," George began, "we need to know: Do you plan to enter the Triwizard Tournament? You know, since you're legally an adult and all?"

Harry was surprised. "Certainly not. And the Goblet would never pick a Fourth Year anyway!"

"Okay, then. If you're not officially entering, do you have any plans to secretly enter your name? You know, just to see if you can do it?"

The Slytherin looked back and forth between the Twins in confusion. "Why would I even bother if I don't think there's a chance I'd be picked?"

Fred grinned. "Because there's going to be a betting pool, of course! You might not be experienced enough to get picked, but we both reckon a sneaky snake like you could beat Dumbledore's age line if you put your sneaky snake mind to it. If you do decide to put your name in, please let us know because we'd like to put a few galleons on you."

"By a few," George added. "We're thinking somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty or so."

As the Twins went on to explain, Lee Jordan was in charge of this "betting pool," which had payouts based on who correctly picked the Hogwarts Champion and smaller payouts for whoever correctly guessed the most underage students who successfully got their names into the Goblet. Harry looked at them both in consternation.

"Setting aside the fact that every bit of this is already against school rules, isn't it cheating for you to ask me if I'm planning to enter my name?"

They both laughed. "Harry, half of Gryffindor has already announced their plans to try and enter their names. Jim denied it when we asked him, but he was looking really shifty about it, and Ron's pissed off at him for no apparent reason. So we both reckon he's got some scheme to enter his name, but he doesn't want anyone to know what it is."

Harry shook his head. "The idiot. Surely he can't be so arrogant as to think he'd get picked over NEWTs level students?!"

George shrugged. "Even if he gets his name in, there's no way he can get picked at all unless either his mum or dad signed his entry form. If you're not a legal adult, a parent's signature has to be on the paper as well as the student's."

"Well," Fred added, "unless some weird Boy-Who-Lived thing happens. We reckon that's what he's counting on. But the odds of him getting picked as Champion are only 20-1 at the moment. You're actually a much better bet at 10-1."

Harry was dumbstruck. "People are actually putting odds on me to be the Hogwarts Champion?!"

"Well, not great odds, but you are a dueling champion," George said. "And you're kind of a weird case because you might enter legally as an adult and either get picked or not, you might try to enter illegally just to see if you can do it now that you know about the betting pool—and get picked or not—or you might decide to just stay the hell away from it. Anyway, there's people with much better odds of actually getting picked than you even if you do enter. Right now, Fred and me are both running at 6-1, Angelina Johnson is 4-1, Adrian Pucey is 3-2, and Cedric Diggory is even money."

"Yeah," Fred added. "Right now, the smart money's on King Puff."

"King … Puff? Do people actually call Diggory that?"

"In Gryffindor they do. That or Sky Badger."

Harry filed that away for later consideration. "Wait a minute. You're both running 6-1? How? There's no way your parents would consent to you entering!"

"Yeah, but the oddsmakers don't believe it. Everyone's convinced that if either of us got picked, we already have some scheme in place to get parental consent."

"The funniest thing," Fred said with a laugh, "is that Luna Lovegood put a galleon down on both of us getting picked. She said she figures that because we're twins, whatever we do to get past the Age Line will end up confusing the Goblet so that it spits out both our names as a single competitor. Jordan gave her 100-1 odds."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And are you working on a plan to get both your names entered in such a way that you both get picked?"

"Honestly, Harrikins," George replied. "We're still working on a plan to just get either of our names in, let alone some kind of joint entry."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds at the absurdity of this whole Triwizard Tournament business. He was sure it would end in tears, and he only hoped they wouldn't be his own.

"Okay, right now, I have no plans to try to enter my name, legally or illegally. If that changes, I promise to let you know. Now, can we get to the real reason for this meeting? Namely, the Elder Futhark Potion that George here is treating like it's some kind of state secret?"

Fred and George looked at one another, now suddenly serious. George nodded for Fred to take the lead.

"That's because it sort of is a state secret. Or the closest thing to it, anyway. The summer after our Second Year, we didn't want to take Ancient Runes because we thought the class would be too hard. But we also knew that we needed to know something about runes for the kind of magic we wanted to work. Some of it could be done with potions, but magical joke items mean enchanted items, and you need runes for that."

"At around that same time," George picked up, "Bill had just started as a curse-breaker for Gringotts. And even though he'd taken the Elder Futhark potion back in his third year, Gringotts made him take their version of the potion."

"And," Fred continued, "being precocious little shits with more ambition than sense, we snuck into his room, nicked the formula for the potion—plus a lock of Bill's hair while he was asleep—and brewed it ourselves."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "After just two years of Potions, you were able to brew something as advanced as an educational potion? And not just that, but a specialized one designed for Gringotts curse-breakers?!"

Fred shrugged. "It's not quite as impressive as it sounds, Harry. I mean, do you know how educational potions really work?"

"Broadly speaking. I know you drink one, and it fills your head with knowledge about a particular topic."

Fred shook his head. "That's what they do. I'm talking about how they work. You see, when you start talking about a particular educational potion, there are actually two potions involved: one for the expert who's providing the knowledge and another for everyone else who wants to gain that knowledge. The first potion is the one that's insanely hard to make, mainly because of a few very particular requirements. Most notably, you need an eyeball from the person who's donating the knowledge for the potion!"

Harry blanched at that ghastly detail, while George continued.

"And not only that, the process also permanently strips the expert of all their accumulated knowledge about the subject of the potion! We think, well, hope that the people who brew these potions are taking volunteers who are already near death. That or they got paid a lot of money to give up both an eye and all their accumulated knowledge of a field in which they used to be an expert. Anyway, once the first potion is brewed, you feed it back to that same expert—who, by the way, is drinking their own liquified eyeball!—and they instantly forget everything they knew about the subject! But the knowledge instead becomes a part of the donor's physical body!"

"The second potion is actually fairly easy to brew," Fred said. "But one of the ingredients is a single hair from the person who donated the knowledge to be transferred or a hair from anyone who's ever taken that particular potion in the past. In that way, the information contained in the potion is passed down to future drinkers, potentially forever. We reckon that actually explains why these potions so rarely get updated. It must be hard to find someone who's an expert in a field that's willing to pay the personal price for creating a new potion when the older ones are good for most purposes."

Harry nodded. "Unless the potion doesn't require a willing volunteer. In which case, it only requires that someone be a ruthless bastard."

"So let me get this straight," he said aloud. "You found all this out the summer after your Second Year, brewed the second potion for yourselves, and used the hair you stole from your brother Bill, who must have already taken the improved Futhark Potion by that point. And that's how you learned Elder Futhark better than any of Babbling's NEWTs students?"

He turned to Fred. "And why is it only George who's the runes prodigy if you're twins and you both took the potion?"

"We're twins, Harry, not clones. We both took the potion, and I'm not half bad at runes. But George here just took a stronger interest in the subject. Specifically, in the way the runes fit together like puzzle pieces. I'm actually the same way about potions ingredients. But after that summer, we thought it best to specialize a bit, so I focused more on Potions and him on Runes."

"Okay, that makes sense. But why are you both acting so paranoid? Is it just because you technically stole the information from Gringotts and you don't want to get Bill into trouble?"

The twins looked at one another again as if silently communicating.

"There's … a bit more to it than that. The potion gave us the most up-to-date understanding of the Elder Futhark runes in all their settings and major combinations as of 1991. But … we learned something else about Elder Futhark. Something that's … maybe dangerous to know?"

Harry's eyes narrowed as George continued.

"Harry … we both like you. And on one hand, we're both worried about passing forbidden knowledge that might just be some sort of Goblin state secret to you. But, on the other hand …"

Both twins suddenly grinned. "On the other hand, we're both genuinely curious as to what you might end up doing with the information!"

There was silence in the room as Harry absorbed all that. "Fine. I'll swear a secrecy vow. It won't be an absolute one. I reserve the right to share whatever I learn from this if I think I or someone else might be endangered as a result of it. Is that satisfactory?"

The Twins both agreed, and Harry swore the oath.

"Okay, here it is, Harry," George said with an oddly excited expression. "You've been in Ancient Runes for a year now and done pretty good at it. What Elder Futhark runes do you know?"

"All of them," Harry answered easily.

"Are you sure?" Fred asked innocently. Harry frowned.

"Last year, we covered all of the Elder Futhark runes. The twenty-four runes known to Muggles, plus another twelve known only to wizards. Thirty-six in all."

"Thirty-seven," George corrected.

"… What?"

"This is what we learned from the Gringotts potion that kinda scared the willies off of us both once we understood the significance of it. There is a 37th rune that is not in any of the Ancient Runes textbooks and that Professor Babbling has never addressed or even hinted at in class. Unlike all the other runes, it only has a standard setting and none of the others and only one meaning we know of. I have never seen a rune scheme incorporating it and have never been able to figure out how to use it. Though to be honest, I've kind of been afraid to try."

Harry swallowed. "So what is this mystery rune?"

George pulled out his wand, and with two flicks of his wrist, he wrote a flaming letter in the air. Harry was suddenly reminded of his earlier confusion about two runes, the inverted Uruz and the widdershins Kaunan, both of which just looked like a badly-drawn letter-V. Hanging in the air before him now was a perfectly rendered letter-V.

"It's called Vohldo, Harry," George said almost reverently. "And it just means … Wild."

Next: Return to the Chamber of Secrets. Also, Ted Tonks gets an unexpected counseling patient.

Chapter Text

Thursday, September 4, 1994
(Albus and Ted)

Early on Thursday morning, Healer Tonks had an unexpected visitor: the Headmaster.

“Good afternoon, Ted,” said Dumbledore. “I hope I am not intruding?”

“Albus!” the Healer exclaimed. He paused to look around the room before grinning at his former teacher. “Luckily, you caught me at a time when I have no patients. Which, sadly, has been most of my first week here.”

“Ah, that is a pity. I’d hoped more students would avail themselves of the benefits you offer. Have you not had any takers?”

“I’ll start seeing Miss Granger next week for a half-hour every Wednesday. Her parents insisted. Other than that, no.”

Albus looked thoughtful as he took a seat in front of Ted’s desk. “Hmm. Well, hopefully that will change. But, in the meantime, I was wondering if I might be able to make use of your expertise.”

“You want counseling, Albus?” Ted asked in surprise.

“Not … exactly. But I must nevertheless ask you for your Healer’s Oath and that you activate the secrecy wards on this room.”

Intrigued, Ted did so, and Albus finally felt it was safe to speak.

“Tell me, Ted. Do you have any experience with … psychic surgery?”

The Healer’s eyes widened in surprise. “I wouldn’t say I have experience with it. My specialty was not in Mind Healing, although I did have enough Legilimency training to understand the principles. That said, there are probably fewer than ten wizards in the world who are capable of performing true psychic surgery, and only two in this country. When just speaking of theory, I suppose I’m as knowledgeable as nearly any other British Healer.”

He leaned forward with interest. “Why do you ask?”

Dumbledore hesitated. “I am limited in what I can say now, in part because of the operations of a Fidelius Charm that prevents me from speaking plainly. But I can say this much. It has to do with Voldemort.”

Ted flinched at the name and then blushed at his own fear. “Go on.”

“Without going into details overmuch, Voldemort was … the way he was because of an accidental misuse of natural Occlumency which burned out his capacity to feel love in any form and left him a complete sociopath. I wished to know whether there were any viable strategies for curing such damage.”

“You … want to heal Voldemort?” Then, Ted caught himself. “And more importantly, are you saying that Voldemort is still alive?”

Of course, Ted Tonks was well-aware of the fact of Voldemort’s continued existence. But Dumbledore was not supposed to know anything about the activities of the Azkabal. Granted, Ted had argued in favor of bringing Dumbledore into the fold, but the various Slytherins in the conspiracy (one of whom was his wife) were opposed for reasons that still eluded him. But Ted was acutely aware of the fact that, as one of the two Hufflepuff members of the Azkabal, most of the others worried that he was a security risk, so he fortified his Occlumency shields and then played dumb.

Few members of the other Hogwarts Houses ever realized the extent to which Hufflepuffs cultivated that skill.

“He is, I believe,” Dumbledore said. “More importantly, I believe that he is still alive because of the damage he inflicted on his own mind. It is the very fact that he is incapable of experiencing or understanding the emotion of love that sustains the dark magic responsible for his longevity.”

Ted’s brow furrowed. “And you think that if he can be healed of that damage, it would end that longevity? That, paradoxically, healing him might be the only way of killing him?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed. And you are correct. It is indeed quite a paradox that healing in this case might have fatal results.”

“But Albus … I am not remotely qualified to do that level of psychic surgery. You should consider consulting with someone who has practical experience.”

The older wizard chuckled. “Well, yes. But you yourself just said that there were only two Healers in Britain with the requisite practical experience. One of those is Clytus Burke and the other is Demeter Carrow. While neither of them was ever a marked Death Eater, they both have … connections that make me reticent to engage their services.”

“Yes … yes, I can see why you would be. But still—I would have no idea how to go about even devising a treatment regimen for psychic damages as severe as what you describe for You-Know-Who.”

“I understand. But what if you had, well, someone you could practice on.”

“What?!?” Ted spluttered. “Who on Earth would agree to having an untrained medical Legilimens experimenting on their mind?!”

“Me, actually,” Dumbledore said with a sheepish grin. “As it happens, I have a psychic block that is very similar to the one affecting Voldemort. And I believe I can compartmentalize that block and allow you to study it without it damaging any of my faculties if something went wrong. Not that it would. I have complete faith in you, Ted.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Ted scoffed. Then, he realized the import of the Headmaster’s words.

“Hang on a minute. Are you saying that you have a mental block that interferes with your ability to feel love? Albus, I’ve known you for most of my life. You are one of the kindest, most loving wizards I have ever met! I refuse to believe that you are a sociopath and have just been hiding it somehow.”

“That’s very kind of you, Ted.” Dumbledore said with a laugh. “But the damage I did to myself was more limited and more targeted than that which created Voldemort. I still feel love. I love my students. I love my co-workers and my friends. I love Hogwarts. And I love life and magic in general. I simply do not feel romantic love or even sexual attraction.”

“That’s still very serious, Albus. What led you to take such extreme measures?”

Dumbledore blushed slightly. “Well, the short version is—the first great love of my life broke my heart.”

Ted was astonished. “And that was enough to make you swear off romantic love forever?”

“Oh, no! It caused me to do something much more foolish than that! Angry over my lover’s betrayal and depressed over the recent death of my mother, I turned to drink. And then, to opium. And then, worst of all, I entered into a turbulent and extremely self-destructive relationship with a charming and manipulative psychopath who very nearly seduced me into becoming a Dark Lord. That liaison led to the death of my sister, my decades-long estrangement from my only remaining family, and, in a very roundabout way, to the bloodiest and most destructive war in modern wizarding history. And that led me to conclude that it would perhaps be better for everyone if I were no longer able to be manipulated by others simply on account of how attractive I found them.”

Ted stared at the older man in shock.

Albus sighed. “It was a very bad breakup.”.

1:00 p.m.
The Fourth Year DADA Class

“UNFORGIVEABLES!” bellowed Professor Moody to the Slytherin-Gryffindor DADA class. In response, nearly the entire class jumped slightly, both in response to the subject matter and the force of Moody’s exclamation.

“We call’em that for a reason,” he continued. “The three Unforgiveables are the only curses for which proven use is grounds for an automatic life sentence in Azkaban. Doesn’t matter the circumstances. This isn’t just because you can use ‘em to hurt or kill people. There are thousands of spells that will do that. Rather, it’s because that’s all they’re for. And worse! Using them makes you want to use them more! Regular use of an Unforgiveable strips away the wizard’s morality and makes him more and more inclined to use that Unforgiveable in the future. In a very real sense, they are addictive! So, with that in mind, let’s see who’s done the reading! Longbottom! What are the three Unforgiveable Curses!”

Neville started at hearing his name called out. He knew the answer at once, but the Gryffindor couldn’t help but sneak a glance towards the Boy-Who-Lived who sat next to him in the aisle seat. Everyone knew about Jim’s connection to the Killing Curse, but Neville was one of the few who knew that he’d also been subjected to the Imperius. Then, Neville’s heart clenched as he remembered the third Unforgiveable and the terrible damage it had wrought on his family.

“The Killing Curse, the Cruciatus, and the Imperius Curse, sir,” the boy said confidently.

“Correct. Five points to Gryffindor. For today, we will only discuss the first two. The Killing Curse and the Torture Curse have a few things in common, and it makes sense to discuss them together. We’ll get to the Imperius in a few weeks after I …”

Moody hesitated. “Well, after I get a few special lessons set up. For now, we will start with the Killing Curse. I won’t cover the wand movement—for this or any other Unforgiveable. While the Killing Curse is not particularly hard, wandwise at least, I don’t want anyone getting ideas. But the incantation is so well-known as to often be used as a synonym for ‘the Killing Curse.’ Avada Kedavra, derived from Aramaic for ‘I destroy as I speak.’ If cast properly, it manifests as a coherent pulse of green light that travels in a straight line out of the wand towards the target and flares bright enough on impact to illuminate a darkened room. Sort of like this.”

And then, in a blur of motion, Moody whipped out his wand and pointed it straight towards Jim Potter!

“EVARA KATALA!” the ex-Auror bellowed, and there was a flash of green from his wand that shot across the room and struck the back of Jim’s chair. Jim himself was no longer in the chair having hurled himself out of it and onto the floor before rolling up into a crouch with his wand already pointed at Moody.

“Heh!” Moody gave a gargled laugh. “Nice to see you’re not just assuming you’re immune to the thing, Potter. Ten points to Gryffindor for good reflexes.”

Moody’s eye whirled wildly for a second. “And two points to each of the seven people in the room who pulled a wand or took some other defensive action in response to what I just did. Minus three points from each of the twelve people who just sat there like slack-jawed gawkers while your DADA professor was firing green curses at a fellow student! CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

Jim rose slowly and moved back to his chair with his wand still out. To his surprise, there was now a glowing green paint splotch about one-inch in diameter on the back of the chair. From its positioning, it would have struck him center-mass instead had he not dodged. He ran his fingers across it, and it felt dry to the touch.

“The Evara Katala, which I will be teaching you, was developed for training purposes in the 15^th century by the Ottoman Magical Janissaries, the precursor to the Turkish Auror Corps. It has become part of the standard training program for Auror Corps around the world. While it looks and sounds as much like the Avada Kedavra as the requirements of spell design allow, it is completely harmless and merely tags whatever it hits with magical fluorescent marking that will vanish after about an hour. But most importantly, other than its non-lethality, Evara Katala behaves like the Killing Curse in terms of color, definition, speed, and range. If Mr. Potter here had so much as a drop of green paint on him right now, it would mean that a Killing Curse cast instead would have killed him.”

Moody paused. “Well maybe not you, Potter. It’s obviously an open question that we won’t be answering in this class. But any of us mere mortals would definitely be as dead as a doornail.

“Anyway, when I say the spell mirrors the Avada Kedavra as much as possible, that includes one of the most dangerous aspects of the Killing Curse: There is no known shield spell capable of blocking it! It just passes through the strongest Protego Maxima like cobwebs. Which means if someone is throwing a Killing Curse in your direction, your best chance of survival is to dodge like Potter here did.”

As Moody spoke, he paced around the room, his stump leg klunking loudly with each step. “But, of course, sometimes dodging isn’t an option, whether due to terrain or other factors. So what can you do in such a EVARA KATALA!!!”

This time, the spell—cast mid-sentence for maximum surprise—targeted Harry Black. In a flash, Harry reached over to grab a startled Blaise Zabini by the shoulder before yanking him into the path of the spell. There was a flash of green light, followed by a tiny splotch of glowing green paint appearing in the center of Blaise’s forehead. Harry released his friend who pulled himself back into his own seat with a huff.

“Seriously?!?” Blaise snapped. Harry was unrepentant.

“Professor Moody said the spell was completely harmless, and I believed him,” Harry said blandly.

Moody snorted. “An … interesting strategy, Black. Would you have used it if you hadn’t known beforehand about the Evara Katala?”

“Probably not, sir. But my alternative would have been summoning your desk and interposing it in the path of the curse. The Killing Curse would have destroyed it, but I’m assuming your paintball spell would have just marked it with green paint right before it landed on Miss Brown and Miss Patil.”

Both Gryffindor girls gave soft squeaks.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, “if it had been the actual Killing Curse, I would not have considered using a human shield.”

Moody gave him a look, which could either have been disappointment in his lack of ruthlessness or simple disbelief in his claim. Harry shrugged.

“Or if I did use a human shield, I would try to make sure it was … someone bad.”

The professor just shook his head. “Ten points to Slytherin. And ethical concerns aside, Black is correct. The Killing Curse, once fired, will continue in a straight line, which means that if you dodge, it might just hit someone behind you. The maximum range is unknown and appears to vary from caster to caster. You-Know-Who reportedly nailed someone from a quarter mile away, but they say all kinda things about him. To be honest, a lot about the spell is unknown, and what we do know about the Killing Curse comes to us from the writings of dark wizards who were happy to use the damned thing and take notes. Ekrizdis wrote entire books on his experiments with the Avada Kedavra!

“That said, Black was on the right track. While the curse will instantly kill anyone if it so much as touches the hem of their robe, it can be dodged and it can be blocked with a physical object of sufficient size and mass. Or, as Black’s strategy suggests, with any living creature, though it takes real skill to parry a Killing Curse with anything smaller than a large dog. As for inanimate objects, how big or tough it needs to be varies according to the caster’s proficiency. A chair might be enough to block a particularly weak Killing Curse from an inexperienced caster. When You-Know-Who cast one, it would take something at least twice the size of a man and solid stone, if not harder, to provide any meaningful protection. And whatever you’re using has to be real. It can be a transfigured object but not a conjured one. Cast Avis Oppugno in hopes of putting a flock of birds between you and someone aiming a Killing Curse at you, and it will slice right through them just as though it were any other kind of conjured shield.

“We’ll be studying what Mr. Black here calls the Paintball Hex over the next few sessions before getting into practical strategies for defending yourself. Those same strategies would apply to the Cruciatus Curse, which can also bypass shields. And if it hits you …”

The man hesitated, and Harry shuddered as he recalled the memory of Moody’s personal encounter with Voldemort that ended with the death of all of Moody’s loved ones. Deaths that came only after Moody was forced to beg for it as an alternative to them all being tortured to permanent insanity with the Cruciatus.

“It hurts,” Moody finally said. “It hurts so much that calling it pain is inadequate. It is every nerve in your body screaming all at once. And while the Killing Curse manifests as a green pulse that can be dodged if you’re fast enough, the Cruciatus is a barely visible red flash when cast by someone inexperienced. When cast by someone who knows what they’re doing? It’s practically invisible! Very difficult to dodge. And if it hits you with even a glancing blow, the caster can then maintain that unimaginable pain indefinitely just by keeping their wand trained on you! Only the most powerful and experienced dark wizards can hold it for more than a few seconds, but three to five seconds will cause lasting psychological damage to most wizards and witches. And long-term exposure can …”

Moody trailed off as he made eye contact with Neville again. The boy’s face was pale but resolute, and Harry contemplated the fact that they’d both had loved ones subjected to the Cruciatus. Of course, Harry had suffered the curse personally, but didn’t consider it worth obsessing over.

“It was just Tiberius Nott,” the Slytherin thought stoically.

Moody coughed loudly to clear his throat before resuming.

“We’re covering the Killing Curse and the Torture Curse together because they have common characteristics. Neither can be blocked by any known shield spell, but they can be dodged or blocked by a sufficiently strong barrier. But there’s another thing the two curses have in common. I am informed that you lot were taught by Gilderoy Lockhart about the nature of esoteric magic. Which is, frankly, astonishing in light of the quality of DADA instruction at this school over the last few decades. So I reckon Lockhart was a pretty good teacher right up the point that he went bug-nuts crazy and lobotomized himself.

“Anyway, all of the Unforgiveables are esoteric in nature. To be able to cast them effectively, you must be able to think a certain way as you do so. And both the Killing Curse and the Torture Curse share the same esoteric component: You must absolutely hate someone. Enough to kill them in the case of the former, or to torture them in the case of the latter. And more, enough to enjoy it. If you cannot bring yourself to contemplate strangling someone to death with your bare hands and a smile on your face, your Killing Curse won’t do more than tickle. If you cannot imagine enjoying someone’s screams as you flay them or stretch them on a rack or shove hot needles under their fingernails—whatever form of manual torture most pleases you—then you could never truly hurt them with a Crucio.”

He raised a finger. “But! Here’s the trick: The person you hate enough to do that to does not need to be the same person you wish to target with your curse. So long as there is someone for whom you have such burning hatred, such a willingness to take joy in their death or suffering, you can apply that emotional state to anyone you point your wand at.”

The class was deathly silent as they contemplated that information.

“Any questions?” Moody asked. Hermione was the first to raise her hand, but to Harry’s surprise, her question had nothing to do with the Unforgiveables.

“Professor, I had a question about the Evara Katala spell. Do you mean to say that it can also bypass shields? I thought only Unforgiveables could do that.”

“Good catch. And yes, Evara Katala can bypass all the shields of the Protego series.” Moody looked around the room. “It’s not in the assigned reading and is actually pretty obscure, but does anyone have a clue why that might be? Another ten points to anyone who can guess.”

Neither Harry nor any of his close friends knew, but he was quite surprised when Ron Weasley raised his hand.

“Does it have something to do with the fact that Protego means ‘I protect,’ and because your paint spell is designed to be completely harmless, a Protego shield doesn’t recognize it as something to defend against?”

“Well done, Weasley!” exclaimed the ex-Auror. “I remember your dad being a dab hand with a Protego back in the day. Did he tell you about that little wrinkle?”

Ron blushed slightly. “Actually, it was my mum. See, when my brother Bill turned 17, Mum heard him using some bad language around the house, she told him that just because he could use magic freely didn’t mean she couldn’t wash his mouth out with soap. He laughed and said something rude, and she shot a cleaning spell at him. He threw up a Protego like it was nothing, but her spell passed right on through and he started coughing out soap bubbles!”

Moody laughed. “Molly! Bless her! And you’re exactly right! A necessary design flaw in the Protego series is that there are certain spells that can pass through because they are deemed inherently harmless. Of course, a determined and powerful wizard can usually block even those spells. And anyway, none of the spells that can get past a Protego can actually hurt anyone. Well, not unless you’re really, really clever about it!”

At that last remark, Moody’s magical eye suddenly fixed itself for a second on Harry, and the boy wondered if Moody was challenging him to be really, really clever about that bit of magical trivia. Then, his eyes widened as he had an epiphany. The previous summer, Harry had participated in a major dueling competition in Paris, and he’d gotten to watch the World Class duelists in action. Unlike the lower competitive levels, which made use of approved spell lists appropriate to each age group, the World Class competition just had a list of banned spells. He’d forgotten to ask Regulus about it, but until now, he'd wondered:

Why on earth was Scourgify banned in World Class competition?!?

Six o’clock on Thursday evening
(Albus and the Dark Lord)

Seconds after the Headmaster knocked on the door, a voice called out “Enter!” He did so and found a very surprised Alexander McAvity looking up at him from his dinner.

“Headmaster! What a pleasant surprise! Though I fail to see why you should knock before entering. You are my jailor, after all.”

“I prefer to think of myself as your host, Alexander,” Albus replied.

“And I would prefer to think of you that way as well, but as I am confined to this room for the foreseeable future…” McAvity grinned amiably.

The Headmaster shook his head. “I should remind you, Alexander, that you were the one who requested sanctuary here. And I do believe that your accommodations are far better than you might have had in a DMLE holding cell. Or worse, Azkaban.”

“Yes,” McAvity drawled. “I suppose that’s the level of intelligence I would expect from the British Ministry. So has there been any progress in resolving this dispute?”

“That was the purpose of my visit. I have negotiated an interview between you and Amelia Bones, the Chief Auror, for next week. Amelia is someone for whom I have a great deal of respect, and I believe she will strive for a diplomatic solution to this … situation.”

“Just the Chief Auror?” the expatriate asked mildly.

“I will also be present to mediate, Alexander.” Dumbledore coughed into his hand. “I should inform you that Barty Crouch will also be in attendance in his capacity as the nation’s top diplomat.”

McAvity barked out a laugh. “Oh joy. And I’m sure he’ll be quite diplomatic, too. It’s not like he blames me for the murder of his wife, after all. Even though it happened months after my banishment. Still, could be worse.” He gave the older wizard a pointed look. “Your government could have sent that Death Eater currently serving as DMLE Director to interview me as well.”

“Alexander,” Dumbledore chided.

“Look me in the eye, Headmaster, and tell me that you believe that Corban Yaxley only served You-Know-Who because of the Imperius. Or Lucius Malfoy. Or Tiberius Nott. Or Randolph Parkinson’s boy.”

“Actually, I’ve always suspected that Andrew Parkinson may well have been Imperiused. Randolph was an unrepentant bigot and blood purist, but he was a staunch believer in law and order.”

McAvity laughed. “Oh, don’t I know it! You may recall that he was the DMLE Director who wanted me sent to Azkaban for publishing academic papers under the name of a falsified Pureblood. Law and order in the service of a fascist regime is not something to be commended, Headmaster.”

“I do understand your feelings, Alexander, but the fact remains that the elder Parkinson vigorously opposed the Death Eater Insurgency and was assassinated for it. And Andrew Parkinson, who I happen to know was a devoted son, joined the group that killed his father and later claimed—convincingly, in my opinion—to have done so only under the Imperius.”

“That still doesn’t excuse leaving them in power. At a minimum, everyone who bore the Dark Mark should have been stripped of any Ministry positions and Wizengamot titles. Even if they were innocent, they proved themselves too weak-willed to be trusted with the power the undeservedly have.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I did not come here to debate political history, my friend. You know as well as I the social and political forces that would have torn the nation apart had we disqualified that many Wizengamot members and other influential wizards whose Imperius defenses had been ratified by Minister Bagnold.”

He peered over his glasses at the expatriate. “And I hope, Alexander, that you can refrain from bringing up such unpleasant history in your meeting with Chief Auror Bones and Director Crouch.”

McAvity raised his hands as if to appear nonthreatening. “I’ll be on my best behavior. But this nation has silenced the voices of the Mudbloods for too long. Things are bound to change whether the Purebloods like it or not.”

The Headmaster frowned. “I do wish you would not use that word, Alexander.”

“What, Mudblood? After all these years, I’ll be damned if I cede the power of that word back to those for whom it’s only an insult. I’m just sorry I didn’t pack any of my old ‘Mudblood Pride’ t-shirts for this trip, assuming any of them still fit.”

Albus sighed discontentedly. “I am well aware of your feelings, but that attitude at this moment in time … Well, it makes me quite reticent to move on to the other matter I wished to discuss.”

“Oh? What other matter?”

The Headmaster reached into his robe and removed an envelope. “Assuming that the legal issues are resolved and you are free to leave this room … a request has been made of us.”

McAvity’s forehead creased in surprise. “What sort of request?”

“Well, to be more accurate, it’s a petition presented to me by one of our students pursuant to the Hogwarts Charter provision governing student organizations. It asks that I extend an invitation to you to give a lecture on the history of the Muggleborn rights movement of the 1960s and the events which led to your forced departure from these shores.”

“A lecture? And who at this school wants to hear from little old me about ancient history?”

Albus handed the envelope to McAvity, who opened it and reviewed the first few lines.

“Hmm. And who, pray tell, is Hermione Granger, the President of … SPAM?!?”

Meanwhile at the First SPAM Meeting of the Year

“Are you INSANE?!?” Justin Finch-Fletchley practically shrieked at Hermione after her dramatic announcement. “You invited WHO to come deliver a lecture?!?”

Hermione glared at SPAM’s treasurer almost disdainfully. “Under the circumstances, I’ll resist the urge to say, ‘you know who.’ And yes, I sent an invitation to Alexander McAvity to give a lecture to our group and anyone else who wants to attend. I mean, he’s here in the castle, and he’s easily the most famous Muggleborn in modern British history.”

“Most infamous, you mean,” Justin replied.

“Through no fault of his own, Justin! Mr. McAvity was a civil rights leader attacked by the government with fabricated charges and threatened with imprisonment and death before he was exiled. It’s a story we Muggleborn should all know well if we’ve studied the lives of Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. and so many others!  His story is our story!”

Then, Hermione’s eyes flashed angrily. “Unless it’s no longer a part of your story … Heir Prince.”

Justin almost shot up out of his chair before Kevin Entwhistle put a hand on his shoulder.

“That was uncalled for, Hermione,” Kevin snapped. Before Hermione could respond, Jim Potter spoke up.

“I know you feel strongly about Muggleborn rights, but I kind of agree with Justin. You shouldn’t have sent that invitation on your own before letting the rest of us discuss it.”

Meanwhile, Justin fixed Hermione with an icy glare of his own. “Yeah, I mean, it’s only the first meeting. We haven’t even officially reelected you as President … yet.”

That remark clearly stung the witch. “I … you …” Then, she deflated a bit. “Okay, that was a valid point. It was presumptuous of me to send the invitation without bringing it before the group. And I’m sorry, Justin. What I said was out of line. But I just think that, with everything going on right now, we really ought to take this opportunity to hear what McAvity has to say.”

“And I agree,” said Anthony Goldstein. “But … ‘everything going on right now’ includes our Pureblood classmates getting so angry at our mere existence as a club that they tried to poison us last year! I don’t mind taking a stand for our civil rights—to be honest, it sort of runs in my family—but I think we should all know what we’re getting into and discuss it as a group first. Inviting McAvity to speak to us after everything that happened at the World Cup is extremely provocative. You know that associating SPAM with McAvity will provoke the Hogwarts Death Munchers, possibly to violence!”

Hermione started to speak only to be distracted by the unfamiliar term. “Death … Munchers?”

“He means Junior Death Eaters,” Jim explained.

“Excuse me!” said Tracey Davis, one of the new attendees. “Junior Death Eaters?!? I know things got tense between SPAM and the CPS last year, but I really don’t think anyone in the CPS wants any of you murdered! Also, as one of the few Slytherins in the room. I hope you’re not assuming my house is full of … Death Munchers! As I recall, it was Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff who took the blame for that stupid prank!”

“And he was responsible,” added Susan Bones. “Because his mind was addled from that ridiculous Ultimate Sanction business. He feels awful about it, and he wanted me to ask the group if you would permit him to come to a future meeting and make a formal apology to us all. He also wants to talk to us about some sort of joint SPAM-CPS activities. ‘Bridge the gap between us,’ is what he says.”

A few SPAM members quietly scoffed at that, but others seemed open to the idea of trying to cool the tensions between the two groups. For Tracey, it just raised a different question.

“So does this mean, Granger, that you’re willing to forgive Cedric Diggory for his actions against this group last year?”

Hermione sighed. “If his apology is sincere and everyone else is willing to let bygones be bygones, then so am I.”

“Uh-huh,” Tracey continued. “And do you feel the same way about Daphne?”

Hermione stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Look, I’m here because I’m a Halfblood. And barely that—I’m the daughter of a Muggle and a second-generation Squib. So, opposing blood purism is important to me. But Daphne is my best friend and my sister in every way that matters. And I know you have an intense dislike for her for some reason. If it’s because of the CPS-SPAM divide, are you willing to forgive her for whatever she’s done to make you so angry with her?”

The Gryffindor witch was silent at first, her impassive face revealing nothing of the emotions churning inside her.

“First, Blaise,” Daphne said with a vicious sneer. “Then, Harry and Jim. And now Amy Wilkes has been stolen away by werewolves while two-thirds of your foster family was burned alive! Tell me, Outcast, is there anyone left who’s made the mistake of caring about you that hasn’t died because of it!?”

Hermione took a slow deep breath before answering. “It’s not anything to do with SPAM or CPS. My issues with Greengrass are completely my own and will not interfere with any opportunities to make peace with the Cultural Preservation Society.”

She looked around the room. “Is that satisfactory to everyone? Good. So, let’s set the McAvity debate aside for now.”

With some grumbling, the club moved on to other matters on the agenda. About an hour later, as the meeting was breaking up, Tracey approached Hermione somewhat contritely.

“Granger, I … I’m sorry if I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong. I hope you and Daphne can get past … whatever it is.”

Hermione grimaced slightly. “It’s … complicated. But like I said, I’ll try to work past it and not let it affect our two groups.”

Tracey nodded. “And for what it’s worth, I also hope the CPS and SPAM can figure out how to get along as well.” She hesitated. “To be honest, I wonder if the two groups don’t have some mutual enemies out there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well … I’m sure you noticed that the Prophet claimed that the attack on the World Cup was driven by Australians supposedly working at the direction of McAvity. With some of them dressed as Death Eaters to sow confusion. That’s what the DMLE claimed, anyway.”

The Gryffindor witch bristled. “I’ve read those news reports, yes. I think it’s nonsense.”

Davis held up her hands reassuringly. “I know, I know. But the thing is … I don’t think it was just a matter of two groups of people wearing different costumes. One of the attackers grabbed me and tried to take me hostage. Luckily, Lord Malfoy was there and … took care of him. But the guy landed on the ground right next to me. I’m certain that he was wearing Death Eater robes, as were the other two that the Weasley Twins took down. But Daphne and Astoria were right next to me, and they were convinced that the attackers were dressed as masked Australians. We were all looking right at the man’s body, but we saw him in different clothes.”

By that point, Jim Potter had approached the pair.

“Hang on,” Jim said. “Are you saying that the people who attacked the Cup wore, what, enchanted clothes? That were designed to make people see what they were most afraid of?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “No, not what they were most afraid of. But what they were most afraid of out of two options: Death Eaters or Australian partisans!”

“What makes you say that?” Jim asked.

“My father! He was there as well. As a Muggle, he had no preconceived ideas about either Death Eaters or Australian Muggleborns working for the Dark Lord McAvity. And to his eyes, the people who attacked us were just wearing plan white robes and hoods. He initially though they were the KKK!”

The other two looked at her blankly. “It’s an American white supremacist organization. It was in the news a lot in the 50s and 60s during my dad’s school days. They wore plain white robes.”

“So, who would want to provoke both sides of the blood purity debate at once?” Tracy asked.

Hermione frowned. She, of course, knew of someone who’d been working on both sides of that divide for decades: Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort. But how she knew that wasn’t something she could share right now. After the three talked for a few minutes more, Tracey made her good-byes and departed, leaving Jim and Hermione alone in the room.

“Listen, Hermione,” Jim began cautiously. “I just wanted to say—if you want me to, I’ll stop coming to SPAM meetings.”

“What? Why?”

“Because so long as I’m here, Harry won’t be. And it looks like neither will Theo or Zabini. And while I love SPAM, I don’t want that stupid Oath of Enmity to come between you and them. It’s bad enough that Ron’s skipping out because I’m here.”

Hermione looked at the Boy-Who-Lived sadly. “It’s alright, Jim. Whatever has come between you and Ron, I’m sure it will pass. You and he have been friends too long for it not to. As for Harry … well, he’s made his decision. And anyway, we’re still in the Innovation Club together. SPAM this year is more about promoting the rights of Muggleborns and Halfbloods now instead of just supporting Theo No-Name and organizing against mind control magic in general. I want you to stay in SPAM so long as you enjoy being here.”

Jim smiled and then said his goodbyes. As Hermione packed up her notes, she thought about what he’d said and tried to work through her own feelings. Harry had, of course, explained to her that the Oath of Enmity would make it hard for him to be in the same room with Jim for any length of time, and she understood that. She truly did.

It was where Harry had decided to spend his time instead of SPAM that rankled.

The first meeting of the Cultural Preservation Society
(Which was held at the same time on the opposite side of the castle)

As soon as Harry entered the CPS meeting, all eyes were upon the Silver Trio. Blaise and Theo flanked him. Harry had planned for them to attend both CPS and SPAM meetings to be his eyes in the latter group, but at the last minute, the CPS meeting time was changed to coincide with SPAM’s. Daphne assured Harry that it was unintentional and that the two groups would work out a mutually agreeable schedule just as soon as she and Hermione could “come to terms,” whatever that meant.

Harry quickly scanned the room. The Cultural Preservation Society presently hosted about fifty students from all seven years. More than twenty of them were Slytherins, but a third of that contingent consisted of Harry and in-house allies there at his request. He could see Amy and Ginny over by the refreshments table. Ginny was chatting animatedly with Michael Corner, a Ravenclaw in Harry’s year and (as near as Harry could tell) the only other Halfblood in the room beside himself. Amy was nearby conversing with Neville and the Greengrass sisters, though Harry noticed Daphne sneaking glances in Ginny’s direction.

Elsewhere, Harry noticed Cassius Warrington’s coterie clustered together in a corner: Cassius himself, Derrick and Bole, Vincent and Drusilla Crabbe, and the Carrow Twins. Also with that group was Greg Goyle, who turned in Harry’s direction and nodded in a manner the boy probably thought was subtle. Harry frowned. Greg had volunteered to stick close to Warrington’s clique in hopes of getting useful information, but he was woefully transparent, to the point that Harry was considering reassigning him to watch over some other group. Then again, Warrington was probably the brightest person in that faction, and he seemed taken in by Goyle’s apparent loyalty. Harry looked away after giving a barely perceptible response gesture.

In another corner sat a group of Pureblood Quidditch fanatics: Diggory, Chang, Pucey, Bletchley, and young Ewan Urquhart, among several others, all grouped around what appeared to be an Eye-Spy mirror showing one of the QWC matches. A Second Year Slytherin, Urquhart showed great promise at Quidditch, and Adrian was already pushing him as a replacement Chaser for next year’s team once he was gone. More importantly (from Harry’s perspective, anyway) was the boy’s family pedigree. While not a Noble family, the Urquharts had a long history in wizarding politics, and Ewan’s late great-uncle, Elphinstone Urquhart, had served a lengthy term as DMLE Director. And somewhat amusingly, Elphinstone had also briefly been married to one Minerva McGonagall! Harry had not been aware of that little fact the year before (he had been quite preoccupied as a Third Year), but he resolved to strike up a conversation with Urquhart, if only to find out the boy’s thoughts on his erstwhile aunt.

Harry was distracted from his sudden interest in young Urquhart by an unexpected voice.

“Oi! Black! Welcome to the party!” exclaimed a surprisingly amiable Cormac McLaggen loudly enough to startle the Trio. Then, the Fifth Year Gryffindor paused as he drew near, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

“By the way, have we been formally introduced yet?” Cormac asked with genuine curiosity. “I know your brother—or whatever he is to you now—fairly well, but that’s mainly from us glaring at each other across the Common Room. But I don’t think we’ve interacted beyond you kicking my cousin Angus’s arse when you were a Second Year. Blimey, he was furious. Said you hit him with an Incontinence Hex!”

“Um … sorry?” Harry replied tentatively. Cormac barked out a somewhat abrasive laugh.

“Don’t worry about it! The gormless tit deserved it! He liked to use that hex on me when I was little!”

Then, he thrusted his hand out. “So anyway … Cormac McLaggen, Gryffindor Fifth Year.”

After a tiny hesitation in response to the older boy’s forwardness, Harry reached out and shook McLaggen’s hand. “Hadrian Remus Black Lord Wilkes, but I prefer Harry Black. Or just Harry to my friends.”

“Harry it is!” Cormac then turned to Harry’s associates and introduced himself to them as well with the same brash cheerfulness. Bemused, Blaise and Theo introduced themselves and returned the older boy’s handshake, which was firm but not intimidatingly so. Then, Cormac leaned in towards Theo.

“And before we go any farther, Theo. I’d just like to say I hope there are no hard feelings about last year. I said a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have back when you were an Evil Outcast or whatever. And I think I probably hexed you a few times in the halls, but nothing serious. What do you say? Water under the bridge?”

Theo blinked, not just due to Cormac’s clumsy pseudo-apology but also due to the complete sincerity with which it was offered.

“… Sure, Cormac. Water under the bridge.”

Meanwhile, Harry glanced over to Blaise as he was wondering why the boy had not said anything sarcastic yet only to do a double take upon seeing how the normally unflappable Blaise Zabini was oddly fixated on the Gryffindor. And also visibly flushed. Harry sighed internally. “Hormones. Is no one immune?”

Then, Harry looked over Cormac’s shoulder at the refreshments table and saw that Daphne had noticed them. The poor girl was visibly aghast at the fact that Cormac McLaggen had somehow become the person to welcome Lord Wilkes and his entourage to the CPS. He fought down the urge to snicker at her dismay.

“So anyway,” Cormac continued after taking a swig of punch (which might have been spiked, but Harry wasn’t sure). “I wanted to give you some late congratulations, Harry. I got to see your final round at the dueling competition in Paris, but my family had to leave early. You were bloody amazing!”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “Are you interested in dueling?”

Cormac shrugged. “I dunno about circuit dueling, but I thought I might want to be a Hit Wizard some day and that I might need to get better in a fight.” He paused thoughtfully. “Say, do you ever do any wand fencing?”

“Wand … fencing?” Harry asked in confusion, but it was Theo who answered .

“It’s a technique for using a wand like it’s a melee weapon. Lucius Malfoy was going to give me lessons at one point but then … stuff happened. It’s fallen out of fashion in Britain, but I think Beauxbatons teaches it as an athletic sport for kids who can’t make the Quidditch team.”

“Yeah, that’s the ticket!’ Cormac exclaimed excitedly. He quickly drained his punch and then glanced around the room for the nearest waste basket, which was about twenty feet away. He took aim for a second and tossed the cup into it.

“Yeesss!” he hissed (though not in Parseltongue) and pumped his fist as if he’d made some remarkable Quidditch goal. Then, he pulled out his wand and pointed it upwards.

“Basically, it’s a modified Stinging Hex, but instead of shooting out of the wand tip to strike someone at range, it forms a narrow tube that stings anyone you touch with it. Like this! GLADIUS MORSUS!”

There was a mild commotion from the nearby students as, with an audible whoosh, a three-foot-long column of pale blue light shot forth from McLaggen’s wand. Blaise’s eyes widened.

“There’s a spell to make a lightsaber, and I’m just now hearing about it?!?” he exclaimed.

“Hmm. Never heard it called that, but sure! I mean, it’s not a great weapon compared to what a regular wand can do. It can’t actually hurt anybody.”

To prove it, McLaggen slapped the “blade” against his palm only to spit out a loud “ouch” followed by an equally loud “Shit!” which was finally enough to get an angry Daphne Greengrass headed in their direction.

“Well, it can’t hurt worse than a regular Stinging Hex, anyway,” Cormac said with a laugh. “I’m trying to drum up interest in CPS for a wand fencing group. I reckon we could get Ole Flitwick to teach us. He used to be a dueling champion, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” Harry said, as if Flitwick hadn’t spent the previous year as one of the faculty advisors for the Hogwarts Dueling Club.

“Why just in CPS?” Theo asked innocently. “I’m sure there’s plenty of people in SPAM who’d like to whale on CPS members. And vice versa.”

Far from being offended, Cormac’s eyes lit up. “I like the way you think, Theo! Say, aren’t you in Potter’s Woozy Dough group? Maybe we could combine them!”

But before Theo could correct the Gryffindor’s mispronunciation of Wu Xi Do, they were interrupted by someone else.

“CORMAC!” said Daphne in what was not quite a shriek. She took a deep breath and started again. “Sorry to intrude, all of you, but Cormac dear, would you mind helping Cedric set up the chairs for tonight’s lecture?”

“Oh, sure thing, Daphs!” Cormac said easily as he dismissed his “wand-sword” with a flick of his wrist. Meanwhile, Daphne’s eye twitched slightly at being referred to as “Daphs.” But before Cormac had taken two steps, he turned back to Theo.

“Hey, now that we’re friends, you wanna get together after the meeting and talk more about fencing and dueling and Woozy Dough?”

“Uh … sure?” Theo answered while hiding his confusion about the state of his new “friendship.” Cormac grinned and gave him two thumbs up before he walked away to help Cedric, whistling as he went.

Daphne glared after him before composing herself and turning back to the Trio.

“My apologies to you all for that … whatever that was. And let me officially welcome you to the Cultural Preservation Society.”

“Thank you,” said Harry. “We’re glad we could come … Daphs?”

The girl’s eye twitched again. “Daphne is fine. Please ignore Cormac’s … exuberance. He’s a Gryffindor, so allowances must be made.”

“I’m sure,” Harry replied. “Especially for a Gryffindor who’s the nephew of the newly appointed Director of Magical Transportation.”

Daphne gave him a knowing look. “Just so. Come, let me introduce you to everyone.”

With that, the Greengrass Heiress took Harry by the arm and led him away, leaving Theo and Blaise following behind.

“So,” Theo said under his breath. “Does this mean you’ll be taking up Wu Xi Do with me?”

“Pfft! And why on earth would I do something as foolish as joining a martial arts class that meets at 8:00 am on Sunday mornings?”

“Perhaps because it looks like Cormac McLaggen is going to join it? And probably be shirtless a lot as well.”

Blaise glanced over in McLaggen’s direction. “Eh, he’s not that good-looking.”

Friday, September 5, 1994
7:00 p.m.
Organizational Meeting of the Innovator’s Club

“BLOODY HELL!” exclaimed Sue Li, as she examined the parchment in front of her.

“Language, Sue” chided Hermione as she unfolded her own parchment. “There’s no cause to resort to vulgarity just because BLOODY HELL!”

“Language, Hermione,” most of the group chided practically in unison even as several of them were just as astonished by their own parchments as the Gryffindor witch.

At present, the Innovator’s Club consisted of ten students representing all four Houses, and, except for the Weasleys, each of them was either a Muggleborn or a Halfblood who’d been raised in the Muggle world. And the various exclamations now being uttered were caused by the profit statements from Eye-Spy, Inc. which Harry had just passed out to his junior business partners—Hermione, Anthony, Sue, Ginny, George. (Fred was absent from this meeting.) While hardly a fortune, for underage students, it was a lot of money. The senior business partners—Sirius, Lucius Malfoy, and Malcolm Finch-Fletchley—would be getting their statements directly from Gringotts.

“And there’s more than that coming soon,” Harry announced. “I got official confirmation from my solicitor this morning. Ludo Bagman signed a contract for Eye-Spy coverage of the Triwizard Tournament! We’ll be issuing Gringotts bank drafts from that agreement to all of you who participated in Eye-Spy development last summer in accordance with our contracts on the first of the month. Just in time for the first Hogsmeade weekend, I should think.”

That revelation sent another wave of excitement through the group, and Jacob Harrison (a Third Year Ravenclaw who was at the top of his year) raised his hand.

“So, um, for those of us who weren’t on the ground floor of your business venture … how do we buy in?”

Beside Harrison, Colin Creevey nodded earnestly. While perhaps the least academically gifted of the Innovators, Creevey was one of the best in his year at Charms and (surprisingly) Potions, and he was following in Harry and Hermione’s footsteps by taking Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as his Year Three electives.

Harry smiled at the two Third Years. “You can buy in … by impressing us. Jacob, keep doing what you’re doing. Colin, get the rest of your core classes up to the level of your Charms grades. Do that, and we’ll get you both scholarships to the summer program at Blackstone as well as an employment contract with the possibility of an ownership interest in one of our companies.”

“One of?” Colin asked in surprise.

Harry nodded. “While we’re all working together under the umbrella of The Innovator’s Club, we each have our own interests and specialties. To keep things separated and also to keep the bookkeepers happy, we each have our own companies. Well, for whatever the term ‘companies’ means in the Wizarding World. Ask Justin Finch-Fletchley about it if you want a rant on how dumb Magical Britain is about corporate identities.”

“And believe me,” Justin spoke up. “It’s very dumb.”

“Anyway,” Harry continued. “Hermione and I are listed as the owners of Eye-Spy, but everyone helped out with that last summer and so we agreed to share some of the profits from that. Fred and George own Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes…”

“Or 3-Dub, to our friends,” George interjected.

“Ahem, 3-Dub, which is the research and development wing of what will eventually be their joke shop. And finally, Anthony and Sue’s projects fall under The Goldstein Group, at least until Sue’s had enough and browbeats Anthony into changing the name.”

Everyone laughed as Harry turned towards the two Ravenclaws. “So, what’s the big project for TGG right now, or are you not abbreviating your company like the Twins?”

“How about we compromise and just call it The Group?” said Sue acerbically.

“We’ll talk later,” replied Anthony before he turned towards Jacob Harrison. “And I’m sure we can find a place for a clever young Ravenclaw and take him under our eagle wings.”

Jacob favored Anthony with a disdainful expression. “I’m sorry. Is that the sound of a Fourth Year Ravenclaw being condescending that I hear?”

Anthony flushed slightly, but Sue just laughed and then explained when the others looked at them funny.

“There are ten Claws in our year, but only three are ranked in the top ten school-wide and no one higher than third: Padma Patil, who after three years still can’t seem to catch up to Harry and Hermione. Ant and I are presently in fifth and seventh place, respectively, which, in the eyes of our Housemates, makes our year one of the dumbest Ravenclaw classes in Hogwarts history. But anyway, to answer your actual question, Ant and I are blatantly ripping off those communication parchments you and Hermione made back in your First Year. We’re trying to figure out how to network several of them to allow for group communications and also allow for a longer range.”

“Oh, and don’t forget about the Aqua-Brooms,” Anthony added drily. “Can’t forget them, can we?”

“… Aqua-Brooms?” Hermione asked.

“We’re working to perfect Harry’s idea for a submersible broom,” Anthony explained.

Even Harry, who came up with the idea, seemed dubious. “Aqua-Brooms, huh? Do you think there’s really a commercial value in that?”

Sue sniffed condescendingly. “Not everything has to be about money, Black. Having studied your notes and the magic involved, I want to build a functioning submersible broom as an academic exercise.”

“And also because you want to find Atlantis,” Anthony said sarcastically.

“Shut. Up.” The Asian witch snapped back.

But before any discussion of legendary Atlantis could commence, the entire group was startled when the door violently flew open, and Blaise Zabini burst into the classroom with a wild look in his eyes.

“I DEMAND THAT YOU PEOPLE MAKE ME A LIGHT SABER!” he practically bellowed.

He was met with complete silence, as the members of the Innovator’s Club stared at the boy in openmouthed astonishment. Blaise coughed into his hand, and he looked around the room before speaking again.

“That is all.”

With that, Blaise stepped back out of the room, pulling the door shut again behind him.

The Innovators looked at one another in confusion. Finally, Hermione sighed loudly, almost resignedly.

“Is there anyone here that would like to add ‘make Blaise Zabini a light saber’ to their to-do list?”

Jacob laughed. “Honestly? I’ve had ‘build a light saber’ on my to-do list since I first got my Hogwarts letter!”

As George Weasley was exiting the Innovator’s Club meeting, he was surprised to see his brother Fred waiting for him down the hall. George frowned. Fred had been forced to skip the organizational meeting due to a detention with Snape. Probably a bad one judging by Fred’s expression. The older Weasley Twin seemed visibly upset as he led George into an empty classroom and closed the door behind them.

“Right,” George began. “What did the Dungeon Bat do that has you so twitchy and pale?”

Fred said nothing. He just held out a handful of parchments out for his brother to take. George did so and slowly shuffled through the papers. His eyes widened in surprise.

“These are formulas for our joke items! You mean you actually gave in and handed everything over to Snape?!?”

Then, he looked closer and noticed that the pages were also covered in notes and markings drawn in vivid red ink.

“And he, what, graded you on them?!?”

Fred just shook his head while he snatched the pages back and flipped through them.

“Forget about the grading, brother mine. Just look at this!”

George studied the page in his hand and his eyes widened. “This is our Canary Cream formula!”

“Yeah, but check the note at the bottom!”

The boy read the note his twin was pointing towards. Then, he grew pale, as pale as Fred was, as Snape’s notation became clear.

“Foxglove and Essence of Toad in this combination will trigger allergic reactions in approximately 10% of all wizards and witches. In about 2%, the reaction will be fatal. In the future, I recommend you compare all of your exotic and untested concoctions against the Allergen Reaction Table found on page 75 of Jigger’s Guide to Magical Poisons if you do not wish to see your activities lead to a lengthy stay in Azkaban.”

George gulped. “Azkaban?”

Fred shook his head. “Forget Azkaban. I gave one of those cremes to young Colin last year! He spent three hours in the infirmary and that was a mild case!”

“You mean he was in that 10%?”

“Yeah, but it could have been so much worse. He had a one in fifty chance of dying! From one of our little pranks!”

The two stared at one another in silence for a moment.

“I reckon,” George finally said, “that we need to take a step back and review our safety procedures some more. By which I mean, come up with some safety procedures, right?”

Fred nodded. “And before we do anything else, I think we need to invest in a copy of Jigger’s Guide to Magical Poisons.”

Ron Weasley’s Room
Saturday Night
Just before curfew

Ron blinked his eyes and then tried for the fourth time to read his Charms assignment for Monday before finally giving it up for a lost cause. Pulling his wand out, he tapped it against the textbook and cast the spell he’d been taught to change the book’s typeface. Then, he did it again and a third time before finally the letters resolved themselves into something he could read easily. Having temporarily overcome the effects of Mordenkainen’s Disjunction, he resumed his studies only to be distracted by a knock on his door. The boy frowned in annoyance at the interruption before rising to open the door.

It was Jim Potter.

“Can I come in?” the Boy Who Lived asked timidly. After a moment of hesitation, Ron nodded and stepped aside.

“So, what can I do for you, Jim?” Ron asked as he sat back down at his desk. Jim looked around for a second before sitting on the bed.

“Well, I have two things for you. One … is an apology. Ron, I hate the fact that we haven’t been talking all this time. So, I’ve decided that … well, you win.” Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded parchment, which he held out to the other boy.

“Here’s the other thing I have for you. It’s my entry form for the Triwizard Tournament. I still think I can get in and have a decent chance if I did. But … I miss my best mate. Without that, there’s no way I can enter the tournament without permission from my parents, which they won’t give. I want you to be the one to destroy it so you know it’s gone. I don’t want there to be any doubt.”

Ron’s eyes widened in surprise. He took the parchment and unfolded it.

I hereby offer myself as a candidate to represent
Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament.
Name:   Jim Potter
Parent’s Name:  James Potter

Ron’s face flushed. “Jim … I … don’t know what to say. I’ve been really worried about this ever since we last talked.”

“I know, Ron. I shouldn’t have let this come between us. Go on then.”

Ron nodded and tore the parchment in two. Jim chuckled.

“Oh come on. You can be more thorough than that. I could still piece that back together with a Reparo, after all.”

“I trust you, Jim,” the other boy said earnestly.

“I’m glad, Ron. But I don’t want there to be any doubts.”

Ron smiled. Then, he placed the torn parchment fragments into a metal trash can and hit it with an Incendio. Jim watched the paper intently as it burned. A few seconds later, Ron followed up with an Aguamenti to douse the flames.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

“Only if you are,” Jim replied before rising from the bed. “With that out of the way, I need to get to bed. I’ve got Wu Xi Do in the morning at 8:00 a.m. And now that this is behind us, I hope you’ll come. I wasn’t sure if you would, even though you’re probably doing better than me at it right now.”

Ron looked away bashfully. “I seriously doubt that. But yeah, I’ll be there.”

Jim nodded and headed for the door only to stop with his hand on the knob. He looked pensive suddenly.

“Ron? I won’t be entering my name. But … I was serious about what I said last time we talked. It’s still entirely possible that I’ll somehow get pulled into the Tournament anyway. Some stupid Boy Who Lived thing or something like that.”

“And if that happens, I’ll be there right by your side. What else are best mates for?”

Jim grinned. “Glad to hear it. See you in the morning.”

The boy departed, and Ron sat back down at his desk, now in a much better mood and with a somewhat dopey smile on his face.

Just a few moments later, Jim entered his own room and locked the door behind him. He was not smiling. The boy moved over to his bed and lifted the mattress a few inches with one hand. Hidden between the mattress and the springs was a folded parchment which he retrieved and looked over.

It was his Tournament entry form signed by his father. The original one, as the copy Ron Weasley had just incinerated was nothing but a product of the Gemino Charm. Jim stared at the parchment impassively, even as his stomach churned from the fear that Ron would never forgive him if and when the truth came out. Part of him wanted to destroy the original rather than lie to his closest friend, but somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to do so.

“I need this,” he whispered softly before putting the entry form back in its hiding place and then laying down on the bed without even bothering to undress. For a long time, he just stared up at the ceiling in silence.

Later that night
The Entrance to the Chamber of Secrets

Harry stared up at the huge vault door with trepidation. With him were Theo, Blaise, Amy, and Ginny. Originally, it was just going to be Theo and Blaise, but after considering the matter, Harry decided that he couldn’t completely exclude the possibility that his absurd quest—to seek out the latest version of Slytherin’s Basilisk and milk it of venom!—might go horribly, horribly wrong, and of all of them, Ginny had the best Bat-Bogey Hex. When he explained that to Blaise and Theo, they both looked at him as if he’d gone mad, but then he explained that, astonishingly, the Bat Bogey Hex was one of the few curses capable of deterring a Basilisk, at least long enough for them to hopefully escape. And naturally, once Ginny had an invitation to return to the Chamber of Secrets, Amy refused to miss out on it a second time.

Happily, there would be no terrifying slide from Myrtle’s bathroom to the Chamber this time, which was a good thing since Harry assumed that Dumbledore had placed wards on the sink entrance Jim had opened at the climax of their second year. Instead, after some cajoling, the  Hydra Throne informed Harry about a different entrance complete with an elevator platform that was only accessible to the Prince of Slytherin. And so it was that just after curfew, the five Slytherins descended into the bowels of Hogwarts in search of one of the deadliest creatures on earth. Soon enough, the party reached the final entryway.

“Okay, we’re here,” said Harry. “Time to try out that spell I taught you.”

Harry’s four companions all nodded and cast the spell. “LINGUA SERPENSIS” they all said practically in unison, but there was no obvious effect.

“Was something supposed to happen?” Amy asked.

“I dunno,” Harry replied. “Let’s see.”

He took a step towards the door and hissed at it. “Open.” In response, the vault door unlocked itself and slowly moved aside. Harry turned back towards his friends.

“So, you guys hear that?” he asked.

“I just heard you say Open,” Blaise answered.

“No,” Harry corrected. “You heard me hiss Open.”

All four looked at him with surprise.

“You mean to say it’s that easy to learn Parseltongue?” Ginny asked incredulously. “Just a single spell?”

“Well, learn is overstating it a bit,” Harry said as he led the group forward into the Chamber. “For the next half hour or so, you’ll have limited access to Parseltongue. You can communicate with other Parselmouths like me and Jim, and you’ll be able to understand snakes that are naturally intelligent. Which is to say all the snakes found in portraits at Hogwarts, all of which are already smart enough to understand English. Oh, and possibly my Patronus since it’s a snake that’s also a manifestation of my will. We’ll have to check that later. Real-live magical snakes are 50-50. Runespores probably. Ashwinders maybe. Boomslangs probably not. Nonmagical snakes definitely not.”

“Uh-huh,” Theo said. “And Basilisks?”

“Good question,” Harry said cheerfully. “We’re hopefully about to find out without dying horribly in the process.”

Blaise scoffed at that. “Dammit, Harry! You’re letting your Inner Gryffindor have its way again!”

Zabini and the other three looked to one another nervously and then followed Harry further into the Chamber. Moments later, they stood before the massive statue of their House Founder. Harry cleared his throat and then called out to the statue.

“Ssspeak to me, Ssslytherin, Greatessst of the Hogwartsss Four!”

“That’s the password?” Amy exclaimed with a laugh. Harry just shrugged.

“There’s a story behind it that’s actually somewhat amusing, but we’re on the clock.”

As Harry spoke, the statue’s mouth opened wide. All five Slytherins tensed and gripped their wands tightly, but nothing issued forth to attack them. Cautiously, Harry poked his head into the interior chamber before leading the others inside. The Hydra Throne had coached him on how to approach the Basilisk (assuming a new one had hatched already), but Harry was still a bit nervous, mainly because wherever Voldemort was now, he was still connected to the Ravenclaw Diadem, which gave him control over Slytherin’s Monster. Did it grant direct control only when Voldemort (or one of his Horcruxes) was present? Or did it impose an actual loyalty onto the King of Serpents regardless of distance? That was the question of the hour.  

The interior chamber was unchanged from Harry’s last visit during the harrowing climax to his Second Year. It was a circular room with a domed ceiling that was about twenty feet at its highest point. Directly below that was an opening in the floor just a few feet across. Harry frowned. He was fairly certain he’d closed that the last time he’d been here. He crept closer. There was a recessed area below him, and inside, he saw eggshells where the Basilisk egg previously sat.

“Well, at least we know it’s hatched,” said Theo. “But where is it?”

Before Harry could answer, a powerful hiss echoed through the chamber.

“WHO DARESSS INTRUDE ON THE CHAMBER OF SSSECRETSSS?!”

Harry gulped but then steeled himself. “I do!” he hissed. “I am Harry Black, the Prince of Ssslytherin! This isss my inner circle! We are here on the Prince’sss businessss!”

There was a low rumbling sound that Harry thought was a sign of the Basilisk’s displeasure.

“The lassst time a Prince of Sssslytherin came, he enssslaved my predecesssor and causssed her to attack ssstudentsss and teacherss alike. Your ssstatusss as Prince meansss little to me. Without the blessings of Salazar or Rowena, your power to ssspeak the Founder’sss Sssacred Tongue meansss even lessss.”

Harry’s friends looked around nervously, as there was no sign of where the voice originated from. Harry persevered.

“That isss why we are here, Great Basssilisssk. The lassst Prince to come here was Tom Riddle, who later went mad and became the Dark Lord Voldemort. It isss him we ssseek your aid againssst.”

“And what do you asssk of me, Little Prince?”

Harry cleared his throat.  “Your venom.”

There was another angry rumble. “You ssseek the deadliessst venom on Earth and sssay that it is for a noble purpossse?”

“It isss! Riddle made powerful objectsss with the Darkessst magic to contain partsss of  his sssoul! He cannot be defeated while they exissst, and we think only your venom can dessstroy them!”

There was a pause followed by a low, dangerous hiss. “Horcruxesss.”

“You know about horcruxes?” Blaise asked in surprise. The others were startled to hear him speak in English; apparently their artificial Parselmouth did not kick in automatically.

“I know many thingssss, Blaissse Zabini,” the serpent’s voice echoed. All five children wondered nervously just how the Basilisk knew Blaise’s name … and what else it might know about them. “I remember the falsssse Riddle who wasss here the night my predecesssor died. And I know that Riddle usssed the Ravenclaw Diadem to exercissse control over my prior ssself.”

“How do you know all that about Tom Riddle?” Theo said. “For that matter, how do you know about horcruxes? Or us?”

“I know many sssecrets passed down from the daysss of the Founder. As for Riddle, though enssslaved by the Diadem and Riddle’s Parssseltongue, my predecesssor could yet obssserve what wasss said here thossse many monthsss ago. And that knowledge wasss passed to me. Jussst as you are now a Sssecret Keeper to the Dark Lord’s true name, Princeling, ssso am I.”

That was followed by a low rumbling “ki-ki-ki.” It was the first time any of Harry’s companions had ever heard a snake laugh.

“How and what I know about each of you ssshall remain my sssecret for now.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Interesting. Ssso, will you help usss?”

There was a hesitation before the Basilisk replied. “Yesss. I ssshall give you a sssmall quantity of my venom. But you mussst ssswear only to use it to dessstroy horcruxesss!”

Harry nodded and pulled out his wand before swearing an oath. It wasn’t an Unbreakable Vow, but it would mark him as an oathbreaker if he used the venom for purposes other than destroying a horcrux. The others followed his lead. A few seconds later, there was a soft grinding sound as a small opening in one of the walls slid aside, and the Basilisk slithered into the room. The five Slytherins stared at it in amazement.

“That’s … it?” Ginny asked dubiously, and the others shared her reaction. For Slytherin’s Basilisk, the King of Serpents, was only about three feet long. It was a brilliant green and had crimson feathers crowning its head, a feature that marked it as a male Basilisk. But not even that plumage could overcome the let-down of seeing that the legendary monster was not much bigger than a common garden snake.

The Basilisk stopped and lifted its head as if to glare at them.

“Well?” the serpent hissed with obvious annoyance. “Go ahead. Sssay it.”

“You’re, um, a little sssmaller than we were exxxpecting,” Amy finally hissed.

The Basilisk snorted. “Thisss body broke free from its shell lesss than four monthsss ago, hatchling. What isss your excussse for being so sssmall?”

“Hey!” Amy said, but the snake ignored her.

“And besssidesss, you ssshould be grateful. After all, each of you is rather ssstupidly looking right into my eyesss. Were I older and grown into my full majesssty, my gaze would have petrified you all.”

Harry nodded. The Hydra had already advised him that the Basilisk probably wasn’t up to petrifications at this point in its life cycle, but he chose not to share that with the serpent.

“Ssso,” he said instead. “It takes time for you to develop all of your powersss. Will your venom be asss powerful asss Basilisssk venom should be?”

Despite its small size, the Basilisk looked up at Harry quite imperiously. “It will take many more monthsss if not yearsss to develop my full potential, but I am ssstill a Basssilisssk. From the inssstant of my hatching, my venom was asss deadly asss that of any of my kind.”

“That isss good to know … Great Basssilisssk,” Harry hissed. “Ssso … what isss your name?”

The serpent looked intently towards Harry, and the boy got the odd but distinct feeling that the Basilisk was annoyed with him for some reason, if not outright angry at him.

“… Basssil,” the creature finally said.

The five Slytherins stared at Slytherin’s Monster in perplexed astonishment.

“Basil … the Basilisk?” Harry said uncertainly (and in English, for he was too surprised to even hiss). Behind him, both Blaise and Amy struggled to keep from snickering. Theo and Ginny were just as amused but also canny enough to know better than to laugh at a Basilisk, even one as tiny as this.

The serpent responded with a hiss of consternation.

“Asss you are a hatchling and thusss obviousssly ignorant of the sssubtler facetsss of the Founder’sss Sssacred Tongue, I ssshall explain. When a ssserpent is addressssed by a Parssselmouth for the very firssst time, that ssserpent’sss name is impresssed upon it by the inherent magic of Parssseltongue but filtered through the nature of the Parssselmouth in quessstion. It isss thereafter fixed and will not change during the ssserpent’sss lifetime, not even if the one who named it passssesss away. My predecesssorsss were all named by Great Sssalazar himssself and all carried namesss of dissstinction: Typhon, Medusa, Apophis, Manassa, Ophion, Adalonda. Sssadly, the firssst Parssselmouth to asssk my name wasss an impudent hatchling who imaginesss himssself to be … witty. And so, thanksss to you, Princeling, I ssshall, for the ressst of my daysss, be known asss … Basssil the Basssilissk!”

Harry winced at the intense disdain that Basil the Basilisk somehow imbued in an angry hiss. “Um … sorry?” Then, he reached into a pocket and fished out a glass vial. “So anyway … the venom?”

“Well, that was … interesting,” Harry said to the others after the five Slytherins had returned to the Prince’s Lair.

And it certainly had been an interesting excursion. After carefully milking the tiny Basilisk of its deadly venom, they had talked for a brief while with Basil, who, despite his earlier surliness, turned out to be an engaging and somewhat droll conversationalist, albeit something of a sarcastic curmudgeon despite his youth. Indeed, he reminded Harry in many ways of Professor Snape. The young Basilisk estimated that it would be another year or two before it could petrify with its gaze, and a few decades or even centuries before it reached the mammoth size of the previous Basilisk, Adalonda, who had been nearly a thousand years old when Jim Potter stabbed her to death back in 1993.

Basil was also a potential treasure-trove of information about both Salazar Slytherin and the other Founders as well as Tom Marvolo Riddle. Unfortunately, Riddle had commanded Adalonda never to reveal any of those secrets, and that command carried over into the Basilisk’s rebirth as Basil. The Basilisk speculated that if the Ravenclaw Diadem could be recovered and cleansed of Riddle’s Horcrux somehow, he might be free to answer Harry’s many questions about ancient Hogwarts history. Or, alternatively, he might be free to do so if the Diadem were destroyed, but most likely only after Voldemort himself was permanently destroyed as well, a detail that gave Harry yet another reason to see the Dark Lord dispatched as quickly as possible.

After bidding his friends good night, Harry tapped the Lair’s bookcase with his wand, and several shelves slid aside to reveal a hidden safe. It had no visible keyhole or tumbler but rather a lock consisting of several interlocking metal snakes that looked quite like the entryway to the Chamber of Secrets. Harry put his hand over the door and hissed a quote from Marcus Aurelius that Salazar Slytherin’s memoirs had cited approvingly:

“A man'sss worth isss no greater than hisss ambitionsss.”

The safe door clicked open, and Harry placed the magically reinforced vial of Basilisk venom inside, next to the Black Wand and the Potter Invisibility Cloak, before locking it up again. Then, he let out a chuckle over the events of the evening.

“Basil the Basilisk,” he said to no one. “Merlin, what a strange life I lead.”

The First Official Meeting of the Wu Xi Do Club
(Sunday Morning)

“Are you nuts?!?” Padma snapped angrily at Jim. “I am nowhere near skilled enough to teach Wu Xi Do to other people!”

“Why not?” Jim asked, trying to reassure the young Ravenclaw. “You were a great teacher to me and Ron when we just got started.”

“That was different! It was just two of you to start with, I really only taught you relaxation katas, and for most of our training we were under Brother Chandra’s supervision! And now …!”

With that Padma Patil gestured angrily towards the other people who’d shown up on the Quidditch pitch for what had apparently blossomed into an actual school club. There were nearly twenty students in all, a mixture of all four houses. Oh, and one student in particular she knew quite well.

“If you don’t feel like your up to teaching the class, Padma,” said Parvati with a smug expression, “I’d be happy to take over. I mean, I’ve been taking lessons for as long as you, even if I slacked off after starting Hogwarts. Plus, you only studied Air and Water Styles, while I practiced all four.”

“Please,” Padma said coolly. “You studied all four styles, but you’re only at level 7 in Fire Style and not even that high in the other three. That doesn’t make you broadly experienced, it just makes you a dilettante.”

“You take that back!” yelled Lavender Brown, who was incensed at the perceived insult to her best friend.

“Dilettante is not an insult, Lavender,” Padma said in a weary voice. “It just means she doesn’t take it seriously. Which she hasn’t based on my personal observations over the last five years of our lives.”

“Well, maybe I’ve decided to start taking it seriously,” her twin said defiantly.

“Hey!” Ginny called out. “Are we actually going to do anything? Or just watch ‘twin drama’? Because if I wanted to see that, I could just go find Fred and George and ask them which one of them was smarter.”

Padma gave out a longsuffering sigh. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Then, she cleared her throat and called out to the group.

“Okay, everyone, welcome to … the Wu Xi Do Club, I guess. For those of you who don’t know what that is … well, I honestly have no idea why you’re even here. But to greatly simplify, Wu Xi Do is an Eastern magical practice that involves using martial arts techniques as a way to channel magic through the body. It has a great many uses, from self-defense to stress relief to improving memory, brain power, and general magical fitness. Unfortunately, I should warn you all that none of us are very far above the beginner level of Wu Xi Do, so all I can really teach you are the basics. I’d been hoping that our teacher from last year, Brother Chandra, who you all know as Professor Lupin, would return.”

She paused suddenly and turned to Jim. “By the way, where is Lupin? He said at the end of last term he’d be coming back to teach again.”

Jim coughed with some embarrassment. “He’s out of the country … doing stuff.”

Padma looked at him blankly. “Gryffindors,” she muttered before turning back to the group.

“Anyway, before I start, I’d like to know what you all know about Wu Xi Do, if anything, and also what you hope to get out of this experience.” She frowned. “And also, I suppose, who all of you are because there’s a few here I’ve never met.”

She turned towards Theo, who grimaced at going first. “I think you know me already, since we studied together under Mr. Lupin all last year throughout his various name changes. I got a lot out of it and want to learn more.”

“Susan Bones, Hufflepuff. I want to be an Auror someday like my Auntie. I thought learning a self defense style might be helpful. I don’t really know much about it.”

“Marietta Edgecome” said the somewhat haughty Ravenclaw. “Cho Chang nagged me into it. Said I needed to get out more.”

Cho Chang gave a sour look to Marietta before speaking up. “I was born in Britain, but my family emigrated from Magical China, and I grew up with stories about Shamballa. I wanted to connect with my ancestry.”

“Hello, all! Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff prefect and moral support for Cho. Also, I’m trying out for the Triwizard Tournament, and I reckon I’ll need every advantage I can get.”

Cormac McLaggen stood with his arm resting on Theo’s shoulder as if they were the best of friends. “I talked a bit about it with my mate Theo at the CPS meeting, and it sounded like fun. I was planning on trying out for Keeper this year, but there’s no Quidditch on account of the Triwizard business, so I suddenly have more free time than I’d expected.”

Amy Wilkes stared at Theo’s new “friend” before shaking her head disdainfully. “Amy Wilkes, Slytherin. And I had people try to kidnap me twice last year, so I want to be able to defend myself.”

 “It’s MAGICAL KUNG FU!” Colin Creevey exclaimed while practically bouncing up and down. “Why WOULDN’T I want to study it?!?” The Gryffindor’s exuberance was met with blank stares from the assembled Purebloods who knew even less about kung fu than about Wu Xi Do.

“Hi, I’m Ginny, the Slytherin Weasley. My best friend Amy is joining, and it’s also an excuse to hang out with Ron who I never get to see anymore.” In response, Ron smiled at her and gave a thumbs up.

Next came Luna Lovegood who looked around the group with her usual dreamy expression. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said casually. “Blame it on the nargles, I guess.”

The Gryffindors who knew Luna best took that remark in stride, but everyone else was duly baffled by her remark. After a brief pause, the remaining ten or so attendees introduced themselves.

“Okay then,” said Padma. “Now that we all know each other, let’s …”

“You kids have a faculty adviser for this do-it-yourself dojo?” asked an unexpected voice that caused several students to start in surprise. It was Alastor Moody, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“Professor Moody!” exclaimed Jim. “How did you sneak up on us like that?!?”

“For an old fat guy with a wooden leg, I am surprisingly stealthy. Also, CONSTANT VIGILANCE! And now that that’s out of the way, I repeat my question.”

Padma looked over to Jim in annoyance. The Boy Who Lived swallowed.

“We, uh, didn’t know we needed a faculty adviser, sir.”

“Heh! Probably because you don’t. It’s not a requirement for student clubs. But in this case, you’ve got one anyway. Me!”

There was a brief murmuring among the assembled students at that announcement.

“Is … there a reason you’ve volunteered to become our … faculty advisor, Professor?” asked Padma.

Moody shrugged while idly conjuring a chair to sit on from a vantage point that allowed him to see everyone.

“I’ve spent decades learning every way there was to fight against dark wizards. So, imagine my surprise when I found out last year that there was an entire magical combat style I’d never heard of before! I didn’t have a chance to explore it before now, so I’m taking this opportunity to abuse my position and horn in on your club. Just as an observer, of course. I rather doubt I’ve got the physical dexterity nowadays for all that running and jumping and karate-chopping. Though if I’m impressed with what I see, I might be talking with Amelia Bones at some point about getting some Wu Xi Do instructors in from the Far East to add it to the Auror Academy curriculum.”

The scarred wizard gave one of his hideous smiles to Padma. “No pressure or anything, Miss Patil.”

The Ravenclaw quailed slightly under the intimidating man’s gaze. But then her resolve stiffened, and she turned back to the others.

“Right then. Let’s get to it. I’ll start with an introductory lecture, including a discussion of what kinds of clothes you’ll need for this club since classroom attire won’t cut it, followed by an overview of what Wu Xi Do is and what you can do with it. So, for right now, everybody take a seat.”

And with that, the students all sat down on the grass of the Quidditch pitch. Luna moved to the back of the group and off a bit to one side before sitting down.

It was probably just a coincidence that her new position allowed her to watch Padma while also maintaining an unobstructed view of Mad Eye Moody.

Next: The Dark Lord McAvity gets his hearing. The visiting schools arrive. And an unexpected adversary finally pulls the trigger.

AN1 (10/16/24). This chapter has been updated to correct a minor plot whole about how the Fake Parselmagic spell works.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 7 September 1994
4:00 p.m

At the sound of a soft knock, Gregory Goyle Jr. looked up from the owl post he'd received earlier from his parents and rose to open the door. Waiting in the hallway were Amy and Harry. Nervously, Greg poked his head out of the door and looked both ways to make sure no one was around to see his visitors. Given their prior history, he might be able to get away with his former adoptive sister, Amy Wilkes, coming to visit. But Harry Black? Not a chance. Quickly, he ushered the two inside, and Amy gave him a hug, which he returned gratefully.

"Hello, Greg," Harry said. "You wanted to speak with me?"

In fact, the boy had indicated nothing of the sort, at least not directly. Harry noticed that Greg had received an owl post at lunch, and after reading the letter, he gave Harry an anguished look that Harry intuited as a cry for help. He just hoped that none of the Slytherins around him—mainly Cassius Warrington's cabal of "Death Munchers"—had picked up on it.

"Yeah," the larger boy stammered. "I got a letter from my mother and father. It …" He paused and shook his head before handing over the letter. "I should probably warn you. The words Mudblood and blood traitor filth get used a lot."

Harry nodded and reviewed the letter. It was from Gregory Goyle, Sr., a marked Death Eater who escaped Azkaban through the machinations of Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy had once described the elder Goyle as "a feral hog that somehow learned to dress itself and perform magic." The letter advised Greg, through the extensive use of blood purist slurs and general profanity, that Greg was no longer to take tutoring from Hermione Granger. Moreover, he was somehow expected to keep his grades up despite the loss of the extra tutoring that had thus far kept him from being held back a year if not flunking out. He was also ordered not to associate with Harry Black "except when directed to do so by Cassius Warrington," an instruction that caused Harry to crook an eyebrow.

"House Goyle is allying with House Warrington?" he asked.

"I think so. House Nott paid our Wizengamot dues for this year, but I think Father sees the Warringtons as a way to get in with House Selwyn."

"Hmm," Harry murmured. Idly, he wondered whether the elder Goyle knew that Tiberius Nott was dead and Narcissa was acting as Regent through the fiction that he was just ill and bedridden. Then, he focused an intense gaze on Greg, who swallowed nervously without understanding why.

"How do you wish to proceed, Greg? I protected Amy as I promised I would, but I would have done that even if you hadn't agreed to spy for me. If you feel it might put you in danger to keep doing so, I won't mind if you stop and break ties with me."

"Well, I would!" Amy said hotly. "No offense, Greg, but Uncle Gregory and Aunt Agnes are beastly people. Harry, you helped me get away from the Goyles and Lord Nott! You've got to do something to help Greg too!"

Greg smiled and put his arm around Amy. "Shh. It's okay, Amy. And you know the Goyles aren't all bad. Just, you know, the ones I'm stuck with."

"Oh?" Harry asked, suddenly curious. "I'm sorry but I don't know much about your family. I'd assumed it was just you and your parents."

"Oh no! I've got loads of cousins, but they're from the lines that didn't stay Pureblood. Over a hundred years ago, there were three Goyle brothers. The eldest married a Pureblood, the middle married a Muggleborn, and the youngest snapped his own wand and went Muggle. I don't know any details about that, but that's why the Goyle's aren't in the Sacred 28."

"I've met a few of them," Amy told Harry. "Well, not the ones that went Muggle, of course. But Uncle Gregory is required to provide a stipend for any Halfblood Goyles because of the house charter. Only Purebloods can inherit the Lordship, though."

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Are you an only child, Greg?"

"I am now," Greg answered. "I had two older brothers, but they both died in the war before I was even born. Honestly, that's why I was born, I reckon. Father lost his heir and his spare, so he and Mother had me when they were nearly 40. Had to take fertility potions to conceive that late."

He chuckled. "Father says that's probably why I'm slow-witted."

"Greg!" Amy admonished.

"It's okay. I know I'm not smart. But … I think Hermione helped me. I'm gonna miss that."

"Greg," said Harry. "I'm pretty sure I could arrange for you to study with Hermione, or someone else, without Warrington and that lot knowing. Do you want me to try?"

The boy swallowed nervously. "I … I don't know. I think Vince is watching me for the Warringtons. Or maybe just for my mother and father. The Goyles and Crabbes have always been close."

"You think Vincent might actually be spying on you?" Amy said aghast. "I thought he was your friend."

Greg shrugged. "We grew up together, and our parents basically told us to become friends. Vince does what he's told and I, well, never had the nerve to say no."

"So, you and Crabbe aren't really that close?" Harry asked. Goyle shook his head.

"I remember growing up," Amy said slowly. "Whenever Vincent and Drusilla came over, you made me play with her but didn't want me around when you played with him. Why was that?"

Greg licked his lips nervously at the question. "I just didn't want you around him, okay? I worried about you."

Harry folded his arms. "Greg, do you mean to say you thought Crabbe might try to hurt Amy?"

The larger boy opened and closed his mouth a few times as if trying to decide how to answer the question.

"Vince … likes to hurt things. Small animals, I mean. One time, I went to play at his house, and he had this rabbit …" Greg shuddered and his voice trailed off at the memory. "He hides it fairly well. But I think at some point, he might move up to people. The other day, he got really excited about Moody's lecture on the Unforgiveables. And he told me he really wanted to learn the Cruciatus someday."

Amy looked horrified, but Harry merely nodded as if filing the data away for future consideration.

"Let me think about this, Greg. I'll figure something out."

Moments later, he and Amy were walking down the corridor away from Goyle's room.

"You're going to help him, right?" Amy asked quietly.

Harry snorted. "Of course. You should have realized by now that I'm unable to resist a wounded stray."

The McAvity Hearing
Monday, 8 September 1994

Despite both the personalities involved and the contentious nature of the subject matter, the Ministry's interview of Alexander McAvity went surprisingly well. The notorious Australian wizard answered all of Amelia Bones' questions concisely but forthrightly. And in any case, by the time of the hearing, the Aurors who had investigated the World Cup attack had issued their report and concluded that the terrorists involved were likely neither Death Eaters nor Australian insurrectionists, but some third party.

"A third party, eh?" McAvity replied amiably. "And who does the Ministry want to pin all this on if not myself?"

"Alexander," Dumbledore chided.

"It's a fair question, Albus," said Amelia. "As it happens, the Death Eater traitors—Peter Pettigrew and Augustus Rookwood—are still at large. Pettigrew apparently has some preternatural ability to influence werewolves, who were part of the assault. Rookwood is a master at occult brainwashing techniques, and at least some of the attackers appear to have been actual Muggles compelled to attack the tournament."

McAvity crooked his head. "You just said that the terrorists were neither Australians nor Death Eaters, but you also think the masterminds were Death Eaters. How does that work?"

"We do not exclude the possibility that the few remaining Death Eaters at large played a role in the attack. But the attackers themselves were not Death Eaters. The actual Death Eater movement was based on blood purism, and You-Know-Who would never have countenanced both Muggles and werewolves being allowed to wear Death Eater robes. And certainly not allowed to combine Death Eater robes with Muggle trainers while using Muggle guns."

"Hmm, seems a bit thin to me," McAvity replied. "What makes you so sure that some fourteen years after Lord Thingy's unlamented demise, his remaining followers haven't become more openminded about employing werewolves and even Muggles?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, McAvity!" snapped Barty Crouch. "Are you trying to sink the deal that will allow you and your people to finally return home? We are taking the position that two former Death Eaters were behind the attack and that we will continue to pursue them and bring them to justice, but the incident was in no way the fault of the Australian visitors or of you in particular. However, if you want to press the issue, our fallback position is to start trying every Australian caught at the scene, including you, before the Wizengamot. Do you want that?"

The other man rolled his eyes. "Of course not, Director Crouch. My apologies for not acknowledging the … political implications with which you must deal. I am grateful for your government allowing me and my people to return home at last."

"Well, your people at least," said Dumbledore. "As it happens, should you wish to stay a bit longer, you are certainly free to do so." Then, he looked pointedly towards the Chief Auror and Director Crouch. "Isn't that right, Amelia?"

Amelia Bones took a deep breath before producing a parchment which she handed over to McAvity. "It is. Now that you are exonerated from any involvement in the Quidditch World Cup attacks, I am at liberty to present you with this."

McAvity took the paper and scanned it. His eyes widened.

"General Amnesty? What?!"

"The statute of limitations on the offenses of which you were accused ran out many years ago," said Amelia. "But the Wizengamot took the position that, in light of your movement's anti-government activities, your choice to flee the country tolled the statute until such time as you returned."

"But," added Dumbledore, "the Ministerial Decree of November 1981 granted a general amnesty to, and I quote, 'all persons accused or suspected of insurrection against the government who have not been convicted and sentenced on or before 30 November, 1981, except in cases of murder, destruction of public property, Grade IV or higher breach of the Statute of Secrecy, or use of an Unforgiveable.' Publishing an academic paper under a false name is not among those listed exceptions, and the decree does not, by its terms, limit itself to persons suspected of serving Voldemort. As I was preparing for this meeting, I remembered the rather broad terms of the decree and realized that those terms would apply to you as well. And while Minister Fudge initially expressed disapproval, I persuaded him that acknowledging the grant of amnesty and blaming it on his deceased predecessor might be an effective means of smoothing things over with the ICW. So, congratulations, Alexander. Your banishment is at an end."

McAvity stared at the Headmaster while, across the table, both Bones and Crouch looked distinctly unhappy about this development.

"I have been granted a general amnesty," McAvity said slowly, "pursuant to the same poorly drafted decree that allowed an untold number of Death Eaters to escape justice?!"

And with that, the man burst into laughter. Amelia frowned at his response, while Crouch looked like he'd bitten into a lemon.

"Well, well, well," McAvity said while wiping a tear from his eye. "This is certainly unexpected. But while I appreciate the gesture, I have a new life now in Australia. You may inform Minister Fudge that I have no plans to repatriate to Ole Blighty. I'm sure he'll dance a jig when he hears the news."

"I'd thought as much," Dumbledore said. "But be that as it may, I was hoping we could persuade you to stay a little longer in an official capacity."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Crouch finally spoke up. "Hildegard Büstenhalter is down with Spattergoit."

McAvity stared at the man in confusion. "Well … that's … unfortunate, I suppose. But also unresponsive to my question. Who's Hildegard … Büstenhalter?"

It was Dumbledore who answered.

"She is the newly appointed Junior Mugwump from Unified Wizarding Germany. And I believe, Barty, you'll find that the woman's name is Ermengard Burkhalter."

"I'm retiring at the end of the Tournament, Albus. I don't have to learn anyone's name anymore. Burkhalter, Büstenhalter, what difference does it make?"

"Well for one thing, Crouch," McAvity said, "Büstenhalter is the German word for 'brassiere'. It might behoove you to learn which is which before you meet her in person."

"Which I don't expect to do on account of the aforementioned Spattergoit."

"Which brings us back to the point," Albus said with some asperity. "Ermengard was to represent the ICW at the Triwizard Tournament. Due to her present illness, they are scrambling to find someone else to take her place."

"And I'll wager that, for most of the Mugwumps, dropping everything and trekking to Scotland to gladhand at a high school academic competition is not considered a desirable appointment."

"Admittedly, it presents … logistical issues for most of the available Mugwumps. But since you are already ensconced here at Hogwarts …" Dumbledore's eyes gave their customary twinkle.

"The Supreme Mugwump thought it would be a good idea for me to hang about for the better part of a year just to look good at press events?"

"No one's asking you to hang about, McAvity," Crouch said pointedly. "Assuming you even want to act as the ICW representative, I'm sure it would be satisfactory for you to return to Australia and then come back just for the opening ceremony and the three challenges."

"Yes, well, I do so love International Portkey Travel. I hardly ever even vomit anymore. Buuuut … Headmaster, if I accept the ICW's request, might I prevail upon your hospitality for the duration?"

Dumbledore sighed. "In light of the circumstances, I suppose it would be for the best for you to stay at the castle."

"But not under house arrest this time, right?" McAvity clarified. "I mean, I'm back in Britain for the first time in over a quarter-century. Will I be able to come and go as I please? Visit my hometown? Renew old acquaintances? Maybe take in a show at the West End?"

Then, he turned towards the two Ministry officials.

"Perhaps give a few speeches and lectures here and there?"

McAvity thought the lookon Crouch's face was absolutely priceless.

About thirty contentious minutes later …

As the four exited the conference room Dumbledore had set aside for the hearing, they found an unexpected figure waiting for them: Alastor Moody.

"Now that yer little inquisition is over, I need to talk to you three. Not you, McAvity."

"I'm wounded … Mr. One-Eyed-Man-I-Don't-Know."

Albus stepped forward to make the introduction. "Alexander, this is Alastor Moody, retired Auror and Hogwarts DADA professor."

"Moody, Moody," McAvity muttered as if trying to dredge up a memory. "I remember you now! You were Head Boy my Sixth Year! I didn't recognize you at first … for obvious reasons."

Then, his brow furrowed in thought for a second before he broke out into a broad grin. "Hang on, didn't you arrest me at some point as well?"

Moody snorted. "January 1964. Disorderly conduct, breach of the peace, holding a rally without a permit. Not holding a grudge, I hope."

"Not at all, Professor Moody. In fact, I recall you showing great professionalism, especially in comparison to those Hit Wizard thugs Randolph Parkinson sent around to bust our heads."

"I was just doing my job, McAvity."

The other man laughed. "And so were the Hit Wizards. They just had a different job than you."

With that, McAvity bowed respectfully to Amelia Bones (and pointedly did not bow towards Crouch) before departing for his rooms. Once he was gone, Albus addressed Mad-Eye.

"What did you wish to speak to us about, Alastor?"

"I have a proposal for you three. A little something for the DADA program. Albus, Amelia, I'll need both of you to sign off on it. Barty, I need advice from you about the best way to go about teaching it."

Amelia adjusted her monocle. "And what exactly do you plan to cover in your DADA classes that requires approval from the Auror Corps?"

Moody regarded all three of them, but his magic eye remained fixed on Barty Crouch for some reason.

"Unforgiveables. Specifically, the Imperius Curse. I want to offer lessons in how to resist it to any interested students. Which means I need someone who can cast the damned thing, since I can't. Also, legal permission for that someone to cast it on consenting students, and probably a Mind Healer standing by to make sure whoever casts it doesn't start to enjoy it too much."

"I cannot count the ways that could go badly, Alastor," said Bones. "The Death Eater Laws are no longer in effect. Aurors do not have permission to cast the Imperius at will. No one does."

"Oh, that's not true and you know it, Amy," Moody growled. "The Auror Academy includes training in resisting the Imperius, and that means trainers who can cast the Imperius. We all know perfectly well that unlike the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse, the Imperius can be resisted, but you've got to learn how. I know at least five Aurors who are legally permitted to cast the curse on trainees for educational purposes."

He turned to focus his attention on Barty Crouch. "I believe that was a program that you put into place back in the day, right, Crouch?"

Barty glared sullenly at Moody in response.

Later that evening, just after midnight …

Harry Black jerked upright in his bed with a loud gasp. It had been a nightmare—or, if not a nightmare, then a very disturbing dream of some kind—but he'd already forgotten whatever it had been about. It was a source of considerable frustration to the gifted young Occlumens that his usual eidetic memory didn't seem to apply to dreams. Harry made a mental note to ask Snape about how the psychic arts interacted with dreams. This was the third time since returning to Hogwarts that he'd woken up unexpectedly like this, and it was getting old.

After his breathing returned to normal, Harry summoned his wand to turn on the lights in the room. Then, he picked up the empty glass he kept on his bedside table and filled it with a quick Aguamenti. But as Harry lifted the cup to drink, he froze as something unexpected caught his attention. He put the cup back down and then rolled his left sleeve up. To his surprise, there were strange markings on his arm that had definitely not been there when he'd gone to bed. Even stranger, the marks appeared to be some kind of writing. They were fading rapidly, but he could definitely make out several letters from the alphabet—H…PL…R..—though the rest were illegible.

"Mark?" the boy called out. There was a sudden itching sensation as the partial Dark Mark he'd accidentally acquired the previous Christmas slithered up his back so that its head was close to Harry's ear.

"Yesss, my massster?" Mark hissed.

"By any chance, do you know what the hell is happening to my arm?"

"I believe, Massster, that thisss is the resssult of a metamorphic change you have performed on yourssself reverting to your true ssshape. The effect on your ssskin feelsss sssimilar to the consssciousss changesss you have made to your form on occasssion."

"Wonderful. Bloody wonderful. Now, I'm shapeshifting in my sleep. Good thing I have a private room, I guess."

He looked back down at his arm. The letters had all faded completely now. His skin was unblemished there.

"It looked like … writing of some kind. Any idea what it said?"

Mark gave an odd pseudo-hiss that Harry recognized as an expression of both confusion and amusement.

"Regretfully, my massster, while I have retained many ussseful skillsss incorporated into the creator'sss Dark Mark, literacy wasss not one of them."

Despite himself, Harry snorted at Mark's droll response. He wasn't entirely sure, but he was coming to suspect that the snake tattoo was developing a sense of humor that mirrored his own. Harry wiped his hand over the spot on his arm where the letters had been. Nothing remained now.

"Mark? The next time I'm asleep and start changing my form, do you think you could wake me?"

"I can hissss loudly in your ear, my massster. Would that be adequate?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. We'll try it and see how it goes. Obviously, don't do anything like that if I'm asleep and there are others around who might see or hear."

"Obvioussssly, my massster."

Harry exhaled and finished his water before turning the lights back out and returning to sleep, He slept fitfully but uneventfully.

From the next morning's Daily Prophet
9 September 1994

DARK LORD McAVITY EXONERATED BY MINISTRY!

By Andrew Smudgley

In a development that has sent shockwaves through much of the Ministry and the Wizengamot, Chief Auror Amelia Bones this morning announced that all prior legal charges had been dropped against Alexander McAvity, the Muggleborn Dark Lord who was banished from Britain decades ago due to his association with the "Mudblood Pride" movement of the 1950s and 60s. More specifically, McAvity was widely believed even after his banishment to be the mastermind behind AMPA, the "Alliance for Muggleborn Pride and Acceptance," though Lord Abraxas Malfoy famously asserted that it actually stood for "Alexander McAvity's Private Army." A violent Muggleborn terrorist organization, AMPA plagued Britain in the late-60s before it was eclipsed by the far more dangerous Death Eater Insurgency, a political movement which itself was born in response to Muggleborn violence against wizarding society. Regardless, AMPA was responsible for a number of terrorist attacks before its dissolution, most famously the assassination of Lord Cantankerous Nott, Jr. Though McAvity and the other leaders of his movement denied any responsibility, the group was also accused of the 1960 bombing of the Marriage Contract Registry Office. Among those killed in the bombing was Elaine Crouch nee Doge, Chief Registrar for the office and wife of then-DMLE Director Bartemius Crouch.

Later  t hat morning in the Great Hall …

Daphne slapped the newspaper down on the table hard enough to make the nearby dishes rattle. Annoyed at her own loss of poise, the Greengrass heiress looked around the Great Hall to see if anyone had noticed her display. Her anger only grew when she noticed Hermione Granger on the far side of the room. Despite the distance between them, Daphne could still clearly see that the Gryffindor was looking straight at her.

And smirking.

"What has you so worked up now, Daphne?" Tracey asked while idly buttering a scone.

"The Dark Lord McAvity has somehow been cleared of all the charges against him. Worse, he's actually being allowed to remain in Britain as a political guest!" Mr. FinchDaphne glared at the girl who'd always been like a sister to her. "I'm surprised you don't already know, Tracey, now that you've thrown over the CPS for Granger's little insurgency group. This travesty has her fingerprints all over it."

The blonde Slytherin just laughed. "Insurgents? That's ridiculous!" She tore off a bit of her scone and popped it down before continuing. "Almost as ridiculous as the idea that a Hogwarts Fourth Year could do … well, whatever you think Granger's done now, I suppose. Do you really think that a Muggleborn, even one at the top of her class, has the ear of Minister Fudge or Chief Auror Bones?"

"Why not?" Daphne practically snarled. "She's done a good job of turning you against me and my family!"

Tracey sighed and shook her head. "Daphne, I haven't turned against you or House Greengrass. But I'm a ward of your family, not one of your house elves. I will always be grateful for what your parents have done for me and my Mum. But I am allowed to have my own interests. And that includes an interest in that part of my magical heritage that I've ignored for too long."

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "What part of your magical heritage?"

Tracey smiled almost sweetly. "What else? Mudblood Pride!"

From a letter dated 10 September 1994

To: Mr. Finch-Fletchley, Miss Granger, and the members of the Society for the Prevention of Abusive Magic

Dear students,

It is with great regret that I must deny your request to have Alexander McAvity speak before your student group. Unfortunately, word of the request somehow made its way to the Board of Governors who rather hastily passed a resolution stating that outside lecturers must have Board approval before being allowed to speak at Hogwarts. While I still have authority (with some limitations) on the hiring of actual staff members and teachers, the Hogwarts Charter is silent on this specific matter and so my hands are tied. Rest assured, I will continue to press the matter at future Board meetings.

On another note, my congratulations to Mr. Finch-Fletchley on his election as the new president of your organization. I'm certain he will do an excellent job.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

A private room at the Leaky Cauldron
15 September 1994

Bellatrix Black (or Delphini White, as she was presently identified) fell back onto her side of the bed, completely out of breath. Lying next to her, Bill Weasley was just as drained from their mutual exertions. Bill was still young and thus an exuberant lover, while "Delphini" had years of experience combined with a newly rejuvenated body. Over the last week, they'd been asked twice by management to keep it down, and finally, Bill had put up his strongest Silencing Ward over the room.

"I shall miss this," Delphini said as the afterglow faded, "when I'm back in Australia."

Bill frowned almost petulantly. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"I know, darling," she replied. "But I've just started my Defense Mastery with Buck. The Ministry is finally allowing us to leave, and where he goes, I must follow. You know what Masteries are like."

And as a curse-breaker, he did, but it didn't make the thought of parting any easier.

"Do you think we'll ever see each other again? With you in Australia and me floating between London and Cairo?"

She shrugged wistfully. "Who can say what the future holds, poppet. These past few weeks have been some of the best of my life, and I don't think I will ever forget you. But you and I lead very different lives and expect very different futures. And then … there's the age difference to think of."

Bill gave a laugh. "Delphini, you are easily the most mature eighteen-year-old I've ever met. Certainly, a lot more mature than I was at your age."

She smiled at that and kissed him gently on the lips.

"Bill, darling, you have no idea."

They talked some more and kissed some more. As Bill started to get dressed, they made plans for a final good-bye dinner that evening. Gallantly, Bill insisted on treating her to Summerisles, as he'd set back a little money for a special occasion. She was to depart the next morning along with Buck and the other Australians who'd been barred from leaving the country since the conclusion of the World Cup.

After her lover had departed, the witch picked up her wand and very carefully cast a Charm just over her abdomen. Ghostly sigils appeared in the air before her. The results were positive.

The expectant mother's face lit up in delight.

Harry's Room
27 September 1994

"Okay," said Theo. "Let me see if I've got this straight. Five times in the last two weeks, you have woken up in the middle of the night from increasingly disturbing nightmares that you don't remember when you wake up and with what appear to be random letters on your arm created by some kind of subconscious Metamorphmagery."

"Yep," said Harry. "Any thoughts?"

"Only the obvious one: Have you asked Regulus about it?"

Harry frowned. "Of course. He's never heard of such a thing as 'sleep-shapeshifting' and says that any use of Metamorphmagery requires active concentration. He recommends taking a light dose of Dreamless Sleep before bed and making sure I never sleep in the same room as someone who doesn't know my secrets. Otherwise, he says to ignore it unless things get more serious."

Theo shrugged. "Sounds like good advice."

"Maybe so, but I still want to know what you think about it."

"Uh, why? I'm hardly likely to think of something you haven't thought of."

Harry stared rather intently at the other boy. "What is that supposed to mean? You're clever!"

Theo chuckled. "Yeah, but we both know I'm not as clever as you. You're the Prince of Slytherin. I'm just here for moral support and occasional martial arts training. Speaking of which, you're slacking on your morning katas."

"How did you …? Never mind. Anyway, where is this coming from?"

"Harry, you know perfectly well where this is coming from. You just don't want to admit it. Deep down, you don't think I'm as clever and intelligent as you are. Certainly not to the point of coming up with a viewpoint you hadn't already considered."

"That's not true! Remember back in Second Year when you figured out how to communicate with the Hydra Throne when I couldn't?"

"Yes. And your response was not to compliment me on my own cleverness but rather to berate yourself for not thinking of what was in hindsight an obvious solution."

Harry looked at his friend thoughtfully. "Theo, I … I had no idea you felt this way."

"Oh yes you did," Theo answered with a grin. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be talking about it right now. Anyway, you've never been condescending to me over it. Well, not too condescending, anyway. And you do think that I bring valuable skills to Team Harry. But being clever enough to help you think of a solution you couldn't come up with on your own isn't one of them. And you also know that I'm fine with that kind of friendship."

"Well … I'm glad of that, at least. And for what it's worth, I'll try to be less condescending in the future. I really do value you as a friend. In fact, I honestly see you as more of a brother than Jim and always have."

"I know. And I'm deeply grateful for you stepping into that role when Alex couldn't. No matter what our last names are, we're family. Blood of the covenant and all that."

Harry smiled at that. Then, he gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes. When he opened them five seconds later, Theo No-Name was gone, and only Harry's reflection was there to look back at him from the mirror in his dorm room. He turned away and returned to his writing desk. On it was a sheet of parchment bearing the words Advocatus Diaboli followed by a list of names. He shrugged and marked through the first one before putting the parchment away in a drawer.

He would give it some thought and try again in a few weeks.

Auror Headquarters
4 October 1994

"Good morning, all!" said Dolores Umbridge cheerfully as she strode into Auror HQ. "I come bearing gifts. Or more accurately, invitations!"

"Dolores! Er … I mean, Madam Umbridge!" exclaimed Pius Thicknesse at the sight of the witch. "What a pleasant surprise! What brings you here today?"

Nearby, Aurors John Dawlish and Victoria Savage glanced at each other and fought down the urge to roll their eyes. That Pius and Dolores had been dating for the last several months was an open secret in the Auror Corps, but the two lovebirds still tried to maintain the fiction of a purely professional relationship. Savage briefly allowed herself to contemplate whether the two had progressed to "the next level," but then, she suddenly had the mental picture of Pius and Dolores having sex. Probably in a bed with pink satin sheets decorated with a cat motif given Umbridge's current fashion preferences. Savage couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the woman wearing neither something obnoxiously pink nor something decorated with a feline in some fashion. Today, Madam Umbridge ticked both boxes with a bright pink handbag adorned with dancing black cats.

"I'm here with your invitations to the opening ceremony of the Triwizard Tournament, of course," Dolores answered, unaware of Auror Savage's inner monologue and fashion critique. "I have tickets here for the Chief Auror and the three Senior Aurors, and a 'plus-one' for each of you as well."

Umbridge batted her eyes at Thicknesse, obviously expecting him to invite her as his 'plus-one' even though the Undersecretary already had a ticket for herself. Pius blushed slightly and made a mental note to ask her officially to accompany him later that evening. This time, Dawlish did roll his eyes.

"So why are we all invited to some academic decathlon at Hogwarts?" he asked aloud. "I thought Hogwarts would turn its defenses against any Aurors who show up unless its part of a murder investigation."

"Happily, I found a loophole in the Hogwarts-Wizengamot Treaty of 1704." Dolores explained, "Ministry personnel of sufficiently high rank can visit Hogwarts for diplomatic events with the Headmaster's permission. Senior Auror is a high enough rank, the Tournament is considered a diplomatic event due to all the foreigners in attendance, and Dumbledore has already given his blessing. As to the why, the Minister is concerned about the possibility of something … inappropriate happening at the opening ceremony. Of the two visiting schools, Durmstrang is currently run by a former Death Eater and draws from nations that support blood purity, while Beauxbatons is, well, French. The Minister is concerned that with McAvity in attendance, extremists on both sides of the Muggleborn Rights issue might cause some mischief, and so he sought a pretext to have the four highest ranking Aurors on hand to deal with any problems."

"Madam Umbridge," said Chief Bones from the door to her office. "If you would step into my office, please. I know the bare outlines of what the Minister wants from us, but I wish to go over these treaty provisions that you say will guarantee our safety before I commit the Corps."

"Of course, Chief Bones. I have all the information right here." Dolores patted her (bright pink) handbag which contained all her research notes, among other things. Amelia nodded and returned to her office with Umbridge following behind. Pius watched Dolores depart with a slightly goofy smile on his face.

"Well, it's no secret who Pius here will be taking!" Savage said with a laugh. "And I've never had any problem getting dates. What about you, Dawlish? Do you think if the whole Corps works together, we can get you cleaned up to the point that someone will come to the party with you?"

Dawlish sniffed disdainfully at Savage's teasing.

"Not that it's any of your business, Savage, but I've got a date already. You see, I've been dating someone for several months now. I just don't let my personal relationships bleed over into my professional life like some other people I could name. As it happens, we've gotten rather serious and have been talking about moving in together."

"Good for you, Johnny!" Pius exclaimed. "Who's the lucky witch?"

Dawlish gave Pius a sour expression.

"Leonard," he said somewhat defiantly before heading back into his private office. Pius's eyebrows rose in surprise at his fellow Senior Auror's revelation. Victoria, who had known of Dawlish's orientation if not the fact that he had a boyfriend, just shook her head. To her own annoyance, she was now mentally picturing a different pair in bed together.

From a letter dated 8 October 1994

My dearest Countess Zabini,

I have received your letter regarding your attendance at the opening ceremony of the Triwizard Tournament and your desire to have dinner together, and I should be delighted. I must protest, however, your stated intention to stay at the Three Broomsticks Inn for the duration of your time in Great Britain. While a fine establishment in its own right, the Three Broomsticks is far below the standards to which you must be accustomed. I have discussed the matter with my Heir, and on his behalf and my own, I cordially invite you to reside at Blackstone during your stay. From here, we can both travel to Hogwarts together by Floo, as I shall be attending the opening ceremony as well.

I look forward to your response.

Sincerely,

Sirius Orion Lord Black

Blaise Zabini's room
Two days later

"Dammit, Mother," the boy muttered angrily as he read the letter that had just arrived from Italy, though no one else was around to hear.

The Office of Minerva McGonagall
14 October 1994

"Thank you for meeting with me, Miss Granger," said the Deputy Headmistress.

"You're welcome, Professor," said the young Muggleborn, who still had no idea what the meeting was about.

"I have what might seem an unusual request to make of you, Miss Granger. As you know, the visiting students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving very soon. We had planned to accommodate 10% of years Four through Seven from each school, but due to the … unpleasantness during the Quidditch World Cup, each of the two schools has decided to send fewer students to address concerns from parents. Beauxbatons will be sending fourteen students, while Durmstrang will be sending nineteen. Most of them will be Sixth and Seventh Year students, but each school will be sending a smaller number of Fourth and Fifth Years. We had planned on appointing several upper-level Hogwarts students to act as representatives of our school and assign each of them to a group of visiting students, but with the smaller number of visitors, we've rethought that plan and will instead be assigning ambassadors one-to-one."

"Sort of like a buddy system?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, I suppose so," replied McGonagall, who was unfamiliar with the Muggle term. "I've asked you here to see if you would be willing to be one of those Hogwarts representatives."

"Of course!" Hermione answered brightly. "And I speak French and Italian, so that should make it easier with any Beauxbatons students from either of those countries."

At that, McGonagall's face pinched slightly. "Yes, well, about that … as it happens, I've asked to meet with you about this separately because … we've had a request for you in particular to be the chaperone for one of the Durmstrang students. Specifically, Viktor Krum, who you might have heard of already."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Viktor … Krum? The Quidditch star? I don't understand. First, I have no interest in Quidditch, and second, well … does the Headmaster at Durmstrang know I'm a Muggleborn?"

"That's another reason why I wanted to speak to you about this matter privately. You see, the letter I received containing this request did not come from Headmaster Karkaroff. It came from a Durmstrang student. Specifically, Draco Malfoy."

Harry's Room
24 October 1994

It had been an exhausting day, as Hogwarts was turned upside down in preparation for the arrival of the visiting students the next morning. The excitement of the Triwizard Tournament was at a fever pitch. As a result, Harry fell asleep mere moments after getting into bed. There was only one change to his normal evening preparations—tonight, Harry slept bare-chested. His preparation was rewarded. At around 2:00 a.m., the boy shot up in his bed from a nightmare about falling from a very great height to the sound of Mark hissing loudly just below his ear.

"Massster! Quickly! The messssage on your arm!"

Instantly, Harry held out his hand, and his holly and phoenix feather wand jumped into it. Without even turning on the lights, he raked the wand-tip down his arm while uttering a spell. The letters that were still visible flew off his arm and into the air, catching fire as they did through a variation of the Pyrologos Charm. Harry stared intently at the flaming letters that hovered above his bed as if willing them to make sense. They didn't, but he thought the first three letters at least gave a clue: HJG.

"ACCIO COMMUNICATION PARCHMENT. ACCIO QUILL." Both items flew into his outstretched hand. By the light of the floating letters, Harry could see that the original message on his arm had already vanished, but the copy he'd made endured. He tapped the quill against the enchanted parchment and began to write.

Seconds later, up in Gryffindor Tower, Hermione awoke to the sound of a chime from her bedside table. She turned on the lights and picked up the parchment to read the message.

Harry: Hermione, wake up! It's important!

Hermione: I'm up. What is it?

Harry: Does this mean anything to you? HJG: PLZ & TY R MGC WRDS.

The young witch studied the cryptic message with a furrowed brow before replying.

Hermione: At a guess, I'd say it means "Hermione Jean Granger says, 'please and thank you are magic words.' Which is an odd thing for me to say in a coded message."

Harry: Any idea what that means?

Hermione: It's a Muggle expression. Something you tell small children to remind them to say 'please' when asking for something and 'thank you' after getting it. Have you never heard that before?

There was a pause.

Harry: Yeah. I remember now. A teacher said something about that when I was eight or so. Then, that night, Dudley ordered me to do something, and I said, "What are the magic words?" And then Vernon … Never mind. Not important. Thanks Hermione! See you tomorrow!"

Hermione looked at the message thoughtfully. Whatever that had been about, she'd find out from Harry in the morning. But after she turned out the lights and laid back in bed, she was struck by the odd timing of their exchange, as it echoed the dream she'd been having when Harry woke her up. The details were already fading, but it seemed to involve her, Harry Black, and Luna Lovegood traveling together in the gondola of a hot air balloon. Not a normal hot air balloon, of course, not with Luna involved. No, the balloon part was shaped like a balloon animal that was large enough to support the gondola. A giraffe, she thought, though it was bright green instead of a giraffe's normal colors. The three friends had been talking while enjoying the vista from the balloon that floated half a mile above a scenic valley below, though Hermione had already forgotten what they'd been talking about. She only remembered reminding Harry of the Muggle expression 'please and thank you are the magic words.' Then, Harry became very excited and promptly jumped overboard seemingly to his death (though for some reason neither Luna nor Hermione were very concerned).

She wondered briefly what the symbolism of the dream might mean before falling back to sleep.

Malfoy Manor
Thirty seconds later

Lucius Malfoy awoke instantly in response to the blazing silver light illuminating his bedroom, and with a twitch of his hand, his wand flew across the room into his grasp. Then, he blinked in surprise at what had awoken him: an enormous silver snake Patronus.

"Mister Malfoy," said the snake in the voice of Harry Black. "I'm sorry to wake you at this hour, but I must come through immediately. It's about the box."

The Patronus faded away, and Lucius frowned in annoyance. There was only one "box" that mattered to them now: the orichalcum chest that had been retrieved from the Gaunt Shack the previous summer. He gestured with his own wand. "EXPECTO PATRONUM."

Seconds later, it was Harry's turn to be surprised by the arrival of a Patronus while he was pulling on a shirt. Specifically (and perhaps appropriately), the Patronus came in the shape of a large silver peacock with its brilliant plumage on full display.

"Malfoy Manor will be accessible from the Prince's Lair in exactly five minutes. And I expect results if you're going to wake me at this ungodly hour of the night."

As the Patronus faded, Harry pulled on his bathrobe and left his bedroom to creep down to the Lair. He threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire before stepping into the fireplace and emerging in Malfoy's ancestral home. The Lord of the Manor was already waiting for him, still in black silk pajamas and a brocaded green bathrobe. Despite the lateness of the hour, his hair was immaculate. Harry was jealous but pushed the emotion aside.

"My apologies for calling so late, Mr. Malfoy, but … well, there may be 'Harry weirdness' at play, and I thought there was a possibility that I might forget the password."

"Which is?" Lucius asked expectantly.

"Well … I think it's 'please and thank you' or something along those lines."

The man crooked a dubious eyebrow.

"It's a Muggle expression," Harry said hastily before explaining the phrase's meaning.

"Hmm," said Lucius. "Well, that is not an expression that would have been used by my parents during deportment lessons. Still, Erasmus Wilkes was something of a Mugglephile—if only to know how best to kill them—and that does sound rather like his sense of humor. Let us try it out."

He gestured towards a nearby table where the orichalcum chest was already waiting. Harry stepped forward and softly hissed.

"Pleassse and thank you."

And, almost anticlimactically, the box unlocked with an audible click. Harry's excitement that the impregnable box and the Horcrux within were finally accessible warred with his anger that it had taken so long. He should have guessed please and thank you as Wilkes's "magic words" on the day that they first found the chest. Unfortunately, however, his only memories of the Muggle phrase were associated with a nasty burst of violence from Vernon Dursley, and so the incident had been locked away in Harry's memory palace.

Lucius took a single step towards the table and the gestured with his wand. Nothing happened. Lucius frowned at the reminder of orichalcum's anti-magical properties. He then retrieved a poker from the fireplace and gingerly used it to open the lid. Happily, nothing evil jumped out to attack them. The two Slytherins leaned forward to look inside. Within the box was a velvet lining with depressions to hold two items: a simple brass key and a garish-looking ring with a clunky misshapen black stone set into it. Lucius quietly muttered the Horcrux identification spell, and ghostly sigils manifested above the box.

"It's the ring," Lucius said quietly. "The Gaunt Lord's ring, I expect."

He gestured again with his wand, and the key floated out of the box and came to rest on the opposite end of the long table. The wizard moved to that end to cast additional identification spells.

"Interesting," he muttered. "While not a Horcrux, the key is also magical in some way."

"The Toymaker did say that there was more than one 'treasure' inside the box," Harry said. "Maybe the key leads to Wilkes's hidden vault. Is it safe to touch?"

Instead of answering, Lucius concentrated and cast a very complex spell on the key. In response, a large array of runes manifested in the air above the ring. To Harry's surprise, he recognized them as Elder Futhark, though the array was far more complicated than the simple arrays he'd been studying in Ancient Runes.

"Hmm," said Malfoy thoughtfully. "There are only two enchantments on the key. One is a nasty and frankly ridiculous curse on anyone who touches it who is not of House Wilkes, so it should be safe for you. The other one is far more interesting and complex. I cannot immediately divine its specific purpose except that it invokes Wizardspace. Which might explain why no one can find the missing Wilkes vault. It simply does not exist in the physical world unless accessed with the key."

"Okay," Harry said. "A key implies a lock. So, is there a particular door I need to open with it? And if so, where is it?"

"I've no idea," Lucius replied. "That information is not part of the array."

Harry frowned and then looked back at the floating runes. "Wait a minute. There's a spell that lets you just pull out the runes on an enchanted object and see what spells are on it?"

"Naturally. You will learn the basic version of the Charm when you begin NEWT level Ancient Runes, but that version is easily defeated if the enchanter uses a separate spell to encrypt the rune scheme. Decrypting an encrypted rune scheme such as this one requires an advanced version of the spell that is only taught to licensed curse-breakers."

"And you, apparently," Harry said pointedly.

"Every wizard has his price," Lucius responded with a wry smile.

"Uh-huh. And what's the price for you to teach me that version?"

Lucius looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, this spell is not proprietary to me. And we are allies in the quest for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes. Two-hundred Galleons and an oath that you will not reveal who taught you a legal but severely regulated spell."

"Done." Harry reached over and, after a second of hesitation, picked up the brass key. Nothing terrible happened, but he did feel a slight vibration from the Lord's ring he wore, one which confirmed that this key could only be handled by a member of House Wilkes. He put the key into his robe pocket.

"So," Lucius said. "The Horcrux next. Did you bring the Basilisk venom?"

Harry winced. "Sorry, no. It's in the safe back in the Lair. I was in a hurry and still half-asleep when I came through."

"Well, go back and get it!" Malfoy said irritably. "I have a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul in my house—again!—and I want it gone at once!"

Harry nodded and darted over to the Floo before passing through to the Prince's Lair. Lucius watched the flickering flames for a moment. But then, he stiffened at the sound of a soft whispering voice, one he'd not heard for years but knew he would never forget.

"Luc," whispered the long-dead Christina Fenwick.

Lucius whirled around and glared at the box on the table and the cursed ring inside it. Christina's voice sounded once more. "Luc," she said. "Come to me."

Malfoy closed his eyes and concentrated on his Occlumency.

"I am iron. I am diamond. I am steel. I am Malfoy," he whispered softly but urgently. "I am iron. I am diamond. I am steel. I am Malfoy."

"Luc…"

Malfoy opened his eyes again, and, to his shock, he had somehow crossed half the distance to the table without even realizing that he'd been moving. He began to shout his mantra out loud.

"I AM IRON. I AM DIAMOND. I AM STEEL. I AM MALFOY."

But, despite all his will and concentration, he took another step towards the ring. Desperately, he tried to call for a house elf to save him, but for some reason, he couldn't remember any of their names.

"I AM IRON! I AM DIAMOND! I AM … I AM … HARRY!"

Meanwhile, in the Prince's Lair, Harry had just opened the safe and removed the flask of Basilisk venom when he had a sudden flashback to that awful night in Grimmauld Place when he just barely managed to destroy the Locket Horcrux before it drove Regulus to suicide. Suddenly, the boy was filled with concern over leaving Lucius Malfoy alone with one of the foul things. Concern became panic when he heard a scream from the fireplace. He snatched the Black Wand as well and then darted back through the Floo only to find his worst fears made manifest.

Lucius Malfoy was on the floor with his back to one of the table legs screaming in agony. The Gaunt Ring was on the ring finger of his left hand, and the hand itself had turned black! Harry rushed to the older man's side, setting the flask of venom on the table as carefully as circumstances allowed. He reached to pull the ring off Lucius's finger, but the man pushed him aside.

"W-wand," Lucius gasped. "N-n-need … wand!"

Harry looked around the room wildly and saw the man's wand with its distinctive serpent-head handle lying on the floor just a few feet away. He reached out his hand, and Malfoy's wand jumped into it. Harry passed the wand to its owner who grasped it in his right hand. Then, Malfoy thrust that arm out to the side, almost knocking the boy to the ground. He said no incantation, but he did let out a primal scream as a thin bolt of fire shot out of the wand. Alarmed, Harry jerked back out of the way as the stream of flame hit a painting on the far wall, setting it ablaze.

By now, Lucius's left hand seemed to be rotting, and the black discoloration had begun spreading down his arm. It had nearly reached the Dark Mark, and the snake tattoo had begun to writhe as if afraid of the approaching curse. Or perhaps excited that the curse would soon kill Lucius for his betrayal.

With a sharp movement and a bestial roar, Lucius snapped his wand back towards his left arm, and the jet of fire, now behaving like a flaming whip, wrapped itself around the arm between his elbow and the Dark Mark. The former Death Eater screamed again at this new agony and then jerked the wand away. In response, the fire whip tightened until it cut through and severed his arm completely. The arm flew off, and Harry had to dodge yet again to avoid being struck in the head by the rotting appendage. It landed on the floor palm-side up with the Dark Mark exposed, just a few feet away from the fireplace.

"Summon … Severus…" Lucius gasped. Harry could only gape at the blackened, cauterized tip of Malfoy's arm stump, but he pushed through his panic and fumbled for the Black Wand.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he cried out. Amigo, Harry's snake Patronus, appeared, and the boy barked orders to it.

"Go to Severus Snape at Hogwarts! Tell him to come to Malfoy Manor at once. Mr. Malfoy has been cursed and injured!"

Amigo nodded and then disappeared in a flash of silver light. Harry jumped up and ran for the Floo to open it for Snape's imminent arrival. Then, he darted over to the burning painting and extinguished the flames before returning to Lucius's side.

"My arm … my arm," the man moaned weakly. Harry tried to console the man.

"I know, sir. It must be agonizing. But Professor Snape will be here soon."

Lucius's head snapped towards Harry, who was surprised to see that his agonized expression was replaced with one of pure anger. Before the boy could react, Lucius reached up with his remaining hand and slapped the boy across the face!

"MY ARM! YOU FOOL!" Then, he pointed towards the fireplace. Harry turned to look in that direction only to freeze in shock.

"No … way," he said in disbelief as he slowly rose to his feet.

The severed arm was about three feet away from the Floo. But it had somehow flipped over palm-side down. The ugly ring was still on the blackened ring finger. And as Harry watched, the fingers stretched out and dug their nails into the fabric of the rug before contracting to pull the whole arm forward. Then, it did the same thing, again and again, dragging the arm inch by inch towards the open Floo.

"Oh no you don't!" Harry exclaimed angrily. He ran to retrieve the flask of Basilisk venom before carrying it over to the still moving arm. Then, he pulled out the stopper and tipped the flask over. Pure Basilisk venom rained down onto the Horcrux ring and the hand that bore it. The hand spasmed wildly before the familiar gout of black smoke emerged from the ring. Harry stepped back quickly and winced at the terrible screams that emanated from the dying Horcrux. Finally, the smoke faded away.

Harry exhaled deeply. "It's done. The Horcrux is destroyed."

And it had been, along with the severed limb that had borne it. Only a pile of blackened ash in the rough shape of a man's forearm remained in the center of a large hole in what had been an antique rug.

"Along with your rug," Harry added ruefully. "Was it expensive?"

"Persian," Lucius said in a raspy voice. "Seventeenth century. I'll add it to your bill."

Just then, the green flames in the fireplace shot up as Severus Snape stepped through and took in the scene.

"Congratulations, Black," he said. "I honestly can't think of anything sarcastic enough to be worthy of this ridiculous tableau."

Harry shrugged weakly. "… Thanks?"

Moments later, after Severus had performed basic first aid, he and Harry relocated the semi-conscious Lucius Malfoy back to his bedroom. There, Snape began rummaging through the potions bag he'd brought with him while addressing Harry over his shoulder.

"I will attend to Lucius's condition as best I can before I return to Hogwarts. I will also summon Andromeda Tonks. But you should depart at once. You will have a stressful day tomorrow."

"More stressful than this?" Harry inquired.

"Perhaps," Snape said acerbically. "The Durmstrang students arrive tomorrow. As punishment for your role in this … incident, I am delegating to you the task of explaining to Draco how his father became an amputee!"

Harry grimaced at that before returning to the Floo. But just before he could reach for the Floo powder, his attention was drawn to the pile of smoking ash that lay on the floor nearby. He moved closer and knelt beside it. Then, he pointed the Black Wand at the ash and cast an Aguamenti followed by a Scourgify. The ash was washed away and the area around it cleansed. All that remained was a pebble that appeared to be the same irregular stone that had been set into the Gaunt Ring. But now, it was pale grey instead of black, its prior color apparently due to some kind of lacquered coating that had been eaten away by the Basilisk venom. Harry nudged the stone gently with the tip of his wand before finally picking it up with his other hand. He turned it over and then gasped.

Etched into the stone were three markings: a circle, a triangle, and a straight line. The sign of the Deathly Hallows.

As Harry studied the stone in amazement, he couldn't help but recall Serena Zabini's words from just a few months earlier during their fateful meeting in a Paris cemetery.

"If it is your destiny to reunite the Hallows and become the Master of Death, then in time, the Hallows will come to you."

After a long moment of silent contemplation, Harry dropped the stone (no, the Stone) into his robe pocket alongside the mysterious key and stepped through the Floo into the Prince's Lair. Once there, he returned the Black Wand and the key to his safe and, after a brief hesitation, he placed the Stone there too, carefully setting it as far as he could from the Cloak. He closed the safe and finally returned to bed, though sleep did not come for a long time.

The Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts
25 October 1994
7:30 a.m

James stepped into the cramped office with a cup of coffee in his hand to find Arthur already at his desk as usual. Perkins, of course, was late.

"Good morning, James," said his boss with his normal good cheer. "There's a package and a letter that came for you just a few minutes ago. They're on your desk."

"Thanks, Arthur," James replied.

He drained the last dregs of his coffee before banishing the cup back to the Ministry canteen. Then, he sat down at his desk and opened the letter first. To his surprise, it was an invitation to the opening ceremony for the Triwizard Tournament on 31 October, along with a note from Amelia Bones. Apparently, Minister Fudge wanted to arrange a security detail of some kind for the opening ceremony even though Hogwarts defenses would not tolerate the presence of Aurors or Hit Wizards on the premises. Dolores Umbridge had already found one workaround by getting tickets for the Chief and Senior Aurors as diplomatic attaches for the night. And it seemed she'd found a second workaround as well: Ministry personnel who were the spouses of Hogwarts staff did not trigger those defenses, which meant James could attend as well. As far as he knew, Lily was the only Hogwarts staff member to be married to anyone at the Ministry. He made a mental note to send his wife an owl letting her know to expect him. It would be nice to see Lily and Jim during the school year.

Then, he turned to the package, which, from its shape, appeared to be a gift-wrapped book of some kind. He opened the attached card first.

Dear James—

I wanted you to have this first edition. Consider it a token of gratitude for everything you've done for me over the years.

Love,

Rita

James frowned. The Potters and especially Jim had gotten very good coverage from Rita Skeeter over the last few years. Well, until everything exploded the previous May. Then, he remembered that in the first few years of his marriage, her coverage had been decidedly not good, as she'd regularly painted Lily as a gold-digger, himself as a callow fool taken in by her, and both of them as unfit parents for the Boy-Who-Lived. Then, Peter had talked to her, and her coverage changed overnight to almost fawning. In fact, James had seldom spoken one-on-one with the notorious reporter, with Peter handling that role for the last decade or so. Suddenly and inexplicably nervous, James quickly unwrapped the package.

It was indeed a book. The cover depicted his family crest cracked in two beneath the title "The Fall of the House of Potter" and Rita Skeeter's name. James trembled slightly as he opened the book and began to read.

Hogwarts
8:00 am

Harry headed down the corridor towards the Great Hall, still groggy from the previous night's exertions and still wondering how he was going to break the news of Lucius's injury to Draco when he arrived in a few hours with the Durmstrang contingent. To his surprise, Harry was met near the entrance by an anxious Neville Longbottom.

"Harry! Are you okay?!" the Gryffindor said urgently.

Confused and wondering how on earth Neville might have known about what had happened at Malfoy Manor, Harry responded hesitantly.

"Um, yeah, I think so. What's going on?"

The other boy licked his lips nervously.

"Harry, have you seen the Daily Prophet yet?"

"No. Why?"

Before Neville could answer, there was a sudden commotion from inside the Great Hall, and Harry was quite certain he could hear Jim Potter screaming obscenities. He stepped past Neville into the Great Hall to see that everyone was talking excitedly. And then, a disturbing percentage of the students immediately stopped talking and turned to stare at him. The silence was broken by a bellow from Jim.

"IS THIS YOUR DOING, HARRY?! HAVEN'T YOU DONE ENOUGH TO US?!" he screamed while Ron and Hermione tried desperately to restrain him.

Utterly confused, Harry reached over and snatched the newspaper out of Neville's hand and then took in the front page. It featured an unflattering picture of his mother beneath a shocking headline:

LILY POTTER: THE MUGGLEBORN MURDERESS!

Meanwhile …

Lily stepped into the Headmaster's office and froze. Dumbledore was not alone. She took a second to put on a brave face.

"You sent for me, Headmaster?"

"At my request, Lady Potter," said a smug-looking Corban Yaxley, Head of the DMLE. Beside him stood three Hit Wizards. "I'd like to ask you a few questions about … Vernon Dursley."

Next: The Dursley murder investigation gets under way, the foreign students arrive, Hermione has questions, and Draco gets the bad news!

Chapter Text

Theo No-Name’s Room

25 October 1994

“Fourteen … fifteen … sixteen …” Theo gasped through clenched teeth as he focused on his morning pushups.

There was a soft knock on his door and two second pause before it opened. Theo was unconcerned. He’d gotten very good at protective warding spells thanks to his year spent under the Ultimate Sanction. There were only six people who could simply open that door without receiving a nasty curse in exchange, one of whom was here now.

“I’m afraid we’re both skipping break… fast…” said Blaise Zabini before his voice trailed off. He stared at the sight in front of him while Theo continued his morning routine.

“Seventeen … eight … teen,” he growled out.

“What in the name of Merlin’s smelly feet are you doing?” Blaise asked in amazement.

“Pushups, of course … nineteen…”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I know I’m not really into this whole exercise thing. But I was given to understand that when you do proper pushups, your feet should be planted on the ground. Or failing that, resting on something!”

And Zabini’s amazement was understandable. Theo’s feet were not resting on the ground or on anything else. Instead, they were suspended in the air with Theo’s entire body parallel to the floor in defiance of gravity itself. Only his hands rested on the floor, and his arms strained to support the weight of his entire body.

“Wu Xi Do … twenty … Earth Style … twenty … one …” Theo explained while struggling to maintain his impossible form. “S’for improving … twenty-two … connection to the earth … twenty-three … Helps with stability …”

“Yeeeaah. Stability. You know you’re not actually touching the earth, right?”

“Doesn’t matter … twenty-four … it’s what’s underneath me … twenty … five … symbolism is what matters …”

“Uh-huh. Look, this is all very cool, albeit in a dull and seemingly pointless way. But we need to move. I suspect Harry will want to meet in the Lair in the next few minutes.”

“Why … twenty … six …?” Theo managed to gasp out the question, though his arms were shaking from the strain of his exertion.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Blaise said airily. “Probably something to do with his mother getting arrested for murdering a Muggle.”

“Oof!” Theo exclaimed as his concentration broke and he fell down face first. He rolled over and looked up at Blaise in astonishment.

“His mother did what?!?”

Meanwhile in the Headmaster’s Office

“Seriously?!?” Lily Potter sputtered indignantly. “You think I murdered my own brother-in-law? That’s ridiculous!”

“Lily, please calm down,” Dumbledore said as he tried to defuse the situation. The smug expression on DMLE Director Yaxley’s face wasn’t helping.

“I can assure you, Lady Potter,” said Yaxley. “Our evidence is compelling. That said, you are not under arrest … at this time. We are still at the stage of … inquiry.”

Lily glared at the man who she knew perfectly well to be a former Death Eater. “Well, by all means, Yaxley. Inquire away. But first, I’d like to hear about this ‘compelling evidence’ that I somehow am responsible for the death of a morbidly obese Muggle who’d already had one heart attack just months earlier. Or do you think I’m responsible for that too?”

“We have no grounds for accusing you of the Muggle’s earlier incident. But what we do have is a statement by your sister to the effect that you proudly confessed to poisoning Vernon Dursley’s medications days before his eventual death.”

Lily looked gobsmacked. “Petunia is accusing me? And claiming that I went to her and confessed? And then she waited almost two years before reaching out to the DMLE? My sister hates magic, but she’s not ignorant of it. If she thinks I murdered Vernon, why did she wait until now to come forward with this ridiculous tale?”

“According to Mrs. Dursley, you confessed to her in order to gloat about your crime, and then you Obliviated her so that she could not expose you.”

Lily blinked twice. “And why would I have done something as ridiculous as that?!?”

Yaxley paused before answering. “So that you could treasure for the rest of your life the look on her face is what Mrs. Dursley claims you said.”

Lily blinked a third time … and then burst into laughter. Then, she turned to Dumbledore.

“Headmaster, I know we’re both Gryffindors, but have you ever known me to be that melodramatic?”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and elected to dodge that somewhat loaded question.

“Be that as it may, Director Yaxley, I must agree with Lady Potter that this all sounds a bit improbable. You say that Professor Potter poisoned Vernon Dursley and then confessed her crime to Petunia Dursley—apparently out of sheer spite—before Obliviating her. Have you considered the possibility that someone else must have Memory Charmed Petunia for purposes of slandering Lily?”

Yaxley sneered. “Of course we have! The Dursley Muggle’s memories were recovered after she was given a Remembrall to handle which revealed the Obliviation, and, over the next several months, she continued to use it to fully recover the stolen memory. She is not currently under any detectable Memory Charms, and she has voluntarily submitted Pensieve copies of the memory in question. Their authenticity has already been confirmed.”

At that, Lily was nonplussed. “I was not aware that Muggles could even give Pensieve memories. Or that the Ministry would give them any weight.”

“I imagine not,” Yaxley said with a snort. “Or else you would not have been so foolish as to have given your sister a gloating monologue.”

“I did nothing of the sort!” Lily snapped, her eyes flashing a lethal shade of green.

“Lily, please calm yourself,” Dumbledore said. “I promise we will get to the bottom of this. Director Yaxley, you said that you are not here to arrest Professor Potter…”

“At this time,” Yaxley interrupted.

Dumbledore sighed in exasperation. “Yes, yes, but what are you here for then?”

“I have come to ask Lady Potter if she will consent to a formal examination under Veritaserum during which she will answer for these charges. Of course, I would normally just demand such an examination. But since Lady Potter managed to marry her way into an Ancient and Noble House, she cannot be compelled to give testimony under Veritaserum absent a writ issued by the Wizengamot, which will not meet again for several weeks. As a courtesy to a witch of her … standing, I am here to ask her to waive that privilege so that the investigation is not unduly delayed. But of course, in light of the evidence against her, I will not be overly surprised if she refuses to…”

“I’ll do it,” Lily interrupted. “I waive my privilege and demand to be questioned under Veritaserum.”

At that, Yaxley was visibly surprised. “… You do?!?”

“Lily, are you quite sure you wish to do this?” Dumbledore asked cautiously.

“Without question,” the witch answered before fixing Yaxley with a cold glare. “Subject to certain conditions, of course.”

Yaxley crooked an eyebrow. “Conditions?”

“Yes. One: The interview will be conducted here in the Headmaster’s Office rather than at DMLE headquarters. Two: I will not permit a fishing expedition into the business of House Potter. Consequently, you will submit a list of questions which the Headmaster will read to me. He will ignore any questions not germane to your … inquiry. And three: Severus Snape will also be on hand, and he and the Headmaster will both examine the Veritaserum to confirm that it has not been adulterated or tampered with in any way.”

The Director’s eyes flashed angrily. “You would impugn the integrity of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?!?”

Lily folded her arms and smiled at Yaxley almost sweetly. “I’m not quite sure I know how to answer that question, Director. Why don’t you roll up your left sleeve and ask me again!”

Just outside the Great Hall

Harry stepped away from the doorway and over to a nearby bench where he sat as he scanned the Prophet, at one point even dilating slightly so that he could read faster. He also tightened his Occlumency shields to suppress the emotions that were now washing over him. If the lead story was to be believed, Vernon Dursley’s death had not been due to natural causes, nor even some magical byproduct of living with Harry and his “Muggle problem” for a decade. According to Rita Skeeter, he’d been murdered by Harry’s own mother through some unholy marriage of magic and Muggle science. And then, Lily had felt the need to visit Petunia in the night and monologue about it!

“Well,” Harry thought angrily. “I can see now why Lily was never a candidate for Slytherin!”

He was distracted from such musings by the sound of an angry Jim Potter drawing nearer.

“DID YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THIS, BLACK?!?” the boy bellowed in a fury.

“I’m still trying to figure out what ‘this’ is, Potter!” Harry snapped back without looking up from the paper. “Regardless, we are not discussing it in a school corridor with half the school listening in!!”

Jim continued to advance on Harry with Ron and Hermione close behind trying desperately to calm the irate boy. A dozen or so of their fellow students had followed them to the doorway as if hoping to see a duel break out. But before Jim could get close enough to start something, Neville rolled his eyes and then cast a Protego shield to separate the two. Harry and Jim both looked at him in surprise.

“Just following Lockhart’s advice,” he said acerbically. Meanwhile, Hermione had begun setting up a veritable array of privacy charms over the group.

Jim glared at everyone standing between him and his brother before turning back to Harry.

“Tell me the truth, Harry! Did you engineer this in order to get Mum sent to jail?”

Harry simply looked at him disdainfully, the Oath of Enmity he was under warring with the Imperius curse that still afflicted Jim to see which could antagonize the brothers the most. For his part, Harry didn’t shout back. Instead, he rose from the bench, folded the Prophet, and put it away.

“I have no idea whether what’s in the paper is true or not, Jim,” he said coldly. “Though I plan to find out. But in the meantime, let me remind you of one little detail.”

He stepped closer to the Protego shield that separated the two boys and spoke in a low angry whisper.

“As you know perfectly well, Little Brother, if I’d wanted to send one of your parents to Azkaban, I had every chance to do so last Spring with your father!”

Jim’s eyes widened as he remembered the fact that Harry knew exactly who’d used the Imperius Curse against him the previous year. Then, Harry raised his chin defiantly and sneered at Jim before turning and striding away from the group. The others just watched him go, as did most of the students who were viewing the exchange from the door to the Great Hall. Most but not all; Hermione noticed with a frown that Daphne Greengrass had darted out of the Great Hall in pursuit of her fellow Slytherin.

“Harry!” the Greengrass Heir called out once they were around the corner. Harry looked back at her in annoyance.

“Now is not a good time, Daphne.”

“On the contrary, Harry,” she said. “This is the best time—and the only time—if you want to get in front of this story.”

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“Our Houses are allied, Harry. The Greengrasses stand ready to assist you. And in case you’ve forgotten, our resources include Witch Weekly and its sister publications, the only print outlets in the country that can rival The Prophet for coverage. We had to bump back the article we were going to write about your successes due to everything that happened at the Quidditch World Cup. But we can easily fast track the story so that it prints in a week or two. And we can also tweak the article to address this … unpleasantness. Address it in a way that puts you in the best possible light and makes sure that none of the Potters’ dirt sticks to you.”

Harry studied his housemate for several seconds as if hoping his Legilimency would divine her motives (assuming they were anything more complicated than strengthening their political alliance).

“Go on,” he said slowly.

Daphne grinned in satisfaction.

Ministry of Magic
The International Portkey Office
9:30 a.m.

“I still don’t understand what the hell you think you’re doing … sir,” said Regulus Black (who belatedly remembered that he was still wearing the form of bodyguard Archie Goodwin and so owed his “employer” at least a pretense of respect).

“I think I’m greeting a VIP who will be my personal guest for the foreseeable future,” Sirius replied placidly. Then, he put his hand over his mouth and breathed into it. Frowning, he reached into a pocket to produce a small spray bottle containing a solution which he spritzed into his open mouth. “Mmm. Minty.”

Archie rolled his eyes. “My worry is that she’ll be more than a guest, knowing you like I do!”

“Well, she is a very attractive woman,” Sirius conceded.

“With seven dead husbands!”

“Yes, well, accidents do happen, I suppose.”

“Sirius!”

Lord Black turned to his disguised sibling with a smirk. “The Countess Zabini’s son is one of Harry’s closest school friends. The Countess herself has a strong and possibly unhealthy interest in Harry, but he isn’t sharing. I want to get to know her better to determine if she might be a problem.”

“Well, that’s fine, I suppose. So long as you don’t get to know her better in the biblical sense.”

“Why not?” he asked as if it was a reasonable question. “As I said: She’s a very attractive woman.”

“Who is ten years your senior,” Archie muttered.

“Pfft. Don’t be ageist, Archie. And honestly! Even if she is a Black Widow, it’s not like she’s going to kill me before we get married. So long as I don’t propose to her, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Archie said nothing, but his glare communicated his thoughts well enough.

“Okay, okay,” Sirius said with a shrug. “There is also the fact that Countess Zabini is an influential Beauxbatons alum who has scored tickets to the Welcoming Feast tonight. And as her ‘plus one,’ I have an excuse to go to Hogwarts and maybe talk to Harry this evening.”

“What? About Skeeter’s story in The Prophet? Why don’t you just mirror-call Harry if you’re worried about him?”

“Because you and I both know how Harry reacts when we crowd him. If I mirror-called him right now, he’d just say ‘I’m fine’ and shut me out again. If he wants to mirror-call me, he knows he can do so. Otherwise, I’m giving him some space and some time to process. But if I have an excuse to physically visit Hogwarts tonight, I can also find an excuse to talk in private with my Heir and find out how he’s doing.”

The Metamorphmagus looked at his brother in surprise. “That is shockingly mature of you!”

“I’m not sure if I should take that as an insult or not. But I’ve been reading some books that Dan Granger sent me on Muggle child-rearing. Apparently, he and Emma bought every book they ever came across that dealt with raising precocious children who didn’t like boundaries. Can’t imagine why.”

“Okay, then. What do you want me to do while you’re off at Hogwarts meeting with Harry while flirting shamelessly with the Black Widow?”

“Go to Flourish & Blotts and pick up a copy or two of The Fall of the House of Potter. Start looking through it to see what all it says about Harry in particular. Oh, and while you’re in Diagon Alley, drop by a pet store and pick me up a couple of Crups.”

Archie looked bemused. “And why exactly do you want a couple of notoriously temperamental magical yappy dogs?”

“Because I want to see if I can talk to them, of course.”

Archie’s look of bemusement became one of consternation. “This is about your other book, isn’t it?”

Sirius grinned. The other book was the highly illegal Animagery treatise which Peter Pettigrew had slipped to Jim Potter and which had made its way into the possession of Harry and then the rest of the Azkabal. But before he could say anything else, there was a flash of light, and two figures appeared: Countess Serena Zabini and her manservant Gunther Hagrid, both of whom were touching the International Portkey (which in this instance was made from a rusty pipefitter’s wrench). Gunther, in particular, was holding one end with some difficulty, as he was also supporting a large steamer trunk on one shoulder with several other pieces of luggage stacked on top of it.

The Countess stepped towards Sirius while Gunther struggled to shift the luggage without dropping anything. Sirius stepped forward as well.

“Comtesse!” he began in perfect French. “Bienvenue en Grande-Bretagne!”

“Bien le bonjour, Lord Black,” Serena replied in French before switching to English marked by a cultured Italian accent. “And thank you once again for inviting me into your home.”

“Well, technically, it’s my Heir and godson’s home,” he said with a grin. “I’m just house-sitting while he’s off at school.”

Behind him, Archie-aka-Regulus watched as his brother flirted shamelessly with the notorious Countess Zabini and tried not to make his displeasure obvious.

The Headmaster’s Office
11:00 a.m.

After the earlier and “spirited” discussion between Lily and Corban Yaxley, the DMLE Director withdrew to the Ministry along with the hit wizards who had accompanied him. But he promised to return as soon as possible with Veritaserum and a list of questions for Dumbledore to ask. Luckily, classes for the day had been cancelled so that the school could prepare for the arrival of the visiting schools and foreign dignitaries, all of whom were to arrive that afternoon in time for the evening feast. Luckily, because that saved Professor Potter from the embarrassment of announcing that Muggle Studies were cancelled for the day because the instructor was under suspicion of murdering a Muggle.

Lily took a few moments to Floo-call James, and Dumbledore gallantly stepped out of the Headmaster’s Office to give them some privacy. She spent a few minutes calming down her distraught husband and reassuring him of her innocence. Not that he needed any such reassurance.

“Give me a little credit, Lily,” he said. “Of course, I believe you. But you and I both know that innocence may not be enough with a Death Eater like Yaxley bringing the whole DMLE to bear against us. Do you have any idea how someone could have framed you this way? And is it even possible to murder someone the way Rita’s book says?”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “What exactly does this book say? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“I’ve only skimmed it so far. The bitch had the gall to send me an autographed copy! I gather it’s already on sale at Flourish & Blotts and flying off the shelves! But Lily … the things she knows about our family. About how Harry was treated by the Dursleys. About that stupid drunken Howler I sent him after his Sorting and all the legal problems it triggered. And everything is cast in the worst possible light. Especially everything involving Peter and all our money troubles. She …”

James swallowed painfully. “She implies we’re unfit parents and … the Wizengamot should take custody of Jim away from us so someone ‘worthy’ can raise him.”

Lily’s eyes glinted in anger “That’s not going to happen.”

“Lily … Harry’s political bloc has our votes, and because of that Oath of Enmity Sirius swore, they both hate us. That bloc is huge. Plus, they’ve shown they’re willing to work with all the Death Eaters in the Selwyn bloc if need be. Add all those votes together and there’s almost nothing they couldn’t do.”

She shook her head. “Listen to me, husband. I know Harry has to fight not to despise us. But even though he could have had you sent to Azkaban last March, he didn’t. He could have let you die, but he didn’t. And I don’t believe he’ll try to take Jim away from us. Or allow his allies to do so.”

James nodded. “Okay, okay. Anyway, we were talking about how Vernon was allegedly killed. Rita says you used some kind of Transfiguration on Vernon’s medications to make them poisonous but in a way that would cause them to return to normal after he died. Is that possible?”

She shrugged. “You’re the Transfiguration genius, not me.”

“Yeah, but you did get an O on your Transfiguration NEWT. Plus, you studied for all those Muggle science degrees. Wasn’t one of them … Biochemistry or something like that?”

“It was,” Lily answered. “And five points to Gryffindor for pronouncing it right this time. But I never took any classes on Pharmacology, which is the sort of science you’d need for this. And I have no idea how one might Transfigure medication in such a way that the transformation would end when the person who took the medicine died.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, but then her eyes widened.

“Whoever did this must have known about my Muggle university studies! That’s why Vernon was killed in such an obscure and overcomplicated way. I mean, assuming he really was murdered and this whole thing isn’t a hoax. Whoever killed him made a point of doing so in a way that only a Muggleborn with my credentials could have possibly accomplished. And then, they staged an encounter between Petunia and someone who looked like me where the fake-Lily confessed to the crime. And somehow, they tipped off Rita Skeeter. Assuming she’s not in on it.”

“But why would she turn on us? We’ve always had good relations with her.”

“Not always, James. Right after we married, she was very hostile in her articles about us. But then …”

She gritted her teeth in sudden anger. “But then, Peter said he’d ‘take care of her,’ and after that, she gave us nothing but fawning coverage. I’d always assumed he’d threatened her with legal action, but now that we know he’s a Death Eater …!”

James nodded slowly. “He might have blackmailed her into good coverage. Or something worse than blackmail. And now that he’s out of the picture, she’s broken her chains and is out for revenge. And she thinks whatever Peter did is our fault.”

Lily nodded ruefully. “I suppose it didn’t help that I treated her rather rudely over the years.” She blushed slightly. “I guess I took all those ‘gold-digging Muggleborn’ articles a bit too personally.”

“Not your fault, Lily-Flower. I took those early articles personally too at the time.” He decided to change the subject. “So what about that fake-Lily? Polyjuice?”

“Maybe,” she replied. “Or … could it have something to do with those foreign Metamorphmagi who were behind the Azkaban breakout? But what motive could they have to frame me for murder?”

Before James could answer, there was a soft knock on the door, and Dumbledore reentered, with Severus Snape following close behind, his face an emotionless mask.

“I apologize for intruding—and good morning to you, James—but I have received a Patronus message from the DMLE. They’re ready to come through for the interview.”

Lily nodded and turned back to James.

“Do you want me to come through and be there for moral support?” he asked.

“No,” Lily replied. “Your presence would just antagonize Yaxley. I’ll Floo-call again after we’re done. And don’t worry! Everything’s going to be fine.”

“After all,” she added with a smile. “The truth is on our side.”

With that, she ended the Floo connection and stepped aside. Seconds later, there was another fwoosh of green fire, and Director Yaxley passed through into the office followed by two hit wizards, a Ministry scribe, a witch who Snape recognized as an official Potions Mistress for the DMLE, and one more person who was not expected.

“Speak of the Devil,” Lily thought to herself grimly, “and the Devil appears. Complete with rhinestone spectacles!”

“Good morning, all you lovely people!” exclaimed Rita Skeeter brightly. “Albus, dah-ling! So delightful to be in your charming little office once again. How long has it been?”

“Almost seven years, Rita,” he said with what could certainly pass for geniality. “2 November, 1987. Which was the day I banned you permanently from the Hogwarts grounds.”

“Yes, yes, it was certainly a dark day for investigative journalism.” She waved her hand airily before reaching into her crocodile-skin handbag to produce a stamped Ministry document. “Happily, there are others at the Ministry who have a greater appreciation for the public’s right to know. My credentials, Headmaster.”

She handed over the parchment to Albus. As he read over it, his eyebrows rose in surprise.

“So … Ludo Bagman has given you a press pass to the Triwizard Tournament. And without bothering to inform me ahead of time. What marvelous initiative that shows on his part. I shall have to commend him later.”

“Well, Ludo and I have always had a close professional relationship, Albus.”

“I’m sure. Though I would not have thought a student academic contest would have attracted the attention of a journalist of your … pedigree.”

“Nonsense, Albus! Students from three schools coming together in the pursuit of excellence and international understanding? Just think of all the human-interest stories there will be to tell. Anyway, I just happened to be visiting the DMLE offices and heard Director Yaxley would be Flooing over, so I decided to make my glorious return to my old Alma Mater a few hours early. You know, in case something interesting happened.”

With that, Rita Skeeter turned and looked around the room. Her eyes landed on Lily, who was simply glaring at the other witch. Rita’s face lit up in delighted surprise, as if she hadn’t already been perfectly aware of Lily Potter’s presence in the office.

“Lily, dah-ling! What a lovely surprise!” She gave Lily an utterly vicious smile. “How are things?”

Lily was not amused. “They’ll be much better once I get this interview over with, Rita. At which point, I’ll be making a serious study of the state of Wizarding laws regarding slander.”

Skeeter chuckled. “Good luck with that, dearie. You should probably start by learning that slander is for spoken defamation. You’re welcome to sue me for libel … if you think you’re up to the challenge.”

Before Lily could respond, Dumbledore interrupted.

“While your credentials seem to be in order, Rita, they entitle you to observe and report on activities and events germane to the Triwizard Tournament. As I’m sure you’re quite aware, the meeting for which Director Yaxley and his associates have come has nothing to do with the Tournament, and so …”

“Say no more, Albus, say no more,” Rita said loftily while putting a delicate but well-manicured hand over her heart. Her scarlet nail polish popped against her green satiny dress fringed in black hair from some shaggy animal.

“I only came along with the Director,” she continued, “because, well, one never knows where a good story might be found. Buuut if this meeting is confidential, I shall leave you all to your little inquiry and take a stroll around the grounds in advance of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrivals. Perhaps scout out some good locations for my cameraman. Honestly, poor Bozo wouldn’t remember to take the lens cap off if I weren’t there to remind him.”

With that, Rita Skeeter turned gracefully and headed towards the door, pausing briefly to address Lily.

“Until we meet again, Lily. I doubt it will be very long.”

“Well,” replied Lily, “hope does spring eternal.”

Rita sniffed. But then, she noticed Severus Snape standing next to Lily while bearing an impassive expression. She looked him up and down.

“Mmm. I do love a man in black.” And with that, the muckracking journalist left the office. Dumbledore just shook his head.

“Enchantingly nasty as ever.” Then, he turned his attention to Yaxley. “Shall we begin?

After nearly twenty minutes spent haggling over which questions were appropriate for the “informal interview,” Yaxley finally produced the Veritaserum and grudgingly turned it over for review. Snape, Dumbledore, and Lily herself spent a few moments examining the potion to confirm that it had not been tampered with and was the standard formula. Lily took her seat, and the DMLE Potions Mistress administered three drops of the truth potion onto her tongue. Almost instantly, Lily’s eyes glazed over. After the court scribe set up an enchanted quill to dictate the questions and answers, Dumbledore asked a number of baseline questions to confirm the serum’s effectiveness (understandably, he did not ask Lily to give the address of her  family’s current residence even though Yaxley had wanted it) before starting in earnest.

Did you intentionally bring about the death of Vernon Dursley?

No.

Did you encourage or induce anyone else to bring about the death of Vernon Dursley?

No.

When was the last time you saw Vernon Dursley?

31 October 1992. The day of his funeral. I saw him in his casket.

[At this point, Yaxley asked for a clarifying question, and after some discussion, Dumbledore conceded the point.]

When was the last time you saw Vernon Dursley alive?

1 September 1991. The day we picked up Harry to take him to Kings Cross. We did not speak to one another.

When was the last time you saw Petunia Dursley?

31 October 1992. The day of Vernon’s funeral.

And prior to the funeral?

1 September 1991. The day we picked up Harry to take him to Kings Cross. We had a brief exchange but nothing more.

[At this point, Yaxley and Dumbledore argued for several minutes about the substance of the “brief exchange” before a compromise was reached.]

At any point in time, did you ever tell Petunia Dursley or insinuate to her in any way that you caused the death of Vernon Dursley?

No.

Do you have any idea why Petunia Dursley might have verified memories of you claiming to have murdered Vernon Dursley?

No. I assume someone is trying to frame me. Either through Polyjuice or Metamorphmagery.

[Brief discussion between Yaxley and Dumbledore.]

What NEWTs did you sit and what grades did you achieve?

Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Muggle Studies, Potions, and Transfiguration. All Outstanding, except for Muggle Studies in which I earned an Acceptable.

[Several seconds of silence before one of the hit wizards interrupted with a question.]

You’re the Muggle Studies teacher and a Muggleborn! How did you only get an Acceptable in Muggle Studies?!?

Because I answered all the questions accurately instead of quoting the erroneous information taught in the class.

[A brief interruption as Dumbledore admonished the observers that only he is permitted to ask questions of the witness.]

What advanced Muggle degrees do you possess?

I hold Bachelor of Science degrees in Chemistry, Biology, Mathematics, and Physics from the University of Manchester and a Master of Science degree in Biochemistry from St. Andrews.

[Brief discussion between Yaxley, Dumbledore, Snape and one of the hit wizards (who was a Halfblood with a Muggleborn parent) regarding the meaning of the terms used in the previous answer.]

Based on your knowledge of magic and Muggle science, do you believe it is possible to Transfigure medications into harmful substances which will then return to their original form upon the death of whoever takes them?

Anything is possible with magic, I suppose. But I’ve never heard of anyone doing that. Perhaps the Unspeakables might know.

[Audible growling from Yaxley.]

Do you personally know of any techniques for achieving such a Transfiguration?

No.

Where were you on the night of 18 October 1992?

I was at Hogwarts all day and all that night. I did not leave Hogwarts for any reason after that until the day of Vernon’s funeral. 

With the approved questions completed, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that seems to be everything in order. I trust you are fully satis…”

Suddenly, Yaxley (who had grown increasingly frustrated with Lily’s denials) barked out a question of his own.

“ARE YOU AN OCCLUMENS!?!”

Lily drew a breath to respond, but before she could utter a word, Dumbledore hit her with a wandless, wordless Silencing Charm.

“Director Yaxley,” Dumbledore said in a very cold voice. “That question was not on the approved list, and for good reason. It is forbidden to ask someone under Veritaserum whether they are an Occlumens. As you should well know, I expect, given how thoroughly the matter was litigated during your own treason trial in November of 1981!”

Yaxley glared at the older wizard, but he knew Dumbledore was right. Less than a year after the introduction of Veritaserum, the Wizengamot passed a law forbidding the use of the potion to question a person about their own Occlumency skills. The reasoning behind the law was that if a witness admitted under Veritaserum to knowing any Occlumency, their testimony could be disregarded at trial regardless of its actual truthfulness. If the answer was no, on the other hand, it could mean that either the person knew no Occlumency at all or that the person was actually a good enough Occlumens to lie about it (or any other topic) while under the truth potion. Thus, even a negative response in the hands of a skillful barrister might be used to attack the credibility of a witness who had actually testified truthfully under Veritaserum.

The fact that the Wizengamot members who pushed the strongest for this prohibition were all widely believed to have connections to criminal organizations was seldom addressed in the official legal commentaries.

In short order, the Potions Mistress gave Lily the antidote, while the scribe certified the transcript and then generated copies for Dumbledore and Lily. The Ministry contingent exited through the Floo, and after a few minutes of small talk with the Headmaster, Lily left for her private rooms. Once inside, she exhaled deeply and ran her fingers through her hair, letting the morning’s tension drain somewhat. Now that Yaxley’s nonsense was over, she would freshen up a bit before contacting James to let him know everything had gone well.

But before she could move an inch, the door suddenly burst open with a loud bang. Severus Snape strode into her room without knocking (and, to her surprise and annoyance, blasting through her normal locking Charms with ease). He slammed the door shut and put up no less than six anti-eavesdropping Charms on the door and the nearby windows, followed by a Muffliato, before finally addressing the witch with an expression of outrage and disbelief.  

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Lily!” he finally snapped.

The witch was taken aback as much by Snape’s profanity as by his anger. She remembered that when they were children, long before Hogwarts, he had explained to her that wizards had a strong taboo about taking the Lord’s name in vain. Or for that matter, that of Jesus, Mary, Mohammed and the Prophets, or even Zeus or Odin or any other Muggle deities.

“Even an atheist wizard,” Severus had said when they were both nine years old, “knows that, for someone with Magic, gods don’t have to be real to answer our prayers. Whether you want them to or not.”

“What is it, Sev?” she asked aloud.

“What is it? What is it? You are actually going to stand there and continue to feign your innocence of what you did?!?”

“You don’t believe me?!?” Lily asked angrily. “Even after I answered every question under Veritaserum?!?”

“DON’T LIE!” he bellowed in a rage. “Even if you choose to lie to yourself, Lily Potter, never think that you can lie to me!!”

He began to pace about, albeit with some difficulty as the radius of the Muffliato Charm did not leave much room for it.

“That last question asked if you were an Occlumens, Lily. Dumbledore silenced you before you could answer and then began to argue with Yaxley and the others. But I watched you. I saw your lips move and I know what you would have said aloud had you been able to: ‘No, I am not an Occlumens.’”

“Well, I’m not!” Lily exclaimed. “I’ve never even touched an Occlumency book!”

“Don’t …!” Snape stopped suddenly and then studied the woman’s face intently. Then, he rubbed his hand across his face and sighed in resignation.

“I see. It is pointless to argue with you or berate you because you don’t know, and I don’t know the trigger to remind you. Assuming, of course, that you haven’t somehow permanently Obliviated yourself of the knowledge. Merlin knows that if anyone could master something as Gryffindorishly foolish as targeted self-Obliviation through independent study, it would be you!”

Lily stared at him in confusion, and after a moment, he continued in a calmer voice.

“Lily, at the time of our quarrel at the end of Fifth Year, you were already a strong Level 3 Occlumens. We both were. And you were eager to resume our studies over the summer because you saw it as a competition and wanted to master Level 4 before me. Level 4—in case you don’t recall—is the level at which it is possible to develop secondary personalities and shift memories around in order to fool Veritaserum. A level you obviously reached since I just saw you lie about having never been an Occlumens at all!”

She stared at him, open-mouthed. Then, slowly, she sat down in a nearby chair in a state of shock.

“So … you’re saying I murdered my brother-in-law, presumably in revenge for how he mistreated Harry all those years? And then, I made a point of telling Petunia all about it before Obliviating her? And apparently myself as well? Waitaminute, I don’t even know how to Obliviate people!”

Snape groaned. “Which is only further evidence that you have, in fact, erased your own memories of incriminating facts. Because I taught you the Memory Charm in December of 1975. It was … well, it was my Christmas present for you since I could not have afforded to give you any actual presents. I learned …”

He paused midsentence. “I learned it … from another Slytherin,” he finally finished, while hoping she wouldn’t press the issue.

More specifically, Mulciber had taught him the Memory Charm in exchange for the Potion Snape provided him that he would later misuse so horribly against Mary McDonald, one of Lily’s closest friends, albeit one who’d never disguised her disdain for “that greasy snake.” Not that Snape had any interest in exploring that topic with Lily at this late date.

“Merlin,” he thought to himself, “we’ve always been casually cruel to those we think have wronged us, haven’t we.”

“But what would be the point of giving Petunia an ‘evil villainess monologue’ and then erasing both our memories?!?” Lily asked in frustration.

“I’m not even going to guess what the point of it would have been, and no Slytherin would conceive of doing such a thing. In any case, I doubt you erased your own memories at that time. More likely, you had a contingent trigger in place that would lock away those memories and also your knowledge of your own status as an Occlumens and your knowledge of how to Transfigure medicines into undetectable poisons if you were ever in danger of being questioned under Veritaserum or otherwise in danger of exposure.”

Lily flinched at Snape’s casual suggestion that she really was a murderess. “And that’s … something an Occlumens can do?”

 “I have five contingency triggers that I am aware of,” Snape said by way of answer, “plus an undetermined number of triggers that I don’t recall putting into place but which will activate automatically under the appropriate circumstances. I assume I installed them during my time as a spy on the Death Eaters.”

“You have triggers to alter your own memories and personality and don’t know what they are?!? That’s horrible!”

The man snorted. “Presumably your true self disagreed as she seems to have done the same thing.”

She shook her head in a daze. “I still can’t believe it. I can’t believe I would do something like that.”

“Neither can I. Honestly, monologuing? It would have been the perfect crime if you’d simply not said anything to Petunia.”

“Sev!!”

Despite everything that had happened, Snape could not resist a wry chuckle. “Tell me, Lily. Now that you know the truth, even if you still do not consciously remember it … do you regret Vernon’s death?”

She looked away and said nothing for a long moment.

“I don’t know. I mean …doxies, Severus! A few dozen of them, according to the Auror report. Do you remember how I described them when we first saw them in Kettleburn’s class? Tinkerbell crossbred with a piranha. And Vernon Dursley threw my son into a swarm of them to die. If it really was me that killed him …?”

She paused while trying to analyze her own feelings. “I’m … not sorry he’s dead. But still, I can’t imagine that I would ever be the one to murder him in cold blood.”

Severus watched his oldest friend in silence. There was so much that he wished to say. Lily did not presently even remember committing the crime, but she still knew enough to not regret doing so. What would she say if she knew that Vernon himself was innocent in that he had been compelled to mistreat Harry because of the boy’s mysterious “Muggle problem.” Even if he weren’t bound by oaths, Snape saw no upside to sharing that information with Lily now. But perhaps there was one thing he could—and should—share, for better or worse.

“Harry thinks Vernon’s death was his fault,” he said quietly.

“What?!?” she exclaimed.

“Harry believes—or at least did believe until today, I suppose—that Vernon died of a heart attack. But deep down, he thinks that the man’s death was directly connected to his earlier heart attack from the evening the Doxies attacked the Dursley residence. Doxies which were apparently sent there as part of a magical attempt to kill Harry. Harry believes that the incident was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back after years of the Muggle’s stress and agitation due to simply having a magical child in his home. He never expressly told me this, but I know the boy well. Since the day he learned of Vernon Dursley’s death, Harry has wrongly thought that it was all his fault.”

Lily’s bottom lip trembled slightly. “Why did you choose to reveal that to me?”

“Because you are his mother. And I truly think you do love him after a fashion. Perhaps not in the way you love Jim, but I know you do love Harry. And yet … nearly everything you have ever done for Harry has only hurt him instead. I tell you this … because I hope that your noble Gryffindor instincts don’t hurt him even more.”

With that, Snape turned, dismissed the protective spells, and reached for the door handle.

“Are you going to tell … anyone?” Lily asked softly.

Severus paused with his fingertips resting on the brass door handle. “No,” he finally said. “Not unless something changes. Something that affects Harry.”

Then, he turned back to look at his first friend once more.

“But Merlin’s bones, Lily … I wish you hadn’t done it.”

And then, he left. Lily stared at the door, occasionally reaching up to wipe away tears shed over a crime she didn’t remember committing. Then, she went to her lavatory and cleaned up her face before leaving the room to Floo-call her husband and tell him what happened during the interview. She did not know when or if she would tell him the rest, but if so, it would not be today via a Floo-call.

As the door closed behind her, the room sat empty and silent for almost a minute. Then, there was a soft buzz as a large green beetle slowly crawled out of its hiding space underneath the chair where Lily had been sitting. The beetle fluttered its wings in excitement for a few seconds before taking wing and leaving the room through a crack in the window.  

Moments later, an emotionally drained Severus Snape returned to his own quarters. After closing the door, he leaned back against it with his eyes closed as he committed everything that had just happened, everything he’d said and done and felt, to memory. Then, his brow furrowed as an unexpected idea came to him. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at nothing in particular.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM.”

A silvery mist shot forth and flew about the room. But instead of manifesting as a delicate silver doe identical to Lily’s Patronus (his doe’s name was Desirée, while Lily’s was Faline), the silver mist instead sprouted a pair of jagged wings. The Patronus flapped around the room before landing on a nearby table and spreading its wings wide. They were deeply impressive if menacing wings, with a span of more than five feet. Quite appropriate for a flying fox, the largest genus of bat in the world. The enormous bat stared at Snape with beady eyes and then opened its mouth (the needly teeth were visible even in Patronus form) and hissed at its creator.

“Well,” Snape said aloud to no one. “That’s … something at least.”

Later that day …

Almost instantly, the news had spread across Hogwarts that Lily Potter had successfully denied the accusations against her under Veritaserum, which only served to raise more questions. Questions ranging from “Who is trying to frame Lily Potter?” to “How did that dirty Mudblood manage to fool Veritaserum?” depending on who was asking.

Harry knew more about the interview than most students, though he still had plenty of questions. In his first major application of his power as Prince to direct enchanted snakes to spy on others in the castle, he had decided to go “Gryffindor bold” and send a tiny portrait grass snake named Siobhan to slither unobtrusively into a portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black hanging in Dumbledore’s office. Phineas Nigellus had been a Slytherin, and Lucius had suggested that he might be less likely to object to a strange snake showing up in his own portrait, though neither Lucius nor Regulus had ever been bold enough to try spying on Dumbledore in his own office.

While not a perfect transcript by any means, the grass snake was able to convey the gist of the questions asked and the answers Lily provided. Harry was perturbed by Yaxley’s question about Occlumency, and even more so by the fact that no audible answer was given. On the bright side, it was good to know that the Ministry would never be allowed to ask him about his own Occlumency under a truth ;potion. But even setting aside the possibility that Harry’s birth mother might actually be a murderess who concealed her crimes through Occlumency, it was sobering for Harry to realize that Lily might also be a better Occlumens than him and still make the same kind of irrational and emotional decisions that she made on a regular basis.

“Against Gryffindor tendencies,” he mused to himself, “even Magic struggles in vain.”

At lunch, the Great Hall was awash in petty gossip. Jim had to be physically restrained from punching Cormac McLaggen after the older boy asked with his usual directness: “Listen, Potter, everyone’s talking but no one knows anything. Did your Mum kill that Muggle bloke or what?”

Meanwhile, Harry received an owl at lunch from Hestia Jones informing him that Artie had also read the Prophet and advised him to say nothing to anyone. Podmore & Associates would be issuing a press release later in the day which, among other details, would remind the press that even though Harry was emancipated, he was still a minor for many purposes, including how damages might be assessed against anyone who defamed him or who invaded his privacy. All media inquiries regarding Lord Wilkes were to be addressed to his solicitor. While sound advice, Harry thought it might be difficult to follow in light of just how many copies of The Fall of the House of Potter had been delivered to the Great Hall. Daphne had actually ordered two and quietly given one to Harry. He thanked her and then handed his copy off to Blaise who was an accomplished speed-reader.

Immediately after lunch, Harry knocked on the door of Snape’s private quarters. Snape opened the door and gave Harry a jaundiced look. Harry opened his mouth but abruptly closed it again. Finally, he said in resignation: “You’re not going to tell me anything helpful, are you.” It was not a question.

Snape just stared at the boy impassively, which was an answer in and of itself.

“I am not at liberty to discuss my views on the accusations against your mother,” he finally said, “except to confirm that she did deny under Veritaserum playing any role in Vernon Dursley’s death.” He paused and grimaced. “That said, while I have no authority to order you to do so, I strongly encourage you to meet with Healer Tonks for guidance in how to best to deal with any … emotions you may be feeling as a result of this …”

“Circus, sir?” Harry finished.

“I was going to say trauma.”

Harry shrugged as if he’d not considered that aspect of it. “I’ll find time this afternoon to speak with Healer Tonks.”

Snape nodded, and Harry turned and left. He hadn’t lied. He’d been assigned to inform Draco Malfoy upon his arrival that the boy’s father had chopped his own arm off the night before to evade a curse levied by one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. And Harry thought it might be wise to do so in the presence of someone else so who could both be trusted with the Azkabal’s secrets and also likely to give some concrete information about Lucius Malfoy’s current health and prognosis. As an added bonus, Healer Tonks would be able to administer first aid if Draco hexed Harry for leaving his father unattended long enough for the Gaunt Ring to get a piece of him.

Later still …

The arrival of the visitors was almost enough to distract the student body from the emerging scandal, though personally, Harry found their modes of travel to be somewhat pedestrian by magical standards. The Durmstrang contingent came in a large boat that arose from the depths of the Black Lake like some ghostly sunken pirate ship that had somehow been modified into a submarine. The uniforms worn by the Durmstrang students, male and female, were very brown: brown trousers and brown tunics (cinched at the waist with a leather belt in a slightly darker shade of brown), long brown coats with brown fur trim and, in a few cases, brown furred hats. Draco had referred to them as Ushenko hats in one of his letters and said that they were very warm in the winter months.

Most of the males had buzzcut hairstyles, including Krum, but a few had longer styles. Draco apparently managed to avoid getting a buzzcut, but it was hard to tell under the hat. The girls mostly had tightly braided hair or else ponytails. The whole ensemble was very martial in character, bordering on sinister, albeit in a somewhat rustic way and not at all what Harry would have expected Draco Malfoy to be wearing. Unlike the other two schools, these uniforms were gender neutral. Harry wondered how many of the British students from more traditional families were scandalized by the trousers worn by the Durmstrang girls. After studying the group for a moment, he focused his attention on the ones he actually recognized: Draco, Viktor Krum, and Alexander Nott (Theo No-Name's “sort of” brother), who all stood close to Headmaster Igor Karkaroff, a wizard so surrounded with a miasma of “Look at me! I am a dark wizard!” that he could hardly be named anything but Igor.

The Beauxbatons students, meanwhile, arrived in a very large and ornate gilded carriage drawn by eight winged Abraxan stallions. For the Beauxbatons girls, the uniform consisted of fashionable baby blue dresses with pointed hats. The boys, on the other hand, wore blue V-neck jumpers, striped blue neckties, and pin-striped jackets (dark blue with baby blue stripes and the Beauxbatons crest on the pocket). Black trousers completed the look. Harry only knew one Beauxbatons student, but he was eventually able to pick her out of the crowd: Fleur Delacour. Surprisingly, the young witch almost blended into the background. She wore noticeably less makeup than most of her peers, and compared to her chattering fellow students, she seemed reserved bordering on shy.

Which, of course, was not the impression of Fleur Delacour that Harry had gotten from their brief encounter in Marseilles the previous summer. He made a spot for “look into Fleur Delacour” on his to-do list, but after the last few days, he could slot it in no higher than tenth at best. Stealing Harry’s attention away from the mysterious Delacour was the Beauxbatons Headmistress, Olympe Maxime, who was easily the tallest woman Harry had ever seen. She looked to be almost as tall as Hagrid, though far more sophisticated in clothing choice and bearing.

Dumbledore greeted the two Headmasters warmly, and surprisingly so, as Harry knew for a fact that Karkaroff was a former Death Eater. That fact was confirmed by Harry’s built-in Dark Mark detector. As soon as Karkaroff got within about fifty feet, Harry heard the faint hiss from the snake tattoo on his left shoulder hidden beneath his clothes that announced the man’s prior allegiance. But if Mark hadn’t already warned Harry about Karkaroff’s Death Eater markings, the boy might well have guessed it from the way both Snape and Alastor Moody sneered at the man. Harry assumed that the presence of a “reformed” Death Eater was the only thing that could get those two to agree on anything.    

While Dumbledore made his welcoming comments, Harry made eye contact with Draco. The other boy gave the barest hint of a smile, but Harry did not smile back. Instead, he casually rubbed his left earlobe before quickly turning his attention elsewhere, thus communicating to the former Slytherin that they needed to talk immediately and in private. Draco lifted his chin slightly and then turned to whisper something to another Durmstrang student, thus relaying to Harry that his message had been received. Harry was pleased to note that even after a year at Durmstrang, the other boy had not forgotten how to communicate like a Slytherin.

Soon after, everyone made their way inside to the Great Hall. The chairs and long tables had been removed and replaced with a number of smaller tables holding hors d'oeuvres and punch bowls for an informal meet-and-greet for all the students. According to McGonagall’s earlier announcement, there would also be a brief “cultural exchange,” apparently featuring Durmstrang’s pyromancy drill team, Beauxbaton’s papillon dance ensemble (Harry gathered it involved butterflies), and Hogwarts’ own frog choir, of which Neville was a proud member. Not a fan of “the arts,” Harry was eager for an excuse to slip away, and once out in the corridor, he noticed that Draco had snuck out of the festivities as well.

“Interesting uniform,” Harry quipped. “I was expecting something more … Prussian. Perhaps with lots of little medals on the chest.”  

Draco snorted softly. “It’s very comfortable, actually. Ideal for being crammed into the bowels of a creaky old magic boat for fourteen hours.”

As the boy spoke, he pulled off his Ushenko and shook his head. His hair was about as long as it had been at the Quidditch World Cup, but it was now slicked back into a short ponytail. Then, to Harry’s surprise, Draco smiled and pulled him into a warm hug.

“It’s good to see you again, my friend.”

“What? It’s barely been two months! And since when have you been a hugger?”

“Since I stopped being Slytherin Draco and became Bogatyr Draago. Bogatyrs are, shall we say, more in touch with their emotions than Slytherins.”

Harry crooked a dubious eye. “Merlin save me from ever becoming a Bogatyr, then. At least they haven’t made you shave your head or anything.”

“Pfft! That? That’s not school policy. We’re just expected to keep ourselves neat. But Viktor likes to keep his hair very short and, well, he has fanboys. But enough of Durmstrang school fashion. What did you want to speak about?”

Harry grimaced. “Something happened last night, Draco. Something to do with …”

But then, before he could finish that sentence, Harry stopped abruptly with a surprised look on his face. He glanced down at his right hand for a second before looking around the area as if searching for something.

“Come on,” he finally said. “We shouldn’t talk about this here. Ted Tonks has an office near the Hospital Wing, and it’s probably got the best privacy wards in the castle other than Dumbledore’s.”

Then, he turned and strode down the hallway, with a confused Draco following behind.

Six minutes later …

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY FATHER CHOPPED HIS ARM OFF?!?!” Draco shrieked.

Harry sighed. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have led with that without any build-up. Idly, he wondered if his verbal misstep was because Draco’s Occlumency had improved to the point that Harry could no longer read his emotional state reflexively (though obviously not yet to the point that Draco could take terrible news with aplomb). Luckily, Ted stepped in to take over.

“It is as Harry said, Draco. Professor Snape informed me of the details this morning. Your father held possession of a Horcrux sealed within an impregnable Orichalcum box, but last night, he and Harry were finally able to open it. But then, the Horcrux—in the form of a magical ring—mentally influenced your father to put it on, and it immediately infected him with a deadly curse. Andromeda is at Malfoy Manor treating him now. She theorizes that the curse was a Wasting Curse augmented by You-Know-Who’s Parselmagic. She and Severus both agree that Lucius would have surely died had he not cut the infected limb off so quickly.”

“Uh-huh.” Draco turned angrily towards Harry. “And where were you when this was happening?”

“I had to leave the room briefly to get the Basilisk venom we needed to destroy the Ring. I was gone less than thirty seconds, which was enough time for it to influence your father into putting it on. And I suspect the Ring might have influenced me into leaving him alone with it long enough to focus all its attention on Mr. Malfoy.”

“You got magically influenced by a Horcrux? You started Occlumency training as a First Year!”

“And your father is still much better at it than me, but that didn’t stop the Ring from compelling him to put it on even though he knew it was likely cursed. Just like the Locket would have compelled Regulus to kill himself with a Basilisk fang and probably killed me with the sense-memory of a Doxy attack if I hadn’t managed to resist long enough to destroy it first.”

Draco put his face into his hands as he brought his emotions under control. “You’re right, of course. It wasn’t your fault.”

Then, he looked up at Ted. “How is Father? Can I see him?”

“Andromeda has him in a healing coma while she follows the standard regimen of cleansing rituals. He will almost certainly be unconscious for several more hours at least. But I will speak to Headmaster Dumbledore and through him to your own Headmaster and see if we can get permission for you to visit Malfoy Manor this evening or tomorrow.”

Draco nodded. “What do you think the long-term effects of this curse might be?”

Before Ted could answer, Harry leaned forward in his chair. “Actually, before we get into that, It occurs to me that we’ve been talking about some pretty sensitive information. Ted, can you go over the protections on this room again?”

The boy let out a weak chuckle. “You know us paranoid Slytherins. Haha.”

Ted looked at Harry quizzically before shrugging and answering the question. “The room is protected by all the standard wards against external eavesdropping or illicit recording.”

“Anything to stop someone from just sneaking in and listening to what’s said?”

“Well not specifically beyond just magically locking the door, but …”

Before he could finish the sentence, Harry jumped out of his chair, wand already in hand, and cried out “HOMENUM REVELIO!” A wave of magic washed over the room, but to Harry’s surprise, no intruders were revealed. Then, Harry pointed his wand towards the door, dilated his perceptions, and focused his Legilimency on that area, but he still detected no one. Indeed, no sign of movement or life of any kind. Just a small, insignificant flying beetle that was heading straight for a crack under the office door. Quickly, Harry opened up a second mind stream to double-check those observations, and the second mind immediately noticed what the first mind had missed: that the insignificance of the beetle was unnatural in nature!

“HOMORPHUS REVERSO!” he snarled. There was another flash of light followed by a loud expletive and a thump as the beetle transformed back into the form of Rita Skeeter just in time for her to bang her head on the door as her body dropped to the ground. Luckily for her, the Animagus had not picked up enough speed to seriously hurt herself as Peter Pettigrew had done in the Shrieking Shack the previous May, though she did rub her bruised forehead as she rolled onto her back.

“Owww!” she said in an irritated moan.

By now, Ted and Draco had both risen and drawn their own wands to point at the fallen reporter. Harry stepped forward with his wand still trained on the woman.

“Rita Skeeter. Star reporter for the Daily Prophet and author of The Fall of the House of Potter. So lovely to meet you again.”

Rita patted her blonde curls into shape as best she could without a mirror and then smiled up at Harry.

“Likewise, Lord Wilkes. And if I may say so—Congratulations! You are by far the youngest man to ever put me flat on my back.”

Then, she held up a hand as if she actually expected one of the males in the room to help her up off the floor. Harry rolled his eyes and then gestured with his wand in a silent Wingardium Leviosa. Instantly, the witch was lifted up off the ground and put back on her feet.

“Thank you, Lord Wilkes,” she said as she took a moment to adjust her dress and brush off any dust from her spill on the floor. “So very gallant of you.”

“Whatever. So … you’re an Animagus.”

“Obviously,” she answered with a self-satisfied expression.

“And an illegal one at that,” Ted added.

“Well, I’m a reporter, not a lawyer. I suppose that’s for others to decide.”

“Like the DMLE?” Draco asked harshly.

Skeeter chuckled but didn’t take the bait. Meanwhile, Harry looked at her curiously.

“But there’s more to it than illegal Animagery, isn’t there? I mean, insects are small and unobtrusive for the most part, but you’re very stealthy for what looks to me to be a bright green and unusually large beetle.”

“Rude!” she said as if offended the boy had made some cheeky comment about her weight. But then, she tapped the side of her rhinestone glasses.

“Illegal beetle Animagus and also a reasonably talented Ravenclaw, darling. An Animagus’s clothing transforms with the Animagus’s body and becomes a part of the animal form. These glasses, aside from being très chic, also carry a special targeted Notice-Me-Not variant. One that’s only triggered while I’m in my other form and which projects a constant message of ‘pay no attention to that big green beetle flitting about’ to anyone who does happen to spot me. Good enough to fool even most Revelios. Your psychic powers must be very well-developed to have seen through it so quickly.”

Her smile suddenly became somewhat predatory. “But then, you’ve always been a bit of an overachiever, haven’t you?”

Harry said nothing. In fact, he thought his Occlumency might well have failed against Rita’s defense had he not known for certain that there was an Animagus inside the room somewhere near the door thanks to the enchantment built into his Lord’s Ring and backed by the collective power of the Wizengamot. Then, an angry Draco spoke up.

“Enough of this … flirting, if you please. How much did you hear about what we were talking about, Skeeter?”

“It doesn’t matter what she heard,” Ted said authoritatively. “As I was about to say before this … intrusion, part of my privacy wards includes an invocation of the Healer’s Oath that can be used to protect confidential discussions touching on medical matters to any degree. The fact that part of our discussions involved your father’s injury was enough to trigger the invocation which also acts as a nonconsensual oath binding everyone who hears us, whether they voluntarily submitted or not and regardless of whether the conversation strays into non-medical matters! Miss Skeeter cannot reveal anything she learned from our discussions or else she will be marked as an oath-breaker.”

Harry looked sharply at the Healer. “Waitaminute. All we need to do in order to protect our secrets is to meet in here and make a point of asking for a headache remedy as part of the conversation?”

Ted thought for a moment. “Pretty much, at least to the extent that a secrecy oath can bind anyone. It’s nonconsensual so there might be some loopholes if you’re clever enough. But the oath only works in this room, and only if I’m present to activate it.”

“Good to know,” Harry muttered.

“Yes, very interesting,” Skeeter said blandly. “Out of curiosity, does that work both ways? After all, you only learned about my Animagus form in the course of this conversation about poor Lord Malfoy’s tragic injury and the treatment he is receiving … if you don’t mind me bringing things back around to your original medical-themed topic. Can I assume you all are also bound against revealing my little secret?”

Ted opened his mouth to respond but then snapped it shut again as he considered the question. Harry took that to mean the answer was yes.

“We may not be able to reveal what we learned about you in here, Miss Skeeter,” Harry said threateningly. “But I’ll wager that the oath doesn’t cover anything we learn outside this room that confirms what we already know about your secret.”

She laughed gaily. “Harry, Harry, Harry … You don’t mind if I call you Harry, do you?”

“Yes, I do actually.”

“Anyway, Harry, there’s no need for us to be antagonistic. I’m on your side in all this.”

“On my side?!?” the boy nearly spluttered. “You just published a book that exposed some of my deepest and most personal secrets!!”

“And obviously, you haven’t read it, or else you would know that you come out of it smelling like roses dipped in Amortentia! I addressed your time with those filthy Muggles with the utmost respect and sensitivity and praised you for how you overcame those traumas to become the truly admirable young man you are today! My real focus was on the parents who abandoned you to that tragic fate. Which, of course, is the same tack that your friends at the Witch Weekly publications are going to take as well, so perhaps we should coordinate. I believe the Muggles call it synergy.”

“What do you know about that?” Harry asked cautiously. “Witch Weekly, not … synergy or whatever.”

“Oh, merely what I was able to read half-an-hour ago in a letter that the Greengrass Heiress was writing to her mother while a certain ‘small and unobtrusive beetle’ was perched delicately on her shoulder. Anyway, since you managed to finagle away all the Potters’ money and their home, I assume you are not opposed to the idea of revenge against them. And speaking of which, forcing Lily and James Potter to move into the very home where you were abused?”

Skeeter actually gave a chef’s kiss at the idea.

“Thanks,” said Harry sarcastically.

“Excuse me,” interrupted Healer Tonks testily. “If your goal is revenge against the Potters for … something, why in Merlin’s name did you go after my wife and I? What did we ever do to you?”

She looked at him in confusion for a moment before remembering the borderline slanderous accusations she’d made about the Tonks family in the aftermath of the 1993 werewolf attack on Hogsmeade.

“Oh, that … Sorry?” Rita apologized with a bare minimum of sincerity. “I mean, honestly, I have nothing at all against you or your family. That was all Pettigrew.”

“Pettigrew? What about him?” Harry asked before the familiar whirr-click of a Legilimency deduction provided the answer.

“Wait, never mind. He was blackmailing you, wasn’t he?” the boy said, answering his own question. “That’s why your coverage of the Potters went from hostile to fawning back in the early ‘80s.”

Rita snorted contemptuously. “I’d be offended by the word fawning if it weren’t perfectly accurate. Yes, the filthy little rat was blackmailing me into covering not just the Potters but a number of stories according to his needs. That included a number of stories insinuating that you, Harry, were a future dark wizard, so my apology extends to you as well.”

“So Pettigrew knew about your Animagery?” asked Draco.

“He knew about my secrets, and that’s all I’ll say about that. But I’ve recovered what Pettigrew had on me and am free of his control. I assure you, Healer Tonks, I have nothing against you or your family. I suspect he was worried that the Hogsmeade attack might be traced back to him, so he told me to stir up public anger against you, your family, and Theo No-Name as a way of clouding the issue. If you want, I’ll make it up to you with a puff piece about your new role as Hogwarts counselor or something like that.”

“I’ll be sure and let my wife know,” Ted snapped. “Perhaps then she’ll stop plotting to kill you with Manticore venom.”

“But you do have something against the Potters, right?” asked Harry, who was trying to keep everyone on point. “Otherwise, Pettigrew wouldn’t have needed to blackmail you to stop bad coverage of them. And your book is a way of getting revenge against them for what Pettigrew did!”

“Well, I’m certainly not a fan of either of them, but I like to think it’s less about revenge than it is about civic responsibility.”

“Excuse me?!?” spat Harry.

“Just that. You all know as well as I that Jim Potter is the Savior of Wizarding Britain, the one who saved us from You-Know-Who and who is fated to do so again if the Dark Lord returns. And yet, for the last thirteen years, he’s been raised by an arrogant buffoon and a gold-digging psychopath, both of whom were content to appoint a Death Eater as Jim’s godfather and then to turn over effective control of an Ancient & Noble House to that same Death Eater. With the end result that poor Jim is now an emotionally damaged teenager who lives during the summer among Muggles. And in utter poverty, no less!”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to damage the Potters enough for them to lose custody of Jim? That’ll never happen! Who else could even get custody of him?”

“Well, you, silly!” she said almost mischievously. “Jim will be living at Hogwarts until next June. I have until then to utterly ruin James and Lily Potter. Then, you can prevail upon your godfather to rescind the Oath of Enmity that causes you to feel an unnatural dislike for your twin. Once your parents are out of the picture, custody of Jim will naturally pass to his closest blood relative … who just happens to be his recently emancipated multi-millionaire older brother! It’s perfect! You two will reconcile and Jim will even be able to get his old room back at Potter Manor! And I’ll have pictures of you two in a warm brotherly embrace on the front page of The Prophet!”

“I’m not going to stand by and let you destroy the Potters just to enhance your book sales!” Harry exclaimed angrily.

“Oh, Harry …!”

“Lord Wilkes to you!” he snapped. Rita just smiled condescendingly.

“Harry,” she said with authority. “You’re not going to fight me on this because … you owe me.”

“For what? Exposing my crappy childhood just to further ruin my birth parents?!?”

“No, Harry, darling,” she said with a look of serene confidence. “You owe me because, even though it would have been the story of the century, I have thus far not told a single solitary soul that Regulus Black is still alive and is a Metamorphmagus posing as Lord Black’s bodyguard. Or that Bellatrix Black is also still alive but is innocent of being a Death Eater and is living in Australia under a false identity. Or, indeed, any of the other exciting and outrageous details I’ve learned about the Azkaban breakout or the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes!”

The three wizards just stared at her in open-mouthed amazement and horror.

“By the way,” she added, “who came up with Azkabal? Because that. Is. Brilliant!! When I finally do publish, that’s going to be part of the title. Secrets of the Azkabal! I can hardly wait!”

“HOW?!?” Harry shouted in consternation.

“Hmm, well let’s see. First, I have a small and unobtrusive Animagus form. Second, I am very skilled at Notice-Me-Not Charms. And third—and most important, I think—I am a very good reporter with a very good instinct for digging out the truth.”

29 August 1993
The Office of Chief Auror James Potter
(about fourteen months earlier)

“But why would American Muggle-born wizards want to break Death Eaters out of Azkaban?" Potter asked in confusion.

Buck shrugged. "Who can tell with the Americans? To gain access to dark magic from You-Know-Who's stash, maybe? Or perhaps revenge of relatives murdered by Death Eaters?"

"Well, maybe Mr. Cato can tell us. Now that we know he's probably a shapeshifter too, it's time we brought him in for questioning." James rose from his desk to send out a squad of aurors.

"No doubt," Buck said as he distractedly waved away a small bug that had been fluttering around his face. "And, um, while you’re taking care of your business, I need to take care of mine, so to speak. Can you direct me to the nearest loo?"

James laughed. "Certainly. It's down the corridor. First door on the left."

Buck thanked Potter for the directions and made his way to the men's room. Once inside, he checked to make sure he was alone before locking the door. Then, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the floor, his face a mask of pure annoyance. "EXPECTO PATRONUM," he whispered angrily.

Though Buck had not noticed, the bug he’d waved aside in Potter’s office had followed him all the way into the men’s loo before landing atop one of the stalls to watch. She’d been in a position to see Buck McMillan’s face once his back was to Potter and the other Aurors, and she noticed as his mask of “amiable Australian hick” had swiftly melted away to reveal a much cannier expression. Her suspicions were confirmed by the message he’d given the Patronus to carry:

"Burn the Cato identity. Now! It's been made by the British Aurors. And then, come see me tonight at the Leaky Cauldron, Room 4 at 10 o'clock. And for Merlin's sake, try to be discreet for once in your miserable Pureblood idiot life!"

Later that night, when “Rusty White” finally arrived at Buck McMillan’s room and (after a punch to the face) told the retired Auror everything about Azkaban, about Sirius Black, and about the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes, that same beetle was hiding quietly under a dresser taking mental notes. If beetles had lips and teeth, this one’s grin would have stretched from antenna to antenna.

Now …

“You’ve been surveilling our conspiracy for over a year?!?” Draco exclaimed.

“Off and on,” she replied easily. “I paid a contact who works at the Leaky Cauldron and who has a good Patronus to keep an eye on McMillan and to let me know instantly if he left for any reason or if he had any visitors. Consequently, I was on hand when he was visited last Christmas by an emotionally distraught and very drunk Regulus Black who was upset from learning about the incident involving Sirius Black, Severus Snape, and that werewolf during their school days. I almost followed them through the Floo to Longbottom Manor, but I was concerned that a house elf attuned to the Longbottom wards might have spotted me. But I did manage to spy on McMillan and Regulus a few more times and learned about the plan to smuggle poor brainwashed Bellatrix to Australia for a new life. And when McMillan returned for the Quidditch World Cup with an 18-year-old apprentice named Delphini White in tow, it wasn’t hard to figure out her true identity, especially when the werewolves attacked, and a young chit of a girl suddenly started annihilating them with a few of Miss Demeanor’s signature spells! Quite obvious, don’t you think?”

“But you haven’t told anyone yet?” Harry asked in a tight voice. “Why? To blackmail us the way Pettigrew blackmailed you?”

“Well certainly not the way that bastard blackmailed me, but the less said about that the better. No, Harry, darling. I have kept your secrets this far for one simple reason.”

As she spoke, Rita pulled her wand out of a concealed fold of her sleeve, totally unconcerned about the three men still pointing their own wands at her. She waved the wand to summon her handbag from wherever it had been hidden, and from it, she produced a mirror and levitated in front of her face. And then, the reporter proceeded to fix her make-up and reapply her lipstick while continuing her explanation.

“The simple fact, gentlemen, is that I am a newshound. A gossipmonger. A muckraker. The Sorting Hat put me into Ravenclaw not because I love knowledge, but because I love secrets. Finding them, collecting them, and eventually, exposing them for fun and profit. I love using my quill pen to puncture the arrogant, to punish the guilty, and to exalt the virtuous. I love having the people’s adulation for the stories I write, stories that can bring down a government and have done so from time to time. And above all, I love getting paid handsomely for it, enough to live a life of luxury and style that captures the imagination of my adoring fans.”

By that point, she’d finished reapplying her make-up, and with a flick of her wand, the mirror and lipstick floated back into the clutch bag. She turned back to Harry and regarded him with a suddenly serious expression.

“People like me, Harry, do not come to happy ends under brutal fascist dictatorships!”

Then, she smiled once more as if to dispel any thoughts of whatever unhappy end she’d been contemplating.

“And so, darlings, you may reassure your fellow Azkabal members that they have nothing to fear from Rita Skeeter … so long as Rita Skeeter has nothing to fear from any of you. Live and let live shall be our motto. I wish you all the best of luck in your heroic endeavors. Indeed, if the price is right, I’m even willing to help you in any way that I can. With, of course, the understanding that, when all is said and done and the last of You-Know-Who’s Horcruxes is destroyed, I will be the one to publish all those secrets the Azkabal has been keeping and reveal you all as the great unsung heroes of our time. And all for the low-low price of 4 Galleons, 10 Sickles a copy, available at Flourish & Blotts and other fine bookstores.”   

She turned and put a hand on the door before looking back over her shoulder.

“Naturally, you will want to tell your compatriots about this, and, except for the secret of my animal form, I give you permission to do so. Should you wish to reach out to me for my assistance or to further discuss the terms of our arrangement, I’ll be staying at the Three Broomsticks for the foreseeable future. I would prefer that you send either Regulus Black or Severus Snape to meet with me.”

“Why them?” asked Ted.

“Because we were all at school together, and as a student, I had a bit of a crush on Regulus. And that was before I knew he could change his appearance at will. On the other hand, Severus Snape has filled out rather nicely since our school days, and I think he could be quite attractive if he could be motivated to care about his appearance. And if I did end up bedding him and Lily Potter found out, I’ll wager she would be furious about it!”

With that, Rita Skeeter blew the three wizards a kiss and sauntered out of the office, no doubt to stir up some mischief elsewhere in the castle. The three were silent for a long moment before Draco spoke almost dejectedly.

“You know, things like this just didn’t happen at Durmstrang. At times, it was almost boring. But I’ve been back at Hogwarts for less than an hour, and finding out that my father amputated his own arm is merely the second most distressing thing to happen to me.”

Next: Getting to know the foreign arrivals. Plus, Sirius flirts with danger and Rita flirts with everyone. And then, the Cup chooses. 

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations belongs to J.K. Rowling.

25 October 1994
The Great Hall
3:00 p.m.

"You ready for this?" muttered Harry Black.

"Please," Draco Malfoy answered contemptuously. "Is anyone ever ready for the sort of business we keep getting up to?"

Harry sighed at the truth of the statement before opening the door to the Great Hall so that the two could slip inside. No one seemed to notice their late arrival, as the attention of most of those present in the Hall was fixed on an open area in the center of the room, where a group of burly boys in brown uniforms were engaged in what appeared to be strenuous calisthenics while occasionally spitting out gouts of flame from their mouths. However, their arrival was not completely unnoticed.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed in a loud whisper as she drew near. "Where have you two been?"

"We were off … doing stuff," he said. Hermione frowned. "Stuff" was often Harry's shorthand codeword for Azkabal-related business. "Have we missed the Frog Choir?" he added.

"No, it's up next."

"Damn!" he spat angrily.

"Never mind the Frog Choir. I mean, do mind the Frog Choir because Neville is in it, and we should support him. But right now, I need to talk to you two. Well, mainly you, Draco Malfoy!"

Draco was nonplussed. "Me? What did I do?!"

"You pulled strings to get me assigned as chaperone to a Quidditch star who is constantly surrounded by an entourage of screaming fangirls. And fanboys! I don't even like Quidditch!"

Both boys gave her looks suggesting that admission represented her single greatest character flaw.

"Okay, Hermione," Draco said, "just come out into the hall and I'll explain things."

"Use a Muffliato," Harry said as he scanned the room for Rita Skeeter in either her human or insectoid form. "You never know who might be listening in."

Draco scowled at that before taking Hermione by the arm and pulling her outside. Meanwhile, Harry finally found the person he was looking for: Severus Snape, who stood on the far side of the Hall, clapping perfunctorily for the Durmstrang pyromancy drill team with an utter lack of enthusiasm.

Harry also noted that he was standing quite near Igor Karkaroff, the Durmstrang Headmaster, but the two wizards (and former Death Eaters) were somehow managing to completely ignore one another while simultaneously conveying seething contempt for one another. Meanwhile, both of them were studiously ignoring Alastor Moody, who stood just behind them, presumably so that he would be in a position to intervene if either of the "dark wizards" dared show his true colors. Harry managed to make eye contact with Snape and then thought very loudly "Problem." Snape nodded slightly and then turned and made his way to the nearest exit. Harry followed, making his way as quickly as he could through the throng of excitable teens while trying to avoid being set on fire by some overexcited Slavic wizard.

Meanwhile …

"Okay, can you do the Muffle-thingy?" Draco asked. "I don't actually know that Charm."

"Muffliato, and of course I can."

Seconds later, the Sound-Cancelling Charm was up, and Hermione was studying Draco's expression. He seemed very on edge, even more so than when they'd met over the summer and his father had dumped everything about the Azkabal—the Azkaban breakout, Horcruxes, Regulus and Bellatrix being alive—on him all at once after swearing him to secrecy.

"Now then … stuff?" she asked, but Draco just shook his head.

"Sorry, but right now, I'm too paranoid to trust even your special anti-eavesdropping Charm. There is someone … flittering about who has a power that lets her spy on people and that can defeat most security Charms. Talk to Harry about all that later. He has the means to detect her."

She looked at him aghast. "Okay, fine. I'll ignore all that for now. But you can at least answer my questions about Viktor Krum."

"Of course, and you were actually on the right track. I asked McGonagall …"

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione interrupted.

"Okay, she's not actually one of my professors at the moment, so excuse me for ignoring the honorific. Now can I continue?"

Hermione gave him a sour expression for his disrespect for her favorite teacher, but then she nodded.

"So anyway, Viktor is the most famous non-professional Quidditch player in the world right now. And he's a great guy. Very humble despite his gifts. But he came from some tiny backwater village in Bulgaria that's best known for producing magical goat's milk cheese, so he's not the worldliest fellow. I wanted you to be his chaperone because you don't care about Quidditch. I was worried about someone else getting the job who at best will be a drooling fanboy or fangirl, which is something that makes him very uncomfortable. At worst, I was worried about someone who might start scheming to become the next Mrs. Krum. You have never struck me, Granger, as someone who might want to scheme her way into an advantageous marriage."

"Certainly not!" Hermione scoffed. She turned and looked back towards the doorway to the Great Hall. "So … what's he like? You described him as very humble, which is frankly not what I'd expect from an international Quidditch star."

"Trust me. You'll love him. I imagine you two will end up talking about Ancient Runes and other tedious forms of scholarship until the Hippogriffs come home." He paused. "By the way, what languages do you speak?"

"English, French, and Italian, not counting runic languages I learned for class."

"Good, good. Viktor speaks all those plus Bulgarian, German, and Russian, but he learned English through a defective Language Potion, so it's … not good. Hilariously so at times, to be honest, but he really does find it a bit embarrassing. That's another reason I wanted you to look after him. I was worried that another student might mock him when he says something barely comprehensible. But I trust you to be better than that. Plus, if you correct him in either French or Italian on anything he garbles in English, he's bright enough that he can usually figure out how to say it properly. Well … maybe not usually, but he'll do his best."

Hermione looked back towards the Great Hall. The Durmstrang pyromancy drill team had concluded their performance, and she could see the Hogwarts group setting up to go next.

"And he's not just an athlete? He's actually sitting his Ancient Runes NEWT?"

Draco laughed. "He's sitting six NEWTs: Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and DADA!"

"Hmm," Hermione said appreciatively.

"Down, girl. Don't get too excited by the size of his … brain!"

Hermione slapped his arm and gave him a scandalized look. "Honestly, Draco, when did you become so … crude?"

He shrugged. "I'm a Bogatyr now. Lustiness is one of our House descriptors."

"I can tell. But no worries. I know quite enough about Durmstrang and the Balkan Alliance to resist finding Viktor Krum attractive in that sense no matter how many NEWTs he's sitting. And speaking of which: Will it present any problems for Krum—or any other Durmstrang students, for that matter—that a Muggleborn has been assigned his student chaperone?"

Draco hesitated, suddenly visibly uncomfortable. "Well … actually…"

But before he could finish his sentence, their conversation was interrupted.

"Hello? Excuse me?"

Hermione and Draco turned towards the front doors to the castle and were surprised to see that a woman had entered. She was an older witch with black hair striped with grey locks, and she wore a red coat of the style that was similar to those worn by British Aurors, except that her badge read Bureau de la Justice Magique.

"Yes?" said Hermione. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. I'm looking for Albus Dumbledore. I'm one of the Tournament judges. Porpentina Goldstein, at your service."

Meanwhile, inside the Great Hall …

"Bubble." Ribbit. "Bubble." Ribbit. "Toil and …" Ribbit. "Trouble." Ribbit. "Sooome-thing wicked this way comes!"

There was a smattering of polite (if confused) applause from the students watching, both from the Hogwarts students and their guests. Several of the Beauxbatons students seemed particularly condescending.

"Un chœur de grenouilles," one of the Beauxbatons girls said aloud. "C'est absurde!"

Her friends tittered in response until a male voice spoke up from behind them in English.

"There's an old proverb in my family," said Blaise Zabini. "People who dance around with butterflies shouldn't throw stones at frogs. Which is another way of saying: Don't gossip in a foreign tongue unless you're sure no one else around speaks it."

The girl who had spoken turned to Blaise and instantly sneered. "Zabini!" she hissed.

"Please, Sylvie, do call me Blaise. We are family after all. Which reminds me—how is your father doing? Has he adjusted to only having one hand?"

Sylvia Montessi snapped out some very unladylike Italian curses before stalking away with her coterie following in her wake.

"Ah, Blaise," said another Beauxbatons student: Fleur Delacour. "Once again demonstrating ze savoir faire for which you are known."

Blaise smiled. "Cousin Fleur. This is becoming a family reunion. Is your Uncle Gabriel here yet?"

"Tonight, I think." Fleur glanced in the direction of the departing Montessi. "Should you really be antagonizing Sylvie like zat?"

"I don't know. Should you be pronouncing that with a Z instead of a TH?"

The young woman wrinkled her nose. "You know the rules," she muttered just softly enough for him to hear. "Or rather ze rules. A perfect English accent would … draw attention."

"Uh-huh. And if you are not permitted to draw attention, does that mean that you are not putting your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"Uncle Gabriel forbade it," Fleur said petulantly. "And Maman and Papa agreed. Naturally."

"So?" Blaise said with a shrug. "You're seventeen, are you not?"

She was silent for a moment before a ghost of a smile crossed her lips.

"Yes, I suppose I am."

The Headmaster's Office
Five minutes after the Frog Choir's second encore

Dumbledore ascended the spiral staircase to his private office with Tina Goldstein and Minerva McGonagall following after. As soon as Tina stepped inside, Fawkes began to trill merrily. Tina smiled and moved over to the phoenix's perch to scratch the feathers on the back of his head while Fawkes preened. Meanwhile, Dumbledore sent for a house elf and ordered tea service for three before taking his seat behind his ornate desk.

"It's wonderful to see you, Tina. It's been a long time. But from your early arrival and your somewhat pensive expression, I suspect this is more than a social call. Might I assume it has something to do with the fact that Newt is not here with you?"

Tina took her own seat. "To a degree. There are two matters I needed to speak with you about discreetly but urgently, and one of them involves Newt. He won't be attending the opening ceremonies and may not be able to join us for some time, if at all. Earlier this week, he was called away to Jakarta."

She hesitated and braced herself to deliver bad news. "The Indonesian Aurors found Yoo Ri's body."

Dumbledore leaned forward with a look of profound concern and sadness.

"She'd been missing since May," Tina continued. "The initial report said that her body had been terribly mutilated, which made identification difficult at first. Almost certainly the result of some kind of dark ritual for which she was a sacrifice! Of course, it didn't help for identification purposes that she was killed in the midst of transitioning into her other form, and the local Magical authorities weren't even sure that she was a human being at first. That was why they contacted Newt—they thought it was the corpse of some exotic creature."

McGonagall looked back and forth between Tina and the stricken Dumbledore in confusion. The Headmaster noticed and explained his history with Yoo Ri-El.

"Yoo Ri was someone who fought alongside Tina, Newt Scamander, and me in the Magical Expeditionary Unit that captured Gellert Grindelwald and brought about the end of that magical conflict. She was a woman of great heroism. After the war, she left Europe for Southeast Asia, eventually settling in Magical Jakarta."

"Well," said McGonagall, "I didn't even enter Hogwarts until 1947, but I thought I'd read everything written about your time in the War, Albus. I don't recall that name, however."

"You might well recall her by her stage name. When I first encountered her, she had been working in the Circus Arcanus under the name Nagini, and she continued to use that as a code name for undercover missions until the end of the Grindelwald conflict. She was a Maledictus, inheritor of a familial curse that manifested as a form of uncontrolled natural Animagery. She would transform into a large snake, one matching no known snake breed, whenever frightened or angered. She eventually gained a measure of control and could change at will, but always with the possibility that she might one day change and become trapped, unable to ever resume her human form."

McGonagall gasped, horrified at the thought of an Animagus like herself becoming trapped in an animal form. Dumbledore hastened to reassure her.

"Fortunately, by 1953, Nicholas Flamel, Newt Scamander, and I were able to devise a course of treatment for Yoo, one that ensured she would never become trapped so long as she took a series of potions regularly and refrained from assuming her serpentine form more than once per day and no more than an hour at a time."

He turned back to Tina. "Are there any leads on her assailant?"

"No. Newt promised to send me an owl as soon as he knew anything." She grimaced and gave Dumbledore a sad look. "And speaking of Nicholas Flamel, I'm … afraid I have some more bad news to share."

Tina reached into her coat and pulled out an envelope which she passed over to Dumbledore. His eyes widened as he instantly recognized familiar handwriting on the front. Swiftly, he tore the letter open and read the message contained inside. Then, without a word, he gently set the letter down on his desk and bowed his head, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

My dear boy,

I still plan to participate in your little academic competition as long as my health permits, though, for the first time in a very, very long time, I find myself sensitive to such issues. Do not expect to see me prior to the selection of the Triwizard Champions, as affairs of a most personal nature will keep me in Paris until then. To be more specific, I can now affirmatively answer the question you put to me in August of 1907:

The maximum longevity attainable through the Elixir of life is roughly 650 years, give or take a few months. Perenelle went peacefully in her sleep early this morning.

The funeral will be private and limited to myself and two or three close friends from L'Inconnu who I trust to see to the disposition of Perenelle's body without "getting any funny notions" if you know what I mean. You are certainly welcome to attend if it is not an inconvenience in light of your other responsibilities, but I do not ask you to do so. Porpentina and Newton have agreed to hold a memorial service for us both after my own passing, which my calculations suggest will not come until next summer. It may be selfish, but I should prefer that all my oldest friends grieve for me rather than with me.

In the meantime. I promise you I will do my level best not to die during the Triwizard Tournament, or at the very least, not to die in a manner that discomfits any of your students. I know how emotional young people can be. And by young, I mean less than 100 years old.

I have already destroyed the Stone, so you need not fear on that account.

I shall see you on the 31 st  for the Goblet's selection, after which, we shall open a bottle of Veuve Clicquot-Ponsardin that I've had under magical stasis since 1821. It was left over from that party Nell and I threw to celebrate the death of Napoleon. A fitting way to commemorate those who have gone before us and those we will join soon.

Until then,

Nic

Back in the Great Hall

Harry and Snape met with Draco and Hermione as they entered the hall, where Snape announced that he had already arranged with both Dumbledore and Karkaroff to escort Draco home to see his father. In the meantime, Harry gallantly offered to introduce Hermione to Viktor Krum on Draco's behalf, as he was rather eager to renew his own acquaintance with the Quidditch superstar. They made their way through the crowd to where Krum stood amidst a throng of friends and admirers. As they approached, Harry noticed Hermione stiffen slightly before frowning himself. Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang (both Seekers for their respective House teams) were talking animatedly with Viktor over glasses of punch. More importantly, Diggory and Chang were also the President and Vice-President of the Hogwarts Cultural Preservation Society and so had been Hermione's nemeses the previous year.

And to be fair, Harry wasn't a huge fan of them either on account of that time the two had conspired to poison him and several of his friends as a joke.

Luckily, Viktor saved Harry the trouble of intruding on the conversation by loudly calling out his name.

"HARRY BLACK!" he practically bellowed in excitement. "Is grand to see once more! Come talk to Viktor about progress with fish-broom!"

And with that, he stepped past the Seeker couple ("Fish-broom?" Cho whispered to Cedric in confusion) and approached Harry with his arm outstretched. Expecting a handshake, Harry put his own hand out, only to be surprised when Viktor grasped his arm just below the elbow and they ended up clasping arms instead. Harry assumed it was some sort of Eastern European wizarding thing.

"The, er, fish-broom is coming along," Harry said. "Though … other projects seem to eat up all my time lately."

Then, the Slytherin gestured towards Hermione. "Viktor, please allow me to introduce Hermione Granger, one of my year-mates who has been assigned to show you around the school and answer any questions you may have about Hogwarts or Wizarding Britain in general."

In response, Viktor clicked his heels together with military precision and gave a short bow before extending a hand. Hermione reached out to shake it but was surprised when Viktor lifted it up and kissed her knuckles.

"Priyatno mi e da te vidya," he said in what Harry assumed was Bulgarian. "Viktor is honored to meet Herm-own-ninny."

Hermione suppressed the urge to either correct the Bulgarian's mangling of her name or laugh at it. In fact, when combined with his earnest expression (and, it must be noted, his remarkable physique now that she could see it up close), she found the introduction rather charming. Naturally, Cho ruined the moment by opening her mouth.

"You're Viktor Krum's guide? But you're …"

"I'm what, Chang?" Hermione interrupted with cool defiance.

"A fourth year," Cedric said quickly before Cho could say anything else. "One would have expected Professor McGonagall to have picked a Sixth or Seventh Year for that. Isn't that right, Cho?"

"… Of course," the Ravenclaw finally said. "That was all I meant."

Viktor looked back and forth as if aware of some subtext he didn't fully understand. Meanwhile, Harry was just focused on maintaining a poker face. After all, he and his friends were presently scheming to take over the CPS in the near future and picking a fight with its current leadership would be counterproductive. Even though he really wanted to say something cutting to Cho Chang at the moment. His mood didn't improve one bit when he noticed another Durmstrang student stepping over: Giles Yaxley, the elder son of the current DMLE Director, Corban Yaxley.

"Black!" he exclaimed. "Wonderful to see you again! Will you be entering the dueling competition that's part of the Tournament? My brother Albert is here somewhere, and I'm sure he'd love to have a rematch!"

With that, he clapped Harry on the arm with an approximation of friendliness.

"I'm certainly hoping to, schedule permitting," Harry said with a much more persuasive example of false amiability. "And I hope you will call me Harry. Since that way, I can call you Giles rather than referring to you and your brother both as Mr. Yaxley."

And now that the idea was presented, he certainly wasn't opposed to another chance to duel the son a Death Eater. It couldn't hurt to have another chance to study someone he might one day have to defend himself against in a fight to the death.

Giles Yaxley laughed. "Sure thing, Harry. And who is your little friend here? The lovely young lady who will be chaperoning our Viktor around for the next few months?"

Harry's eyes glinted. "Of course, Giles. This is my dear friend, Hermione Granger."

But then, he turned back to Hermione and froze in surprise. She was staring intently at Yaxley, and her face bore an expression that Harry was startled to realize he didn't recognize. It was literally an expression he'd never seen on the girl's face before. Oblivious to the effect his presence had on the girl, Giles Yaxley smiled and gave a slight bow.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger," he said. "Giles Yaxley, at your service."

"Yes! I know!" Her voice cracked slightly. "I mean … yes, you are. Giles Yaxley, that is." Then, she winced and took a deep breath. And fought down a shudder. "It's … nice to meet you, Mr. Yaxley. I hope … Nice to meet you."

Then, she quickly looked down at her wristwatch. "Oh goodness me, look at the time!" she said entirely too quickly. "It was lovely to meet you all. But I've got to dash. Things to see and people to go! Viktor, I'll meet with you later, okay?"

And without even waiting for a reply, Hermione turned and strode quickly towards the door. Completely flummoxed, Harry quickly excused himself from the others and followed after her, but he was unable to get through the crowd without making a scene, and by the time he got to the foyer, she was already gone.

"… The hell?" he muttered to himself.

Back inside, the other students looked at one another in confusion. Giles Yaxley just chuckled.

"Mudbloods," he said under his breath but still loud enough for the others to hear. Viktor's face darkened, but he said nothing, while Cho Chang snorted softly before quickly schooling her features into a more neutral expression. Cedric just looked back and forth with wide eyes between his girlfriend on one side and the son of one of his father's Ministry peers on the other before taking a large gulp of punch from the cup in his hand.

Just a moment later, down a nearby corridor …

Theo No-Name and his (sort-of) brother, Alexander Nott, had withdrawn to an empty classroom for a (sort-of) family reunion. The effects of the Ultimate Sanction had been cancelled, and so Alex no longer felt hatred for the other boy. But Theo had still been magically disowned from House Nott, and until that was undone, Alex was still under a mild compulsion that prevented him from openly treating Theo with his prior affection. The older boy (now the Durmstrang head boy, in fact) said as much.

"I received a letter just last week from … her saying that Father was still down with Spattergoit and that I was not to come home because he was still contagious." Alex laughed. "As if I'd actually wanted to see him. Hopefully, the Spattergoit will do the bastard in at last. I'll claim the lordship, kick Narcissa out of the Nott Manor, and reinstate you somehow."

"Yeah," Theo said slowly. "About that …"

But before he could continue, they were both distracted by the sound of someone running down the hallway outside. Someone apparently sobbing. Theo poked his head out the door and got a brief glimpse of Hermione as she fled down the corridor. He called after her, but she didn't slow down. Then, from the opposite direction, he could hear Harry's voice calling out Hermione's name. A few seconds later, Harry came around the corner.

"She went that way," Theo said as he pointed. "What's going on?"

"I have absolutely no idea, but I mean to find out."

"Do you need me to come with you?"

Harry looked over Theo's shoulder and saw Alex staring after them in confusion.

"No, I've got this," he said. "You haven't spoken to your … Alex in months. And I reckon you've got plenty of things to tell him."

Theo blanched. "Yeah," he said ruefully. "More than I'd realized, it seems. Okay, you go on, but send a Patronus if you need me."

Harry nodded and darted off after their friend, while Theo stepped back into the classroom and closed the door.

"Hermione," said Alex. "That's your Muggleborn friend, right? The one who will be showing Viktor around the school?"

"Yeah. She's great. I hope she's okay."

Alex smirked. "Is she cute?"

"It's not like that! I mean, I think she's cute. But we're just friends."

"Every great couple starts out as 'just friends,' Theo."

The Slytherin scoffed. "I think the existence of Amortentia kind of disproves that. And anyway, it doesn't matter. If she ends up coupled with anyone, it's going to be Harry."

"You never know when you're going to meet the right person," Alex said. Then, he grew thoughtful. "And she's truly Muggleborn? In the British sense?"

"If by that you mean she was actually raised by Muggles before Hogwarts, then yes. Is that a problem?"

"No, no. I … was just curious. Has it been difficult for her being Muggle-raised? Adapting to the Wizarding World, I mean."

Theo hesitated. "In some ways. She's adapted well, but I think it's been difficult for her at times. In large part because Purebloods insist on looking down on her. Why do you ask?"

Alex looked away for a second. "No reason. As I said, just curious. And even though I went to Durmstrang, I promise you I'm not biased against Muggleborns. Or, at least, I try not to be. In fact, it was because I went to Durmstrang that I'm probably a lot less prejudiced against them than if I'd gone to Hogwarts and spent the last seven years surrounded by the children of Father's old hunting buddies."

He sneered at his own veiled reference to the Death Eaters, but Theo was more interested in what else he'd said.

"Really? How so?"

"Well, everyone talks about how the Slytherin Solution means that there are no Muggleborns in the Balkan Alliance and therefore none at Durmstrang. But the truth is that there are plenty of students at Durmstrang who were born to Muggle parents. In fact, while there's no way to confirm this, I've heard speculation that as many as one Durmstrang student in five was born to a Muggle family and then removed and fostered out in infancy or early childhood. But since the records are sealed, no one actually knows who any of them are. And you would never be able to tell which students were born to Muggles and which to wizards and witches based on either their grades or their conduct because all of them have been raised to act like Purebloods whether they are or not. So as far as I'm concerned, there's no difference between a wizard whose blood is pure going back ten generations and a Muggleborn wizard so long as the latter is raised the same way as the former."

Alex gave his younger (sort-of) brother a funny look. "So I guess my question is: Is your Hermione really a part of our world or not?"

Theo shrugged, oddly uncomfortable with the line of questioning. "I think so. I hope so, anyway. She had some … difficulties last year. In a way, it was my fault. Or really, Tiberius's fault. Some of my Muggleborn friends started a group to support me. SPAM, it's called."

Alex's brow furrowed in confusions. "SPAM? What is … SPAM?"

Briefly, Theo related the history of SPAM, its origins involving a Muggle meat product and some kind of aerial circus (which left Alex even more confused than Theo had been about the topic), and its conflicts over the last year with the Cultural Preservation Society. Then, he hesitated.

"Hermione … saved my life last year."

Alex's eyes widened and he sat up straighter. "What? Why haven't I heard about this before now?"

"Well, you sort of despised me at the time because of the Sanction. And then, so much other stuff happened that I sort of forgot about it."

"So much has happened in the last year that you forgot about nearly dying?" Alex asked disapprovingly.

Theo nodded. "And it wasn't so much that I 'nearly died.' It didn't get to that point. But with everything that had happened up to that point … I just got into a really dark place and …" He swallowed painfully. "I was really close to just …"

Theo trailed off in embarrassment. A painful expression passed over Alex's face.

"Come here. Brother or no, I can definitely hug you for this."

Theo accepted the (sort-of) brotherly hug and sniffled a bit. "Anyway, before I had a chance to do anything, Hermione showed up and talked to me. Just talked. But that was enough to pull me back out of … of where I was. It even helped me learn to make a Patronus!"

"Really?" Alex asked in surprise. "Amazing! I can't even do a Patronus! Let me see!"

Theo rubbed his sleeve under his nose and then pulled out his wand and summoned Fiver into existence. Alex was astonished as the silvery hare darted around the room.

"Incredible. I'm so proud of you, Theo. And I promise you, we're going to get you back into House Nott and be real brothers again no matter what it takes!"

At that, Theo winced, and Fiver faded from view.

"Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I just keep getting sidetracked. And I thought about writing you weeks ago, but … I figured it best to say it in person. I was afraid you might, I dunno, do something foolish."

Alex grew concerned. "What is it?"

Theo took a deep breath. "Our … your father isn't in bed with severe, contagious Spattergoit. Tiberius Nott is dead. He's been dead since the end of August. Narcissa is keeping it a secret so she can run the House on a regency basis."

"What?! Father is … dead?! How do you know this?"

And Theo took a second, even deeper breath. "Because I'm the one who killed him."

A few moments later in a nearby girl's bathroom

Hermione stared intently at her reflection in the mirror and clutched the sides of the sink in a death grip as her whole body shook. There was a soft knock at the door, and she heard Harry's voice.

"Hermione? Are you in there?"

She didn't answer but merely squeezed her eyes shut and hoped Harry would go away. She didn't want him to see her like this. After a few seconds, he moved on. She opened her eyes and focused once more on her reflection as if trying to command the person she saw looking back at her in such distress to get hold of herself.

"Calm down, calm down, calm down," she whispered in a desperate mantra that did nothing to slow down her racing heartbeat or her rapid breathing. "It didn't happen. Things are different. Calm down!"

"Do you really think good grades mean anything to our world, you stupid Mudblood bitch! Do you really think you can pass enough OWLs to save your miserable life if my father decides to put you and those Muggles who raised you down like the animals you all are!"

And with that memory, Hermione's composure broke completely, and with a loud sob, she burst into tears.

Blackstone
4:00 p.m.

With an angry expression, Archie Goodwin nursed his right index finger, the one that had just been bitten by a Crup puppy that was still snarling at him from inside the crate containing the magical dog and its two siblings. He'd nearly forgotten how much he hated Crups. His mother, Walburga Black, had owned one that she doted on, a vicious little ball of fluff that hated everything except Walburga, who'd allowed it to gorge on table scraps. Tricki-Woo had been its name. After his return to Britain, he'd asked at one point what had happened to it. Andromeda said that despite her expulsion from House Black, she still attended Walburga's funeral, and she'd gathered that Tricki-Woo had been buried alongside its owner. She was uncertain as to whether the beast was actually dead at the time.

"Dobby! Elmo!" Archie called out.

Instantly, the two house elves appeared and regarded each other coolly. Dobby was Harry's personal elf, while Elmo was the chief elf for the former Potter Manor. Apparently, house elves were not above status games.

"Do you think you could handle these things until Sirius returns?" Archie asked almost pleadingly.

"Of course, Master Archie," Elmo answered quickly before Dobby could respond. "There are kennels on the grounds from when former-Master Fleamont Potter—former Master James's grandfather—occasionally engaged in foxhunting! Elmo is skilled at handling dogs, sir."

"Good, good," Archie said. "So I'll leave this to you, alright?"

Elmo bowed and levitated the dog crate with his magic before turning towards Dobby and raising his chin slightly. Dobby merely smiled back at the older house elf almost sweetly.

"Dobby hopes that after many, many, many years of service, Dobby will be as experienced as Elmo."

Elmo sniffed. "Elmo is glad that Dobby has ambitions and goals." Then, he Apparated away. Meanwhile, Archie watched this insight into house elf dynamics with faint amusement. Dobby turned to address him.

"Also, Master Archie—or Master Regulus, as the case may be—a Floo message came while you were out. It requests your presence at Malfoy Manor as soon as possible."

"Oh? Did the message say why?"

"The message was terse, but Dobby gathers it was in reference to Lord Lucius Malfoy chopping his own arm off."

The wizard blinked twice.

"… What?!"

Moments later at Malfoy Manor

Draco struggled to keep his face impassive, but his eyes couldn't help but be drawn to his father's left forearm. Or rather, the stump where his forearm used to be. Lucius Malfoy himself was unconscious and looked so much weaker than Draco had ever seen him. Nearby, Andi, Ted and Snape were arguing softly but urgently about how much to tell Lucius about the day's events. Losing a limb and nearly his life to a Horcrux was one thing, but the threat of exposure by Rita Skeeter was a stress of a very different sort.

"I still say you should have let me poison her with Manticore venom," Andromeda spat angrily.

"It's not too late," Snape said acerbically.

"No, no!" Ted exclaimed. "No murders! Besides, I'm a Hufflepuff, and even I know Skeeter's probably got some mechanism set up to expose all her accumulated secrets if she dies suddenly."

Andromeda smiled. "Oh good! It seems I'm finally rubbing off on you!"

Before he could respond, the door opened and Regulus Black entered, now back in his true face.

"Okay, what the hell did I miss while I was out buying bloody Crups for Sirius's forbidden experiments into Wild-influenced Animagery?!"

"Regulus!" Andromeda snapped. "Kindly stop bellowing! Lucius needs his rest!"

"It's quite alright, Healer Tonks," said Lucius softly without opening his eyes. "I've been awake listening to your furious whispers for several minutes."

Then, he opened his eyes and gave his son a tired but fond smile.

"Hello, Draco. Letting your hair grow out, I see."

Draco nodded. "Someone I look up to keeps his long, so I decided to see if it would suit me."

"Lucius," Andromeda interrupted. "Let me get you another potion. You need rest."

"Rest can wait," he said while painfully adjusting his position so that he could sit up against his bed pillows. "From what I've overheard, our conspiracy has been penetrated and possibly compromised by Rita Skeeter. And I am the only person in our group with the necessary social acumen to devise a strategy against her. Now, tell me what happened."

While the other Slytherins were sputtering about the suggestion that they lacked "social acumen," Draco succinctly outlined what had happened earlier that day in Ted's office at Hogwarts.

"Unfortunate," said Lucius. "But how was she able to eavesdrop on that office without being discovered? Weren't the protections of your Confidential Healer's Oath active?"

Draco started to answer but then his mouth snapped shut because of that same oath.

"The oath was active and covered the whole room," Ted explained. "Skeeter gave us permission to share with the Azkabal what we discussed except for the means she used to spy on us."

"Which was presumably the same means she used to spy on you, Regulus, when you made your ill-considered decision to blather on endlessly about our secrets to your father-in-law who was a retired Auror!

"I trust Buck with my life, Lucius!" Reg said hotly. "And I did put up an array of secrecy Charms when I first told him about the … the Azkabal!"

"And I will never forgive Sirius for that name," he added under his breath. There was a brief silence before Draco spoke up.

"Hang on a minute. Regulus, did you say that Cousin Sirius is experimenting with the limits of Animagery?"

"He is," the younger Black brother said with a sour expression. "He's trying to see if he can do more with it than just change into a big black dog."

"Really? How interesting!" Draco said with exaggerated excitement. "I've always been fascinated by Animagery. I wonder what the smallest animal is that an Animagus can change into."

"Honestly, Draco," said an exasperated Ted Tonks. "I don't think this is the best time to go on a … tangent … about …"

He trailed off as he realized that all the Slytherins in the room were giving him a "don't be stupid" look.

"Hmm," said Lucius. "So Rita Skeeter is an Animagus, one whose form is small enough for her to sneak into a warded room undetected. Interesting. I suppose that explains her odd pseudonym."

"Skeeter's name is a pseudonym?" Snape asked.

Lucius nodded. "Her official Prophet bio page is a tissue of lies, albeit well-constructed. I pierced its falsity years ago but was never able to pin down her true identity so that I could suborn her to my interests. At best, I could only narrow it down to four likely individuals."

He turned to his son. "Draco, have you your wand with you?"

Draco nodded. "Does the Trace affect me at the moment? What with me being a Durmstrang student who's just visiting the country on a school trip?"

"It doesn't matter for this," Lucius said. He held up his remaining arm, and his wand floated over from his bedside table. Floated, everyone noted. Not flew instantly with a snap as one might expect from a wizard of his considerable skill. At his father's direction, Draco held his wand out, and Lucius crossed it with his own wand near the tips.

"This is my son in whom I am well-pleased."

There was a soft crackle, and for a second, Draco's wand felt warm in his hand. He felt a warmth in his chest for a different reason thanks to his father's words.

"Go to my office," Lucius ordered. "It will admit you now. On the bookshelf nearest the desk, you will notice a large green book entitled Gulliver's Atlas of the Magical World. Tap it three times and then recite our true family motto."

Regulus and Snape glanced at one another, surprised to learn that the Malfoy family motto was not, in fact, Sanctimonia Vincet Semper, or Purity Will Always Conquer.

"That will open a door to my private vault. Inside on the third shelf is a series of black leatherbound journals. Those are my blackmail journals. Bring me the one marked with a Roman numeral four. Do not permit anyone to accompany you. The air in the vault is deadly to anyone not of Malfoy blood and can defeat even a Bubblehead Charm."

Draco's eyes widened and he nodded before exiting the room.

"To be honest, I'm surprised you only have four blackmail journals, Lucius," said Ted. "I'd figured you would have a lot more than that."

"I have six," Lucius said as he closed his eyes to rest for a moment. "But they are all large volumes."

A moment later, Draco had tapped the atlas and said the words that Lucius had told him one night near the end of his Second Year. Specifically, the same night that his mother Narcissa had walked out of their lives and cut him off as if he were nothing.

"Alis Volat Propriis," the boy said with a lump in his throat. One flies with one's own wings.

The bookshelf slid aside to reveal a small room that was most likely the product of Wizard Space, as Draco was quite certain there was not enough room beyond the study wall for a vault of this size. He spotted the black journals instantly, but as he moved towards them, he was distracted for a moment by the sight of four identical travelling valises sitting on a table, each of which had two Magical passports lying on top. Curious, Draco picked up a passport off the first valise and opened it. It contained a picture of a man who was obviously Lucius Malfoy despite his short black hair. The name underneath the picture identified him as "Gabriel Lorca," a citizen of Magical Brazil. Draco was even more surprised when the other passport that came with it contained a picture of himself but also with black hair and bearing the name "Federico Lorca." Idly, Draco considered checking the other falsified papers to see what his name would be if he and his father ever had to flee to some country other than Brazil. But his father had entrusted him with a task, so he put his curiosity aside and turned to the book he'd been sent for.

Soon, he was back in his father's bedroom, and the hefty tome labeled simply with a gold embossed "IV" was floating in front of Lucius, who caused the pages to flip with a flick of his wand.

"Hmm. So the Skeeter woman is an Animagus whose form is very small. She claims to have been a Ravenclaw and suggests that she attended Hogwarts contemporaneously with both Regulus and Severus, though that might be misdirection."

He paused to review the information on a particular page with a contemplative expression.

"Perchance was Skeeter's Animagus form that of a beetle or something similar?"

Ted opened his mouth in surprise only to snap it closed again as his Healer's Oath of Confidentiality kicked in before he could reply.

"I shall take that as a yes," Lucius said drily. "In which case, Rita Skeeter is almost certainly one Margarite Scarabee, Ravenclaw, Class of 1978. Halfblood. Father was Claude Scarabee, whose parents immigrated to Britain from France during the Grindelwald Conflict when Claude was an infant. Historically Pureblooded, but not politically so. Mother was a Muggleborn named Louise Scarabee nee Campbell. In 1964, Claude Scarabee abandoned his wife and 4-year-old child and returned to France for reasons unknown."

"So Rita Skeeter is a Half-Blood?" Regulus exclaimed. "What makes you so sure this Scarabee is her?"

"Well, for one thing, the nomenographic signs are obvious. Scarabee suggests scarabs which suggests beetles. Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus which means she was self-taught and likely has a nomenographic connection to her animal form, much as Sirius Black became a black dog. Indeed, I would not be surprised to learn that there is a family history of Scarabees having the power to transform into beetles or other insects, a power they've kept quiet about because of the particular usefulness of such a form for intelligence-gathering purposes. Scarabee's career trajectory is also suggestive. After leaving Hogwarts, she went to work for the Daily Prophet as a copywriter. Of course, as the Half-Blood offspring of a divorced Muggleborn and an absent father, advancement was probably slow. But then, in 1980, 'Rita Skeeter' exploded onto the scene with a lurid exposé about the peccadillos of Armando Dippet. The Prophet signed Skeeter to an exclusivity agreement—apparently without doing any sort of background check at all—and then, Skeeter made a point of hiring the lowly Half-Blood Margarite Scarabee away from the Prophet to be her personal assistant, a job that Scarabee has publicly held ever since."

"I remember Margarite Scarabee now," Snape said. "She was in my year, I believe, but we had few classes together, and I never paid much attention to her. Good with Charms and Ancient Runes, but overall rather quiet and shy."

"Very good with Charms and Ancient Runes," Lucius added as he consulted his notes on Margarite Scarabee. "Transfiguration as well. Outstandings on all three NEWTs, but she either decided not to pursue a Mastery or, due to her parentage and lack of income and status, was simply never offered one."

"So," said Regulus. "A gifted witch deprived of opportunities because of her parentage becomes a beetle Animagus in order to ferret out the secrets of powerful individuals and then adopts an ostentatious false identity who publishes those secrets for profit. And then the false identity hires the true identity? But why?"

"Obviously, she's particularly good at Notice-Me-Not Charms," said Ted. "I mean, I'm a decent Legilimens, and I had no idea she was in the room until Harry spotted her and forced her back into her human form. And he could only do that because of a magic item that detects Animagi. Maybe she keeps her identities separate so that Scarabee can go places where Skeeter can't be seen and talk to people who wouldn't talk to Skeeter."

Andromeda looked at her husband with surprise and, oddly, pride. "What a wonderfully cunning deduction, darling! We'll make a Slytherin of you yet!"

"Gee … thanks," Ted answered sarcastically.

Lucius looked thoughtful. "A bold scheme to achieve fame, wealth, and personal status through the use of a false identity to become a media darling. A scheme that combined Slytherin cunning with Gryffindor daring and Ravenclaw ingenuity. I wonder if she was a hat-stall."

"I'm surprised you don't have that information in your little black book," Reg said irritably. "You seem to have everything else about the witch. But you still couldn't figure that Scarabee and Skeeter were the same person?"

"No." Lucius said ruefully. "Ironically, I only focused so much interest on Scarabee because of her apparent status as Skeeter's employee. I'd had ideas about blackmailing the former into spying on the latter. And given their true connection, I am glad that I never attempted to do so, or things might have gone very badly for me."

Then, he rubbed his chin and suddenly looked annoyed at the feel of his five o'clock shadow. He wondered if shaving would be more difficult in the future with only one hand and whether he should delegate the task to a house elf.

"She must have used a Sympathetic Occlusion spell of some kind," he said with authority.

"What's that?" Draco asked.

"It is a spell which causes certain types of connections between individuals to become hidden or distorted," answered Snape. "Lily Potter used one to make the entire Wizarding World forget that she had a second child named Harry. Regulus used a variation to make everyone think that he had died without there being any actual evidence that was the case. It is a powerful, flexible spell, but it is far more fragile than, say, the Fidelius. A Sympathetic Occlusion can be pierced by anyone who simply comes across enough evidence to doubt the false idea, as we have just done with the Scarabee-Skeeter connection."

He turned back to Lucius.

"Is there anything else useful in your journals about Scarabee?"

Lucius flipped a few pages and shook his head. "She was born male, if any of you think that's possibly relevant."

None of the others seemed to think so except for Draco, whose head jerked in confusion.

"Wait … what exactly do you mean by that? Rita Skeeter, or whatever we call her, was … born male?!"

Andromeda answered. "There's a somewhat rare magical condition that affects between 1-2% of wizards and witches. At birth, there is a disconnect between how the person's sex is reflected in their physical body and how it is defined by their souls. Essentially, a female soul in a male body or vice versa. There's a potion that corrects the disconnect and causes the body to transform to align with the soul. It's generally not a big deal."

"There's a potion that permanently changes a person's sex?" the boy asked in surprise.

"No, there's a potion that causes a person's sexual characteristics to permanently change so as to match their sex as reflected in their soul. It's one of the few elements of soul magic that's not illegal in Britain. If your soul and body are already in harmony, the potion does nothing. If they're out of alignment, it will change your physical form to match your soul, but it won't have any effect if you take it again later."

"That's not always the case," Ted interjected. "An even smaller subset of those who have the condition actually have souls that don't fit neatly into a male-or-female identification, and for them it gets a bit more, well, complicated. But most magicals take the potion once and they're done. Usually in infancy or early childhood for Wizard-raised children."

Draco blinked in surprise. "Why have I never heard of this?"

Lucius chuckled. "Because you have not had children, Draco. It is generally viewed as simply another facet of early childhood healthcare. You were tested a day or so after you were delivered, and the results were negative. I gather most newborns who are delivered at St. Mungo's or by a private Healer are tested at around that time and given the potion if needed."

Ted nodded. "Yes. Though it's a little more problematic for Muggleborns and Muggle-raised because, well…"

The Muggleborn Healer hesitated with what might have been embarrassment. "Well, because Muggles don't have magic that lets them easily discern the characteristics of a human soul and don't have magic that would let such a person instantly transition even if doctors could identify any issue. And so, the families of Muggleborns usually don't really understand what it means for a child to be misgendered and … don't take it well when their son comes home from Hogwarts as a daughter or vice versa."

Snape nodded. "There was a child in Hufflepuff just a few years after I started teaching. A Muggleborn who began school under the name Clarice Williams and after a few years transitioned to become Mike Williams. The child's parents were utterly outraged and banished the boy from their home. Eventually, things progressed to the point that it threatened the Statute of Secrecy, and they had to be Obliviated of their only child's entire existence. Luckily, as a Hufflepuff, Williams had no shortage of friends, and he was taken in by a wizarding family until he passed his OWLs, at which point he was emancipated. I believe he presently works somewhere in the Ministry. Odd to me that his parents should be more accepting of the fact that their child had magic than they were about the fact that their child was a boy instead of a girl, but that's Muggles for you."

"Oi! Muggles aren't that bad!" Ted said irritably. The others simply looked at him with varying degrees of pity. "I mean, yes, historically, Muggles have been pretty horrible about such things. But they're a damned sight better in 1994 than they were in 1894 or even 1974. I have every confidence that within a few decades only the most ignorant or bigoted Muggles will care in the slightest about people who want the freedom to be who they really are!"

"I've no doubt," said Lucius blandly, as he had no such optimism. "But we have wandered far from the topic. Is there any conceivable reason to think that Margarite Scarabee's birth-sex could be used for blackmail purposes?"

The consensus of the wizards and witch present was that the answer was no, as no British wizard or witch was likely to think it at all scandalous that Rita Skeeter was born with a different sex than her current one. As Andromeda had said, it was simply "no big deal."

"Well then, blackmail does not seem a viable solution. I suppose that leaves bribery or seduction."

"Or violence," Andromeda added.

"Have you taken your meds today?" Ted asked accusingly.

"Let us set violence aside as a last resort," Lucius said firmly. "Aside from it being gauche, Rita Skeeter is a potentially valuable asset I have wanted to acquire for many years, but circumstances have always precluded it. Now, she is already voluntarily keeping our secrets and even offering us her services. Let us meet with her in a neutral setting and see if she is someone with whom we can deal."

"With whom we can deal?!" Regulus exploded. "The woman wants to write a bestseller about our highly criminal activities!"

Lucius just shook his head.

"No, I think not. From what has been related to me, I think Skeeter simply wants to know our secrets. She also wants to increase her own wealth and fame and sees publishing those secrets as a way to do so. However, Houses Malfoy, Black, Wilkes, and Prince collectively have more money than Croesus, and I am certain she will find that dealing with us on our terms will be more profitable than her projected book sales."

"And the fame she wants?" Regulus asked.

"That is something we'll have to work on. Perhaps you and she can come up with alternatives that will raise Rita Skeeter's stature whilst preserving the sanctity of our conspiracy when you meet with her for dinner."

Reg did a double take. "When I meet with her?!"

"Yes, Regulus," Lucius answered with the ghost of a smile. "We know she is staying at the Three Broomsticks. She practically invited us to contact her, you in particular. And she freely admitted to a youthful infatuation with you."

His ghost of a smile broadened into a smirk. "I did mention, did I not, that seduction was one of our remaining approaches under consideration."

That evening …

Despite his best efforts, Harry was unable to track down Hermione, but he found out from Neville that she was "feeling a bit peaky" and so had obtained permission from McGonagall to skip the formal Welcoming Feast that was being held for the visiting students, faculty, and other guests. Whatever was going on with Hermione, Harry assumed that staying in her room and getting some rest might be just what she needed. He'd find out tomorrow what had upset her so.

As he entered the Hall, Harry was surprised to see that the space had grown—someone (most likely Dumbledore) had magically expanded the Great Hall by something like 25% and extended the tables by the same amount to accommodate the guests. Harry was even more surprised to notice Sirius Black sitting at the head table next to Serena Zabini. The boy frowned, as he realized at once that Black had accompanied the Countess just to have a pretext for meeting with him at school. He resigned himself to what would probably be an annoyingly long conversation about his feelings.

Glancing again at the head table, Harry made note of the guests. Some he already knew, like Director Crouch, Director Bagman, Percy Weasley, and the two foreign Headmasters. Oh, and Rita Skeeter, of course, who was sitting next to Ludo Bagman and chatting away with him about Merlin knew what. The other guests he did not know until Dumbledore introduced them. One was Porpentina Goldstein, an instructor from the French Auror academy. Idly, he wondered if she and Anthony were related somehow.

Then, he noticed a conspicuous absence: Lily Potter, the Muggle Studies instructor and accused murderess of her own Muggle brother-in-law. Glancing over at the Gryffindor table, he saw that Jim was present and that his twin had also just noticed their mother's absence. Harry assumed that Lily was hiding in her room, unwilling to face a large crowd after the events of the day, especially a crowd that contained Skeeter. That assumption, like his earlier assumption about Hermione, was incorrect.

4 Privet Drive, Surrey

As the Welcoming Feast was commencing, Lily Potter was actually sitting on the floor of the "Magic Room" at 4 Privet Drive next to her open trunk, which was how James Potter found her when he stepped out of the nearby Floo from the Ministry. Lily was weeping openly, and in her hands was a book that she did not recognize but which was filled with notes in her handwriting scribbled in the margins. Applied Pharmacology was the name of the text.

"Lily?" James said tentatively.

"James," she said in a terrified whisper. "I think I may have murdered Vernon Dursley."

Back at Hogwarts

Hermione Granger, who did not feel the least bit "peaky," summoned her Gryffindor courage and knocked sharply on the door. After a few seconds, it was opened by a wizard who was understandably surprised to find a student waiting on the other side.

"Good evening. My name is Hermione Granger. I was wondering, if it's not inappropriate, whether I could visit with you and ask you some questions."

"Questions, Miss Granger?" asked Alexander McAvity. "What sort of questions?"

Hermione bit her lip before answering.

"Questions about your movement, sir. And about … how to make things better."

McAvity smiled broadly. "My favorite topic. Please, Miss Granger. Do step inside."

Next: The Goblet Chooses! Yeah, I know that was supposed to be this chapter, but that was overly optimistic from the start.

AN1: So, Rita Skeeter. We have now reached the part of the narrative where Rita Skeeter becomes plot relevant. Which means we've also reached the point where certain issues about J.K. Rowling's socio-political views can no longer be avoided. I assume you know what I mean. If not, Google "J.K. Rowling transgender," and you will quickly be educated on the topic.

Without getting into a discussion of JKR's views on this matter (which I find repellant), those views are relevant to the topic of Rita Skeeter because of the widespread view that the canon depiction of Rita Skeeter was intended by JKR to represent her perceptions of a trans-woman. Rita is depicted as having "mannish features" such as "a strong jawline" and "large hands." And the very first time we see her in the flesh, she's dragging a frightened 14yo boy into a closet to take advantage of him. By authorial design, Rita Skeeter is, after Dolores Umbridge, arguably the most hated Potter character who is not an actual Death Eater. Viewed in that light, it's all, well, kind of gross.

So, here's where we are. In POS, Rita Skeeter was born biologically male. And at a certain point, most likely early childhood or even infancy, it was determined that on the inside, where it really matters, she was female. So she transitioned and became a girl (now a woman). And in the eyes of the wizarding world she is a woman in every way that matters, and only the most ignorant and retrograde wizards and witches would disagree. Which is how I think it should be.

The part of Rita Skeeter will be played by Miranda Richardson as in the movies except that she's about ten years younger. The part of Margarite Scarabee will be played by Miranda Richardson as she looked when she played Nurse Mary on Blackadder Goes Forth.

AN2: Nagini's "real" name of Yoo-Ri-El was the stage name of South Korean actress Kim Soo-hyun before she changed it to Claudia Kim (under which name she played Nagini in Crimes of Grindelwald).

AN3: What the Sinister Man is reading:

Wandwood by . A WBWL story with Sirius adopting the supposedly Squib Harry, finding out he has magic, and sending him to a different magical school that then gets tangled up with the Tournament in 4th year. The added wrinkle is that Albus assumes Sirius used dark magic to give magic to the Squib Harry and they are both "dark wizards." Reads better than that description.

A Sad Winter by AuspiciousAutumn (AO3). Actually an older story that I thought had been abandoned but I was delighted to find it complete on AO3. A WBWL mystery told from the perspective of the WBWL who is surprised and disturbed by the arrival at Hogwarts of Harry Potter, a twin he never knew existed prior to their Sorting.

Tramps Like Us by greenandmoss (AO3). Sirius avoids Azkaban and later steals Harry from the Dursleys and goes on the run. Wolfstar.

Harry Potter and the Blood-Soaked Succession by NonsensicalRants. The war goes very badly, to the point that a dying Harry, the only survivor of the Order of the Phoenix, is driven to make a horcrux of his own just to survive long enough to carry on the fight. Among other bits I like are the Evil!Flamels and Harry's aggressive use of the Resurrection Stone.

AN5: AjithSen, blowback123, brucetheamericanguy, DontBanMeImScared, Farsight, Idefix, kean, ohana, PrettyPinkCupcake, Rubric of Ahriman, Sakkiko, Sandyna (Melanie), sigud, and StillPossible. Thanks guys!

Chapter Text

25 October 1994
4 Privet Drive

As the Welcoming Feast was commencing, Lily Potter was actually sitting on the floor of the “Magic Room” at 4 Privet Drive next to her open trunk, which was how James Potter found her when he stepped out of the nearby Floo from the Ministry. Lily was weeping openly, and in her hands was a book that she did not recognize but which was filled with notes in her handwriting scribbled in the margins. Applied Pharmacology was the name of the text.

“Lily?” James said tentatively.

“James,” she said in a terrified whisper. “I think I may have murdered Vernon Dursley.”

“What?!?” James asked incredulously. “What do you mean you think you murdered him?!? You already denied it under Veritaserum just this morning?!?”

She nodded dumbly and sat down on a nearby couch, her face still a mask of shock.

“Yes, I did,” she said shakily. “And then, afterwards, I had a talk with Severus in which he told me that by the end of Fifth Year, I was nearly a level-four Occlumens, the level you need before you can alter your own memories and beat Veritaserum! But I don’t remember it at all!”

And with a mounting sense of panic, she held up the Muggle textbook and showed it to her husband. “Just like I don’t remember this!”

James studied the text in confusion. “Applied Pharma …?”

“Pharmacology. It’s the study of Muggle pharmaceuticals. Basically, their equivalent to healing potions. James, if there is a way to magically alter a Muggle’s prescribed medications so that they would become poisonous and then revert back after death, this is the sort of knowledge you would need to do it!”

“And … you learned how in your Muggle college studies?”

Lily sighed loudly and wiped her hand across her face. “Apparently, I took a First in this class, but I don’t even remember signing up for it!”

“Calm down, Lily-Flower,” James said as he took the book from her and held her hands in his own. “None of this proves that you murdered Vernon.”

“James …!” she said in exasperation.

“Lily, don’t forget! Peter was screwing with us for years! He gave both of us potions and used both Confundus Charms and Obliviations on us. Even if your academic knowledge is responsible for Vernon’s death, Peter might have influenced you into it somehow.”

“I feel like you’re stretching a bit, James,” she said somewhat acerbically.

“And I feel like my head’s been screwed with a lot over the years, Lily. So is it so hard to believe that yours might have been as well?”

“But to what purpose? Why would Peter have wanted me to kill Vernon in such a ridiculous way?”

“You mean in a way that only a brilliant Muggleborn could have done it? One who might have felt guilty over what Vernon did and might have wanted revenge? Peter had plans in place to do away with us both if he needed to. If he could have framed you for murder—or for that matter, Confunded you into actually committing a murder!—he could have sent you off to Azkaban and gotten an even stronger hold over me and Jim. Or worse … When I … when I met with the Goblins last Spring and finally went over the paperwork, I found…”

Then, he looked down in embarrassment.

“There was a document I had signed that would have made Peter regent for Jim and House Potter if something happened to us both. Yet another thing I was stupid enough to sign without even reading. I think his plan might have been to get you sent off to Azkaban for murdering Vernon and then get me out of the way somehow. Fake my suicide or get me committed for having a mental breakdown.”

Lily looked at him in disbelief. “You … you really think that’s possible? But what about my missing Occlumency skills?”

“I don’t know. But now that you mention Occlumency, I studied it at the Auror Academy. I had to reach Level 3 in order to pass. But I never went beyond that and actually let my skills degrade afterwards. I always thought it was because I just didn’t like the effects it had on my personality. But maybe it was something else!”

“What? You think Peter might have manipulated you out of studying Occlumency so that you would be less able to resist his tricks?”

“Well, looking back on it,” James said firmly, “I can’t imagine what else would have made me so reluctant to develop a skill that would protect me from having my emotions manipulated. Can you?”

“I suppose not,” she said slowly. “I can’t think of anyone else who might have been close enough to influence you mentally without it being detected. But at this point … what can we do?”

James assumed a look of determination. “We brazen it through. You’ve already denied the accusations under Veritaserum. There’s no physical proof of what you … I mean, of what really happened.”

“You’re an Auror, James! You can’t just ignore…!”

“I’m not an Auror anymore, Lily!” he replied angrily. “And as Director Yaxley has made perfectly clear, criminal investigations are no longer part of my job description!”

With that, James tossed the book into the fireplace before lighting it up with an Incendio. Then, he reached out for Lily’s hand.

“Come on. Let’s go have a cup of tea in the kitchen and think if there’s anything we missed.”

Lily took his hand and walked with him out of the room, still bearing a shellshocked demeanor. Behind them, the edges of the book slowly blackened in the fire. But then, just a few seconds after the Potters had left the room, the book suddenly began to shake before leaping out of the fireplace and onto the floor. Then, a strange wind which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere rushed over the book and extinguished the fire. The book was badly damaged, but still recognizable as a pharmacology textbook with examples of Lily’s handwriting within. A few more seconds passed, and then the book slid across the floor a few feet. And then a few feet more. And a few feet more, until it finally slid beneath the sofa out of sight.

Only then did the ghost of Vernon Dursley sink to the floor in utter exhaustion from his spectral exertions.

“Bloody buggering hell!” he exclaimed breathlessly, even though no one could hear him and he was not, in fact, breathing. “In the films and on the telly, they never talked about how exhausting it could be to haunt someone!”

Meanwhile back at Hogwarts

As Harry Black took another bite of the excellent Beef Stroganoff which the house elves had provided, he regarded the Great Hall with wonder at how cool magic could be. The entire room had been nearly doubled in size due to Dumbledore’s spatial expansion charms, and each of the House tables had been lengthened to accommodate the guest students. Meanwhile the Head Table had been replaced by a raised two-tiered platform with several smaller tables for the adult guests. These included (in addition to the Hogwarts faculty) the Headmasters of both visiting schools and a half-dozen faculty from each, ten or so Tournament judges who apparently couldn’t turn down a free meal (the rest would be arriving in time for the Goblet’s selection), and various other dignitaries. Prefect Adrian Pucey had mentioned that the dining hall might be getting even bigger for the Goblet Selection Ceremony to be held in one week’s time, as it was considered a “social event” to which the Ministry had provided tickets to various donors and luminaries.

Among those Harry recognized immediately were the Hogwarts judges: Barty Crouch (and his ever-present assistant Percy Weasley), Elphias Doge, Griselda Marchbanks, Horace Slughorn, and, of course, Ludovic Bagman (who was quite obviously boring and annoying everyone around him). Sitting on the other side of Dumbledore was Porpentina Goldstein. Harry was unsure of whether she was the wife or ex-wife of Newt Scamander, but there was definitely some connection as she was the guardian of Rolf Scamander, the Beauxbatons Fourth Year who Harry had dueled the previous summer in Marseilles. The other Beauxbatons judges were also present except for Julian Montmorency and Nicholas Flamel, both of whom would arrive later in the week. One name that definitely caught Harry’s attention was Gabriel Delacour, who Blaise identified as Fleur Delacour’s uncle and who was seated next to Headmistress Maxime. Blaise’s tone implied there was more to Gabriel Delacour than a simple “special attaché” but begged off answering any questions until later.

Serena Zabini also sat with the Beauxbatons guests, with Sirius sitting beside her rather than with the Hogwarts crowd. He and Harry made eye-contact, and Sirius flashed him a winning smile meant to be reassuring but which Harry found utterly unconvincing. The boy braced himself for a conversation later that evening about his “feelings.”

Other than Karkaroff, Harry didn’t actually know anything about the Durmstrang judges beyond their public biographies. Even Viktor Krum, who had joined Harry at the Slytherin table, knew very little about them other than his Headmaster, who he greatly admired. Officially, Harry was supposed to chaperone Draco, but as the boy was still at Malfoy Manor with his injured father, he offered to fill in for the still-missing Hermione. 

The food at the Welcoming Feast was impressive, even by Hogwarts standards. Harry had always been appreciative of the Hogwarts feasts (especially given the occasional starvation suffered in his formative years), but the food served was, for the most part, decidedly English. Very good English cuisine, no doubt, but still limited. But for the visiting schools, the house elves had finally been permitted to broaden their horizons, and they had risen to the challenge. Tonight’s feast included fare from the homelands of every guest from both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, each of which drew students from across Europe and even beyond.

Of course, Hogwarts had its share of non-English students whose food preferences were rarely considered. Blaise, for example, was enjoying his first Hogwarts lasagna and declared it “acceptable.” Idly, Harry wondered if the Patil twins had been provided with vegetarian meals (assuming they were, in fact, vegetarians), let alone Indian fare. He’d never gotten close enough to either Patil sister to inquire about their eating habits, but he was fairly certain that Remus Lupin had been provided vegetarian meals during his brief appointment at Hogwarts.

Then, Harry froze as he experienced a peculiar feeling, a sensation of a kaleidoscope whirling around inside his head but never quite resolving into a clear picture. Moreover, he had the oddest sense that he’d experienced this same phenomenon fairly recently, but he couldn’t recall when. But before he could focus more of his precocious Legilimency gifts to the question, he was distracted when Viktor asked him “Please for to pass borscht.”

Shaking off his momentary confusion, Harry did so. He’d tried a bit of the borscht, but while it was well-prepared, he found the dish off-putting. A cold soup with a beetroot base, its dark red color reminded him uncomfortably of a bowl of congealing blood with bits floating in it. For his part, Viktor poured himself a healthy serving of the Ukrainian dish before leaning in somewhat conspiratorially.

“Forgive Viktor if impertinencity, but does Harry Black know what became of Her-mo-ninny?” He grimaced and looked around. “Viktor noticed Herm-mo-ninny ran away discommoded after Yaxley spoke to her.”

Krum glanced down the Slytherin table and sneered towards the area Harry referred to as “the Warrington zone.” Harry saw that both Giles and Albert Yaxley were happily ensconced among the blood-purist clique. 

“I’m … not sure,” Harry said cautiously.

He’d not been able to find Hermione after she ran off earlier that afternoon and had no idea where she was at the moment. It was troubling, bordering on alarming, for a girl normally so cool under pressure to have what was quite obviously a panic attack in public. Moreover, Viktor’s reminder that her flight had been triggered by a simple hello from Giles Yaxley sat cold in the pit of Harry’s stomach. He suddenly recalled that his time-traveling Gryffindor friend had escaped an alternate and now aborted timeline in which Corban Yaxley was the Minister of Magic. More to the point, a Minister who pursued a blood purity agenda so aggressive that Hermione and her family had been about to flee the country when the Time-Turner miraculously fell into her hands. He’d never really talked with Hermione about her experiences in her former timeline, experiences which must have been deeply traumatic on some level, and he was now beginning to realize what a mistake that might have been.

“I mean, really! My own prior timeline was so awful that my memories of it fuel both the Patronus and Fiendfyre! And she was all alone there for at least nine months or so!”

Ruefully, Harry realized that he had somewhat ruthlessly suppressed all of his own emotional baggage dating from the three days he’d erased by time-travelling. Intellectually, he thought it was pointless to brood over things that had never actually happened even if he clearly remembered them happening to him. But just because he was perfectly capable of ignoring unpleasant emotions and memories didn’t mean Hermione could. He resolved to be a better friend in the future.

“I’ll speak to her first thing tomorrow,” he reassured the Bulgarian. “I’m sure it’s nothing for you to be concerned about.” He then coughed delicately. “Although, no offense, but her name is Hermione.”

Viktor nodded. “Da. Her-mo-ninny.”

Harry stared at the older boy nonplussed. Then, he pointed at a nearby female student. “Her.” He pointed at himself. “My.” He held up his hand with his forefinger touching his thumb. “O.” Finally, he slapped his knee. “Knee.”

Viktor stared at him as if deep in thought. Then, he slowly repeated the same hand gestures Harry had made while sounding out the name. “Her. My. O. Knee.”

Harry nodded.

“Her-mo-ninny?” Viktor asked tentatively.

The Slytherin sighed. “We’ll work on it.”

Viktor nodded. “And how goes Harry Black’s own languagification. Elder Futhark, Viktor recalls?”

“Yeah, I’m actually supposed to take the potion this weekend. So depending on my reaction, you might not see me for a few days.”

Viktor nodded sagely. “Viktor remembers language potions. Taken four so far. Englander was worst. Though perhaps because bad made.” He grimaced. “As Harry Black can doubtless tell.”

Harry smiled and reassured the other boy before glancing back up to the platform and focusing on Igor Karkaroff.

“So tell me about your Headmaster,” he inquired.

Viktor smiled. “Headmaster Karkaroff is brilliant. Was Dueling and Battle Magics professor for many years before becoming Headmaster when Viktor was in Year of the Four.” The boy smiled warmly. “Plus, is national hero!”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He looked around and then leaned in closer and whispered.

“You, uh, do know that Karkaroff was a Death Eater, right?”

Viktor grimaced but then gave a stubborn nod. “Headmaster has spoken to Viktor and others of this. He … is not proud of those things he did. But … Viktor can see how they were necessitated.”

“Necessary?!?” Harry hissed in shock, but Viktor put up a hand to shush him.

“Viktor will not speak of such things here,” the other boy said quietly but intently. “Is not Viktor’s tale to tell. But Headmaster and his friends served Dark Lord only because it was required to get Dark Lord’s aid in their struggles.”

“Struggles?”

Viktor’s eyes grew intense. “Harry Black, Viktor will say only this. What you Englanders called the Death Eater In … Inter…jection?”

“Insurrection,” Harry supplied. Viktor nodded.

“Da, Death Eater Insurrection. But in my country, it had different name: War of Balkan Liberation! And Igor Karkaroff was one of its greatest heroes!”

Outside the Hall …

Cho Chang tapped her foot impatiently as she waited. Her boyfriend, Cedric Diggory had needed to make a quick run back to his dorm for something, though he didn’t mention what it was. It was, in fact, a Calming Draught laced with a Cheering Potion. Just a little something to “take the edge off.” And he now looked much more relaxed than he had at the earlier event, though he’d had to use more of the potion than expected to get his anxiety in check. At this rate, he might need to speak to Roger Davies again to get some refills from the illegal potions lab that the NEWT-level Ravenclaws had been running since long before Cedric had started Hogwarts.

“Glad you could finally make it, Ced,” Cho said sarcastically. “Shall we go in?”

Diggory took a deep breath. “Not just yet. Before we go into the Hall, I … I have something I want to talk to you about.”

He led the confused girl over to a nearby bench where they sat down together.

“What is it?” Cho asked, now concerned about his expression.

“I .. I want to ask … I wish to know.” He paused, gathered himself, and then barreled on through. “Cho, what exactly are your feelings about Muggleborns?”

The Ravenclaw leaned back in surprise. “What do you mean?” she asked sharply.

“I mean, earlier this afternoon, we both heard that Yaxley boy call Hermione Granger … the M-word. And you … laughed. Just a few months ago, I finally had to stand up to my father and ask him to not use that word anymore, and he promised me he wouldn’t. But then, my girlfriend …”

“Okay, let me just stop you right there, Cedric Diggory,” Cho said hotly. “First of all, I didn’t laugh. I snorted once because his comment caught me by surprise. You should not think that means I share any of Giles Yaxley’s bigotries because I don’t. Second, my reaction wasn’t because he used an anti-Muggleborn slur. It was because he insulted Granger. I am not bigoted against Muggleborns. But I definitely don’t like Granger because she is bigoted against me.”

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“Oh come on, Ced! It’s obvious. Granger is bigoted towards Purebloods. She always assumes the worst about Purebloods who don’t placate her by braying at the top of our lungs about how wonderful Muggles are. She started SPAM initially to provide social support for someone who had been declared outcast by the Ultimate Sanction, but it quickly grew into a Hate-The-Purebloods group. And according to Greengrass, Granger has spent a lot of time defending the reputation of the Dark Lord McAvity!”

She leaned back, crossed her arms, and fixed Cedric with a glare. “I am not bigoted towards Muggleborns. However, my family may have immigrated to Scotland before I was born, but in China, I can trace my Pureblood ancestry back over 2,000 years. I’m not going to turn my back on my heritage just because it makes the likes of Hermione Granger feel insecure about her place in our culture!”

Cedric withered a bit under her angry remarks but steeled himself to go on. “I still plan on trying to end the hostilities between SPAM and the CPS,” he said.

“Good! I hope you succeed, and I’ll help you however I can. And I really think you can do it now that Granger is out of SPAM and has been replaced by someone much more reasonable who’s also a housemate of yours.”

She smirked. “And let’s be honest. Doesn’t the fact that SPAM itself kicked Hermione out of their leadership show that the problem was really her all along?”

“I guess so,” he said. “I hope you’re not angry with me for mentioning it.”

“Pfft. You’re a Hufflepuff. Of course you’re going to call me out if you feel I’m being unfair. Though I suppose I was a little angry. My Scottish burr came out.”

“I noticed!” Cedric replied with a cheeky grin. “I love it when you talk Scottish.”

“Och, mah wee bairn!” she replied with a grin of her own. “Ah’ll try to imitate Professor McGonagall more often then!”

They laughed and kissed quickly before entering the Great Hall.

Back at the Slytherin Table …

After Viktor’s remarks about the War of Balkan Liberation (whatever that was), Harry thought it best to change the topic, and the two discussed Seeker strategies for a while over the dessert course. To Harry’s surprise, Viktor utterly hated the Firebolt to the point that he wanted it banned from professional Quidditch. As he explained it, there were two basic theories about what makes someone the ideal Seeker. One camp says that the Seeker should be as small and light as possible so as to reduce drag and let the broom fly faster. The other says that Seekers should be more muscular so that they can exercise better control over the broom at high speeds and fly with the precision one needs to do maneuvers like the Wronski Feint. The Firebolt’s Redistributed Gravity Charm allowed even physically weaker Seekers to perform such precise moves without any need to “fight the broom” as he put it, and Krum feared that if the Firebolt became the broom of choice for Seekers, he would have no future in professional Quidditch.

As Harry considered that perspective, he glanced over towards the Gryffindor table where his Seeker brother sat. The earlier discussion about language potions also drew his attention to the Weasley Twins who were supposed to provide him with their special (and almost certainly illegal) version of the Elder Futhark Language Potion later that evening. He groaned internally at the timing. It had been a very long day, one that had commenced that morning at 3:00 a.m. with the recovery of the Ring Horcrux and Lucius Malfoy’s cursing and self-amputation, continued with The Daily Prophet’s expose on Lily Potter’s alleged murder of Vernon Dursley, and ended with Rita Skeeter boldly announcing that she knew the most privileged secrets of the Azkabal.

The most embarrassing, in Harry’s view, was the fact that their secret conspiracy was actually called “the Azkabal.”

“Okay,” Harry said to himself. “If any other horribles happen tonight, I will definitely go talk to Ted about counseling. Probably. I mean, if I can find the time.”

At a minimum, even the insanely self-sufficient Harry Black thought he should at least talk to Ted about the accusations against Lily Potter. Or at the very least, he really needed to meditate and sort through his feelings. Assuming the story was even true, Harry found himself torn by conflicting emotions. On one hand, he’d been consumed for nearly two years by guilt over Vernon’s death because he thought he’d given the man a heart attack with his “freakishness,” and it angered him to think it might actually be someone else’s fault entirely. On the other hand, there was a part of him that would never forgive the Dursleys for their treatment of him even if it was an artificial hatred born of his curse scar (aka “Bob”). And that part was, on some level, slightly pleased at the idea that his estranged mother still cared enough to kill someone in order to avenge their mistreatment of him. Arguably, it was the nicest thing any of the Potters had ever done for him. And on the third hand, the fact that he might actually feel that way about a premeditated murder said some pretty unnerving things about his own mental health.

Meanwhile across the Great Hall …

“Come on, Jim,” Ron said urgently. “You’ve got to eat something.”

“M’not hungry,” the Boy-Who-Lived said sullenly.

“I don’t know how that’s possible since you skipped breakfast and lunch. Just stop worrying about it. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Jim turned to his friend and whispered angrily. “How can you say that? The whole country thinks my mum murdered her own brother-in-law! And then, she gets questioned by the likes of Corban Yaxley, and once she’s done with that, she just disappears without a word to anyone!”

“Excusez-moi,” said one of the Beauxbatons students.

“Well, maybe no news is good news, mate. I mean, if she had been arrested, surely someone would have told you something.”

Jim snorted. “Have you forgotten what my family is like? Even our secrets have secrets.”

“Ahem. Excusez-moi,” said the French girl a bit more firmly.

“I mean,” he continued, ignoring the reserved girl, “it would be just like Mum and Dad to think they’re protecting me by not telling me anything and leaving me to just panic in the dark!”

Ron sighed. “Well be that as it may, Jim, there’s no sense worrying about it because there’s nothing you can do right now. So you might as well eat.”

Jim turned away to look towards the Head Table. And more importantly, towards the tall plinth standing right in front of it with a plain-looking wooden goblet resting on top. The Goblet of Fire.

“I reckon there’s one thing I can do,” Jim thought angrily to himself. “Get House Potter enough money for a good solicitor!”

The boy ignored his friend’s entreaties and studied the Goblet, which was surrounded on all sides by a glowing field representing the wards that protected it from tampering. On the night before the selection, all of the protective spells would come down except for the Age Line. But even that appeared to extend all the way up to the top of the Great Hall. And even though he had a signed permission slip, he still needed a way to get past it if he wanted to enter his name. There was no way, after all, that Dumbledore would simply accept his entry form without at least checking with his parents before tossing it in.

Nearby, Luna noticed his expression and turned to follow his gaze towards the Goblet and the protective spells that surrounded it.

“Such pretty wards,” she said. “I wonder if they go all the way to the top.”

“They obviously do, Luna,” said Lavender Brown dismissively. “I mean, you can see them splashing against the ceiling.”

Luna shook her head. “No, you can see them splashing against the fake ceiling. The illusion of the night sky that’s projected up there. But the real ceiling is about a foot or so above that.”

“What?!?” exclaimed George Weasley louder than he’d intended. He and Fred looked around quickly and then leaned in towards the blonde Third Year. Meanwhile, the young French girl tried unsuccessfully once more to get someone’s attention.

“Could you … expand on that, Luna?” asked Fred.

Luna shrugged. “The fake sky is projected off of runes that are inscribed on the actual ceiling and hang about a foot below it. It was all in Hogwarts: A History. Hermione told me about it once. Possibly more than once. She really likes that book.”

“Hmm, very interesting,” said Fred and George in unison. Jim said nothing, but he found that fact interesting as well.

A few feet away, Fleur Delacour simmered. She was so very tired of feeling ignored all the time. It was bad enough at Beauxbatons, where at least she was a respected student with good grades (but not quite good enough for any awards or a prefect’s badge). But for these little boys to ignore her so rudely was unconscionable. She turned towards the Head Table and noticed that her Uncle Gabriel was looking the other way while talking to one of the other dignitaries. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke once more.

“Excusez-moi,” she said once more, and not even as loudly as before. But this time, there was something else in her voice. A faint subliminal sound like the peal of a delicate chime. Instantly, nearly every male within ten feet (plus at least one female) stopped what they were doing and turned towards her with wide eyes. She smiled demurely.

“Could someone please pass zee bouillabaisse?”

There was a flurry of motion as several boys raced for the bowl of fish stew, but Lee Jordan won the race by stomping on Cormac McLaggen’s foot. Jordan gallantly conveyed the bowl to Fleur with a befuddled look on his face. She thanked him politely as he ladled some soup into her bowl. Then, she looked back up towards her uncle, who now was looking at her with a stormy expression. She shrugged to herself and prepared for a scolding later.

Nearby, Luna looked up and around in wonder. “Ooo, look at all the Nargles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this shade before!”

Still further down the table, one of the male Beauxbatons students leaned in towards Lavender Brown, who had been assigned as his campus chaperone.

“Did she just say … Nargles?!?”

Lavender gave the boy a longsuffering sigh. “That’s Luna Lovegood, Rolf. Best not to worry too much about whatever she’s saying at any given time.”

Rolf Scamander nodded and tried to go back to his own meal. But he never stopped glancing towards Luna out of the corner of his eye.

After the feast …

At the conclusion of the feast, Dumbledore made his closing remarks. In particular, he restated that the protective wards surrounding the Goblet of Fire would remain up until the night before Halloween except for the Age Line, which would remain in effect until the following night. During that 24-hour span, anyone who was of age could freely pass the line and enter their names. Those who were not of age but still had parental consent to enter the competition were to give their entry forms (signed by both the student and a parent) to the Headmaster of their respective schools or, in the case of Hogwarts students, their Heads of House. After the parent signatures were verified, any such underage participant forms would be entered into the Goblet by the Headmasters just before the Goblet’s selection.

At that point, Dumbledore looked towards the Slytherin table and added that even emancipated students who were still underage would need to submit their names for later entry, as the Age Line would not distinguish between an underaged student who had been emancipated and one who had not. Harry simply looked back at the Headmaster with an expression of bored innocence.

Then, everyone was dismissed for the evening, with the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students returning to their respective vessels. Once outside the Great Hall, Harry heard a familiar voice calling out to him. It was Sirius.

“Harry! Wait up!”

Harry upped his Occlumency shields and assumed an expression of “happy to see you, Sirius, but also rather sleepy and ready for bed, and no, I’m fine, thank you.” Then, he turned towards his godfather and smiled with far greater enthusiasm than he felt.

“Sirius! I wondered if I’d get the chance to speak with you. What’s brought you to Hogwarts? Other than a free meal and the Countess’s company?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the older man.

Sirius laughed. “She’s been a lovely dinner companion, thank you very much. Listen, I know the news about Lily must have hit hard, and Archie threatened to clap my ears if I bugged you about it. But if you want to talk, please, mirror-call me or at least go see Ted, okay?”

Harry nodded. “I will. But I promise you, I’m fine. And anyway, the DMLE interviewed her and cleared her. Or if they didn’t clear her, they declined to arrest her. If there’s anything to Vernon Dursley being murdered, I doubt she had anything to do with it.”

In point of fact, Harry was by this point nearly certain that Lily had murdered Vernon, even if he was weirdly ambivalent about it. But he had no desire to discuss with his godfather the reason for that ambivalence, and so for the time being, he was going with “She’s innocent, so there’s nothing to worry about” as a way to avoid unpleasant conversations with the well-meaning but ultimately annoying adults in his life.

“And while I’m here, Harry…” Sirius looked around and then leaned in closely. “Are you going to enter the Tournament? I mean, I know that legally you can. But the challenges are supposed to be all NEWT-level material. I don’t want you to be disappointed or feel inadequate if you do put your name in and don’t get picked.”

“Believe me, Sirius. I have zero desire to waste my time on the Triwizard Tournament. You and I both know that I have too much going on this year to get distracted by some stupid academic competition. I may compete in the dueling competition they’re supposed to be having later in the year, but that’s it.”

Sirius nodded in understanding. The two talked for a few minutes longer before separating, with Sirius letting Harry know that he’d see him in a week at the Goblet Selection Ceremony. Harry grinned and said he couldn’t wait. Sirius never saw the grin fall away like it had never been there as soon as his back was turned. Then, Harry pinched his brow in an attempt to ward off his growing headache before setting off for his next meeting.

Ten minutes later, he’d made his way to a seldom-used boys’ restroom on the second floor where Blaise Zabini was waiting for him.

“You sure about this?” Zabini asked.

“Quite sure,” Harry replied. “But you don’t have to go along with this if you don’t want to.”

“No, no,” Blaise said sourly. “In for a Sickle, in for a Galleon.”

With that, the two entered the restroom to find Fred and George Weasley awaiting them. Each of the twins was holding a vial containing a thin blue liquid.

“Hello, Slytherins!” George said cheerfully. “Glad to see neither of you chickened out!”

Harry snorted. “And that’s it? The secret formula to learn all the meanings and formulations of the Elder Futhark runes? Including the special rune that only you two, Bill, and the Goblins know about?”

“Well,” said Fred, “we can’t really speculate on who all knows about the Vohldo rune. Because whoever does know, they’re obviously not talking about it.”

He gave Blaise an appraising expression. “We were a bit surprised when you insisted on telling Zabini here. And ordering a second batch just for him.”

“We’re both in Ancient Runes together,” Blaise said. “And if Harry says I need this potion, I believe him.

Meanwhile, Harry studied the twins intently, especially George, who was the dedicated “runes master” of the duo.

“And after all these years, you’ve never even tried to actually use the 37^th rune?”

“Nope. There’s a limit to our craziness. But from the way that Bill talks about his job, we get the feeling that Gringotts doesn’t want its curse-breakers to use the rune so much as be able to recognize it when they see it and be forewarned that, as the Muggles say, some shit’s about to go down.”

Harry blinked and turned to his Slytherin friend. “Is that something Muggles say?”

Blaise laughed. “American Muggles, maybe,” he said.

“Yeah,” George replied with a smirk. “Bill picked it up from some American curse-breakers when he was 19 and still living at home mostly, and he said it around Mum. Once.”

The Slytherins chuckled as well before Harry reached into a pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here you are, gentlemen. A Gringotts bank draft for 100 galleons. Don’t spend it all in one place. Now, is there anything we need to know about this before we take it? Other than the fact that it’s illegal?”

“Not really. We recommend taking it Friday or Saturday night just after supper, because you’ll be sick for a whole day afterwards. And you won’t be able to miss classes without going to Pomfrey. We don’t know that she’ll be able to figure out what you took, but best not to take the chance. Besides, you don’t want to take a Stomach Soothing Potion with it, or it will negate the effects of the language potion before it takes. You’ll just have to suffer through a night and a day of vomiting. Oh, and stay close to a chamber pot.”

“Charming,” Blaise said ruefully.

Harry looked down at the vial in his hand suspiciously. “Okay then. If there’s nothing else, we wish you both a good night.”

Harry turned towards the door when Fred called out.

“Actually … there is one other thing we wanted to talk about.”

“Oh?”

Fred looked to George. And then, they both turned to Harry at once and shouted in unison.

“PLEASE PUT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE!!”

Harry did a double take. “What?!? Why? There’s no way I’d get picked as a Fourth Year, and even if I could get picked, I don’t want to be in it!”

“We don’t care whether you get picked or not,” said George. “We just want you to enter your name. And specifically, we want you to break the Age Line and enter your name in secret without giving your entry form to a teacher or to Dumbledore!”

“What in Merlin’s name for?!?” Harry exclaimed. Beside him, Blaise studied the Twins speculatively.

“I’m going to hazard a guess and say this is about the betting odds, right?” Blaise inquired.

After a second, both Weasleys nodded, and George spoke first.

“If you do put your name in, Harry, the odds of you getting picked are only 10-1 against. Which are actually great odds for a 4^th Year. Better than any 4^th Year except for Jim, in fact. And unlike Jim, everyone knows that you can just hand in your entry form to a teacher and get it added.”

“But!” said Fred, taking over. “Lee Jordan says the odds of you being able to get past Dumbledore’s Age Line and enter your name personally are 50-1! If we give him the 100 Galleons you just gave us to put on ‘Harry Black to break through the Age Line,’ and you do it, that’s 5000 Galleons!”

“You want me to try to break through the Age Line so you can win 5000 Galleons?!? George, I have literally offered your family 100 times that amount just to resolve the life debt I owe you!”

“Yeah,” George said while waving his hand dismissively. “But that’s just money changing hands. This is winning it through gambling!!!”

“Which makes it a much cooler story to tell!” Fred added.

Harry ran his hand over his face. “Wait. Lee Jordan? How does he know so much about the betting odds for the Triwizard Tournament?”

To everyone’s surprise, it was Blaise who answered. “Jordan’s uncle on his mother’s side is a figure of some importance in magical organized crime.”

“How did you know that?” asked a startled Fred Weasley. Blaise just raised his chin imperiously.

“Because I am also related to figures of some importance in organized crime.” Then, Blaise gave a mischievous smile. “And please ask Jordan, when he next owls to his Uncle Mundungus, to add that the Montessi Heir sends his regards.”

“Okay,” said George uneasily. “I have no idea what that means but it sounds bloody intimidating. We’ll pass the message along.”

Meanwhile, Harry was covering his face with his hands while muttering to himself.

“Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin!” Then, he looked up at everyone with an angry expression.

“Everyone, please, get it through your skulls. I have too much to deal with right now. So much to deal with, in fact, that murder allegations against my own birthmother are, at best, fourth on the list, even if it’s the only one I can talk about publicly. I have zero interest in this stupid tournament and refuse to get dragged into it. George, if you want money, let me know and I’ll send you whatever you need. But otherwise, leave me out of all this … Gryffindoring!”

With that, Harry Black turned and stormed out of the restroom. Blaise shrugged in the direction of the Twins before following him out.

“Well,” said Fred. “That was bollocks, wasn’t it!”

“Yeah. Shame. It would have been hilarious to see people’s reactions when it came out that he beat the Age Line. I’d give anything to see Dumbledore’s face!”

The other twin laughed. “Me too. Hey, if his mum murdering that Muggle was only fourth on his list of problems, what do you reckon are in the top three?”

Before George could answer, both twins were startled when the door flew open and Harry charged back in, his eyes flashing. Just a few seconds later, Zabini followed him back inside. If Harry had been annoyed when he left, he was visibly furious now.

“What exactly do you mean,” he snarled, “that ‘the odds against me being able to get past Dumbledore’s Age Line are 50-1?!?’”

“Well,” Fred explained nervously. “That’s an expression of how improbable people think it is that you’d be able to do that. Seeing as how you’re a Fourth Year and he’s, well, Dumbledore.”

“How … improbable?”

“Yes,” Blaise added. “As a basis of comparison, the odds of Jim being able to get past the Age Line are 20-1 and only 8-1 to get picked if he does so. But the odds of him actually winning are 30-1. And even that’s because of idiots who worship the Boy-Who-Lived and think he can do miracles.”

Harry looked from one face to another as if trying to comprehend the incomprehensible.

“Fifty?!? To one?!?” he asked incredulously. The other boys simply nodded.

He lifted his chin defiantly. “Well! That’s just a bloody insult, isn’t it!

The Three Broomsticks
10:00 p.m.

There was a firm knock on the door, and Rita Skeeter took a moment to adjust her hair.

“Enter,” she called out confidently.

Regulus Black (back in his Archie Goodwin guise) opened the door and stepped inside, only to pause and take in the scene. Skeeter had booked the best suite in the inn for the foreseeable future, one with a sitting room, a separate bedroom, and even an en suite bathroom. When Archie entered, the woman herself was standing across the room next to a lit fireplace. Nearby, there was a table with a brocaded tablecloth and two comfortable chairs. On the table were a bottle of champagne on ice, two glasses, and a lit candelabra. The setting was obviously meant to suggest romance, which only set Archie’s teeth on edge.

Both Archie and Skeeter had attended the opening ceremony earlier that evening, and he’d managed to corner the reporter and ask when she would be available for a brief one-on-one meeting to discuss “a private affair.” She’d batted her eyelashes and asked if that was meant as a double entendre before giving her room number at the local inn and setting an appointment for 10:00 p.m. Apparently, she’d used the time between the end of the ceremony and now to freshen up. She was now wearing a diaphanous black gown, and her hair, while still platinum blonde, was in a different style than earlier. Unusually, for a British witch (or anyone, really), she was smoking from a cigarette holder.

“Mr. Goodwin,” Rita said pleasantly. “Do come in. May I call you Archie? Or, if not, any of your other names? You have quite a few to choose from.”

Archie didn’t reply at first. Instead, he closed the door, pulled out his wand, and cast every detection spell he knew, followed by every secrecy ward he knew (including the Animagus Detection Charm that Lucius had taught him just hours earlier). That last spell identified Rita as an Animagus but detected no others. Satisfied that no one was present or able to listen in or even able to record the conversation, he finally addressed his host.

“I would prefer to keep things professional, Miss Skeeter,” he finally said. “This is, after all, a negotiation arising from an extortion attempt.”

“If you insist, darling. Though that still doesn’t answer the question of which surname you would like for me to use. Mr. Goodwin? Mr. White? Mr. Black? Mr. Cato? Or perhaps, for old times sake, Mr. Lockhart?”

Then, she looked thoughtful for a second before smiling even more broadly.

“I think I interviewed Gilderoy Lockhart once. Was that you? Or was it the other one? The lobotomy case who’s squatting in the Janus Thickey Wing trying to remember his own name.”

Archie grimaced at that description of the real Gilderoy Lockhart. “It was me. Part of the press tour for Gadding with Ghouls, as I recall.”

“Ah, yes! I think I still have a copy at home. I should bring it next time we meet and get you to autograph it for me. It’ll be a collector’s item.” 

She sat down at the table and set her cigarette holder aside.

“Champagne?” she offered.

“This isn’t a date, Skeeter. I’m here on business.”

“Yes, yes, darling. Serious, serious business … no puns relating to your brother intended. But, as you said, this is a negotiation of sorts. Unfortunately, negotiations always make me thirsty.”

She tapped her wand against the bottle and the cork shot out with a pop. Then, she poured two glasses.

“And I hate to drink alone.”

Archie rolled his eyes and sat down at the table before picking up his glass.

“To fruitful negotiations,” Rita said while holding her glass aloft. They each took a sip.

“A good vintage,” Archie thought idly. “Rita likes to live well, it seems.”

“Although,” Rita continued after swallowing her drink, “I don’t see why you need to use such an ugly, vulgar word like extortion. I have made it quite clear that I have no interest in exposing the Azkabal’s activities, all of which I support completely.”

“No interest at this time,” replied Archie. “My understanding is that you plan to write a book about our … activities at some point in the future. A book revealing secrets pertaining to Azkaban-worthy crimes that we may or may not have committed.”

“Nonsense, darling. I know my readers and I have a lot of them. Yes, you’ve done some unethical things to be sure. But once everyone knows it was all part of a bold and heroic scheme to track down and destroy You-Know-Who’s Horcruxes …”

“Horcruxes,” Archie interrupted, “are an Unspeakable topic.”

Rita froze midsentence for a few seconds before abruptly snapping her mouth shut.

“… Hmm. Horcruxes. Are. Unspeakable. Well, I suppose that does change things. Many thanks for the warning, darling. It would be a pity for me to poke a hornet’s nest by asking the wrong person about them and then vanish in the night, never to be heard from again.”

She picked up her cigarette holder and took a few puffs while seemingly lost in thought.

“Very well,” she finally said. “Here is my proposal. I’ll put Secrets of the Azkabal aside. When the last Horcrux is destroyed and You-Know-Who is gone for good, I’ll finish the manuscript and carefully edit it to remove anything the DoM would consider objectionable. Wouldn’t want them to threaten my publisher with censorship or, Merlin forbid, execution! Then, I’ll submit it to the members of your conspiracy for review, before locking the whole thing away in Gringotts to be published after we’re all dead. How does that sound?”

Archie actually flinched in surprise. “After … we’re all dead? But … what would even be the point of publishing it then?!?”

She shrugged dismissively. “To have the satisfaction of knowing that I would have the bestselling posthumously released book in Wizarding history? Like I told your young friends this afternoon: For me, the joy of learning and revealing secrets is far more important than just the financial benefits I can reap from them.”

Then, she leaned forward. “But … if I do that, I will naturally expect remuneration. Since, you know, the Azkabal has the backing of four of the six wealthiest families in Britain.”

“Name your price,” Archie said at once.

Rita took a sip of champagne as she pretended to think about the matter.

“One-hundred thousand Galleons,” she answered.

“Done,” Archie said even faster than before.

The reporter’s eyes widened. Then, she let out a laugh.

“I should have asked for twice that amount, shouldn’t I?”

Archie smiled but didn’t reply.

“Very well,” Rita said. “That’s certainly the most I’ve ever been paid for not doing my job, so it’s a fair trade. However, money isn’t all I want in exchange for my silence on this matter. If I can’t publish Secrets of the Azkabal, there’s another writing project I have in mind.”

“Oh?” said Archie cautiously before he took another sip from his drink.

“Yes. The working title is The Life and Times of Regulus Black!”

Rita was rewarded for her timing by a coughing fit from Archie that stopped him from responding for several seconds.

“WHAT?!?” he finally gasped out.

“Oh, I think the title speaks for itself, doesn’t it?” Then, she leaned in closer. “Look, Archie or Reggie or whatever you prefer, I know Lord Black has Hestia Jones looking into the mysterious and tragic death of his younger brother. I assume that’s because you’re laying the groundwork for Regulus Black’s miraculous return from the grave. And I can help with that!”

“… Go on.”

“It’s a tragic and moving story. Regulus Black flees the Death Eaters and starts a new life in Australia. Naturally, we leave out the Locket Horcrux and you being a Metamorphmagus. There are many other ways to change one’s identity besides Metamorphmagery. We can attribute the altered appearance of Lazarus White to some obscure Australian potion or some arcane Charm from the vaults of House Black. The details don’t matter for our purposes. The established history of Gilderoy Lockhart says that he killed Lazarus White in a botched attempt to steal his fame for killing the Wagga Wagga werewolf. We just tweak it a bit to say that Lockhart left White for dead in the Australian Outback, but you survived albeit with total amnesia caused by a botched Obliviation. You’ve spent all the years since in some Muggle asylum or something with no idea who you were or that you were a wizard. Or at least, that’s where Sirius Black will find his younger brother when the time comes!”

Archie stared slack jawed at the woman. Then, he picked up his champagne glass and slammed it back in one shot.

“If there’s no Horcruxes in this story,” he finally said, “why did I even leave Britain and fake my death in the first place. What, I just chickened out of becoming a Death Eater?”

“Oh, no, darling! That’s the best part! Regulus Black faked his own death and fled Britain because his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, came to him and revealed that she had secretly had a daughter. But she was still so devoted to serving You-Know-Who that she thought raising a child would interfere with her service as a Death Eater. Or maybe she was afraid that You-Know-Who might want to kill the child as part of some gruesome ritual. We can fiddle with the details later. But the important bit is that she gave the child to you to raise in another country under the fake name of Delphini White! Who, of course, will return to Britain alongside Regulus Black to take her place in British Wizarding society!”

Archie stared at Rita some more. Then, he looked down at his empty champagne glass.

“We’re going to need something stronger than champagne.”

Rita laughed at that. “I’ll order some firewhiskey. Mind you, I won’t be able to start on that story in earnest until next summer. I’m under contract to cover the Triwizard Tournament for the Prophet, and I’m still doing publicity for Fall of the House of Potter. Plus, if I have my way about it, there will be a juicy murder trial in the next few months that will drag the Potters’ name through even thicker mud than I’ve dragged them so far.”

Archie tilted his head at the last remark.

“Your really do hate the Potters, don’t you,” he said. “On a personal level.”

Rita took a few more puffs from her cigarette holder.

“I wouldn’t say I hate them, darling. Hate, after all, is a very complex emotion. What I feel for them is very simple: Contempt.”

“Uh-huh. And by any chance would that contempt date back to something that happened during your school days … Margarite?”

Her eyes widened for a second and then she nodded her head. “Very good. You lot are in rare company to have figured out that secret. Still, we’re all on the same side, and I know so many secrets of yours, so I don’t mind putting my cards on the table. I really am serious about wanting to work with your conspiracy, so I suppose a degree of trust is important.”

She poured herself another glass of champagne before standing up to pace around the room, glass in one hand, cigarette holder in the other.

“Margarite Scarabee was a Ravenclaw in the same year as Lily Evans and James Potter. And James was as much an arrogant, stuck-up obnoxious prat to me as he was to most non-Slytherin students. The Marauders pulled a few pranks that I got caught up in. Embarrassing but not too awful, and anyway, we went to the Ravenclaw prefects, and next thing you know, all four Marauders were cursed with uncontrollable flatulence triggered by the sound of hearing their own last names.”

Archie laughed out loud. “I think I remember that incident. It was especially bad for Sirius because he had both a younger brother and a cousin there at the time. Plus ‘black’ was a commonly used word, so that particular curse hit him constantly until it was reversed.”

“Which took about two weeks, as I recall, because the countercurse had to be given in 17^th Century Swedish!” Rita added with a smirk.

“So is it a problem that Sirius was a part of that? No grudge against him?”

“Not for school-days hijinks,” she said, though her expression darkened then. “And if I did hold a grudge, I would consider it satisfied by thirteen years in Azkaban because his best friend was a witless clod who was completely enthralled by a secret Death Eater. No, my disdain for Lily and James Potter didn’t commence until later.”

“When the uppity Muggleborn married the high-born future lord?”

“Well I’m not a blood purist, if that’s what you’re implying!” she said hotly. She took another sip of champagne to calm herself.

“If you know who Margarite Scarabee is, I’m sure you know that my own mother was a Muggleborn Ravenclaw named Louise Campbell. In her last term at Hogwarts, she attended a party in the dorms, had a bit too much Firewhiskey, and lost her virginity in a broom closet to a rakish Gryffindor named Claude Scarabee. They both neglected their contraception Charms, and so I was born nine months later … and six months after their wedding. ‘Shotgun wedding,’ I believe, is the Muggle term. My father was intermittently employed by the Daily Prophet as a sportswriter in between drunken benders. My mother, on the other hand, was a strong, intelligent woman who earned five NEWTs, three of them O-level, which was enough to get her a job at the Ministry … serving tea in the canteen!”

She stabbed her cigarette out in an ashtray angrily.

“Of course, by 1964, even that job opportunity was out. You see, my mother made the impulsive mistake of carrying a pro-equality sign at one of Alexander McAvity’s Mudblood Pride rallies. Her bosses at the Ministry found out, fired her, and blacklisted her from government employment. And Claude Scarabee, who had always been a useless, shiftless layabout, used that as an excuse to abandon us both and scurry back to his family in France. My mother spent the next seventeen years cooking and cleaning at the Leaky Cauldron until my royalties for Armando Dippett: Master or Moron started coming in. At which point, I sent Old Tom an owl informing him that my mother would not be coming in to work that day or ever again.”

“And that’s why you wrote those articles attacking Lily as a gold-digger,” said Archie.

“Honestly? At first, I wrote those articles hoping to provoke her into doing something with all that Potter wealth and status she’d married into. Understand, my mother went to her grave worshiping McAvity and holding out hope that one day, another Muggleborn would follow in his footsteps and pave the way to equality between the blood classes. And then, along comes beautiful, effortlessly brilliant Lily Evans. Twelve OWLs, all Outstanding! Ten NEWTs, nine of them Outstanding! There were rumors in Ravenclaw that she was being scouted by the Unspeakables!”

She gave a wistful smile. “To be honest, I generally don’t swing that way, but I very nearly had a crush on her at one point.”

But then, Rita’s expression hardened. “And then? She chucked it all to be James Potter’s trophy wife! It was … offensive! And that was all before Halloween of 1981!”

Her eyes practically burned as she regarded Archie/Regulus.

“I know you were already in Australia by then, so you can’t imagine the frenzy it caused. You-Know-Who, destroyed by the power of a miracle babe! Something unprecedented in our history. And damned if Lily and James Potter didn’t immediately decide to milk it for all it was worth. They practically made Jim’s birthday into a national holiday, with every important person in the country coming to their home to bask in that child’s reflected glory! They sold books, preposterous fairy-tale books depicting the exciting adventures of a little boy who, as far as I know, rarely was even allowed out of the house! There were Boy-Who-Lived dolls! While the real-life Jim Potter was groomed his first press conference at the age of seven. Meanwhile, James Potter parlayed his son’s fame into becoming the youngest Chief Auror in history despite his obvious incompetence, while Lily Potter spent her free time managing the nation’s largest charity organization which she controlled without any meaningful oversight. And the whole while, they had a Death Eater running everything behind the scenes!”

“And you … took all this somewhat personally?” Archie asked cautiously.

Rita raised her chin almost defiantly. “I was raised by a single mother who sacrificed everything for my happiness and to ensure that I had the best opportunities she could win for me. And she did so after my Pureblood father walked out on us when I was four. I have issues with parents who fail in their responsibilities to their children. Which, at last, brings us to Harry Black, the child James and Lily abandoned to truly horrific circumstances for the awful crime of not being as valuable to them as Jim was!”

Archie started to respond, but she interrupted.

“Do you have any idea of how proud Petunia Dursley was of how they treated Harry? Do you know about him sleeping in a boot cupboard? Can you imagine what it was like for him to be cast bodily out of their home into a swarm of doxies?!?”

At that, the former Gilderoy Lockhart winced. He’d seen it firsthand in Harry’s Boggart fear, after all.

“All that may be true,” he said. “But it’s in the past now. Harry is free from them and dragging his past history out in this manner is only hurting him more.”

Rita’s expression softened. “I know. I’m sorry about whatever harm comes to him, and I promise I am doing whatever I can to protect him from any fallout. I couldn’t help to save Harry who, as it turns out, was quite able to save himself and gain a measure of revenge against the parents who wronged him. But I can still help to save Jim! I’m sure you and the Azkabal know how important he is, and how much more important he will become if You-Know-Who returns before you’ve destroyed his Horcruxes. But right now, James and Lily Potter are unfit parents to the Boy-Who-Lived! The father is an utter fool who has impoverished the family, the mother is a murderess, and they both have allowed Death Eaters access to Jim for years! The best thing for Jim Potter, in my opinion, is to get him away from those people so that his older emancipated brother can assume guardianship over him and so that your brother, Lord Black, whose devotion to Harry has been inspirational, can help raise him. No doubt with the help of the rest of the Azkabal who, aside from being the only people in Britain seriously engaged in defeating You-Know-Who, all appear to be excellent, loving parents!”

Rita finished the last of her glass. “That’s the last thing I’ll ask for in exchange for keeping your secrets. Stay out of my way while I finish off the Potters. And hopefully, one day when they’re older, Harry and Jim will thank me for it!”

And just like that, Rita Skeeter’s vengeful expression faded away to be replaced by a coquettish smile as she picked up the bottle.

“More champagne?”

Chapter Text

26 October 1994
Just outside Gryffindor Tower
7:00 a.m.

As Hermione Granger left the dorm for her morning classes, she was surprised to find Harry Black waiting patiently just outside.

"Good morning!" he said cheerfully. "I had a few questions about our Arithmancy homework, so I thought I would walk you to breakfast, if you don't mind."

The Gryffindor looked at him dubiously. "Really? How wildly uncharacteristic of you. And also disingenuous."

He gave a sour expression in response. "Yeah, I thought that was too cheerful when it came out of my mouth. Can we talk somewhere?"

She nodded and led him to a small, secluded alcove and set up the usual array of privacy Charms.

"Let me guess," Hermione started. "This is about yesterday afternoon, isn't it."

"Yeah," Harry answered. "I was worried about you."

Hermione smiled fondly but shook her head. "Harry, it was nothing. I just … needed some space."

"Come on, Hermione. This is me talking. You know, the deductive genius? Yesterday, you ran out of the Great Hall more upset than I've ever seen you. More upset than you were in First Year after a troll tried to smash us. And, I'll wager, more upset than you were after narrowly avoiding getting incinerated by Fiendfyre."

He tilted his head slightly. "And I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Giles Yaxley? Or at least, Giles Yaxley as you remember him from … before?"

Hermione flinched but then forced herself to relax. "You know, it's very annoying to have Young Sherlock Holmes for a friend. I wonder if this is how Dr. Watson felt all the time."

Harry said nothing. He just waited patiently, and when she saw he would not be diverted, the Gryffindor steeled herself before speaking.

"In … my prior timeline, Corban Yaxley became Minister for Magic, and his two sons, Giles and Albert, transferred to Hogwarts. You were gone. So were Jim, Theo, Blaise, and, eventually, even Neville. The Yaxley brothers quickly became the dominant students in their years. Also, after Dumbledore was forced out, the Yaxley Administration introduced a number of 'Educational Decrees' to correct supposed problems with how Hogwarts was being run. A woman named Alecto Carrow was brought in to teach Muggle Studies to replace Lily Potter, but she was quickly elevated to the post of High Inquisitor, and Giles Yaxley was tapped to be the head of her Inquisitorial Squad, students loyal to the Ministry who outranked the prefects! They … made it difficult for the Muggleborns."

Harry's concern was obvious. "More than difficult, I think, if just seeing Giles again gave you a panic attack."

She blinked her eyes and looked away for a few seconds. "At one point, it was suggested to me that if I continued to 'cheat' my way into better grades that put me ahead of 'more deserving' Pureblood students, it might be necessary for the Ministry to investigate my home life. 'And oh what a shame it would be' if my mother and father were accidentally killed while resisting arrest."

Harry's eyes flashed angrily. "Giles threatened your parents?" he asked coldly.

"Giles and Albert threatened my parents, along with … with several other Slytherins from the Inquisitorial Squad."

"He can't hurt you now, Hermione," Harry said firmly. "None of them can. I promise you."

Hermione smiled wanly and did her best to look like she believed him. Harry paused before speaking hesitantly.

"Would … would you like a hug?" His tone indicated that the boy was not eager to give her one but would if circumstances demanded it.

Hermione laughed. "No, Harry, I won't force that on you. But thank you anyway."

Then, her expression turned thoughtful. "There is something I would like from you though, if you don't mind."

"Anything," he replied.

"Can I borrow any Occlumency books you have? I think it's time I resumed my psychic studies."

The request caught him by surprise. "Don't you already have fully developed Occlumency shields? I remember Blaise whining about it last year."

"Natural shields to keep out a Legilimens, yes. But I stopped formal Occlumency instruction a while back, and now I regret it. I think I need a better handle on my emotions if I'm going to be sharing a school with the Yaxleys for a while."

Harry nodded. "Okay, I'll get you copies of all my books this afternoon. But only on one condition. If you're going to take up Occlumency, I want you to spend time with Ted Tonks. He's skilled at the psychic arts. Not up to Snape's level, but he's also a lot less scary. And anyway, his office is covered by a Healer's Confidentiality Oath. If it's possible for you to tell anyone about your Time-Turner adventures, I reckon it's him. And he can also oversee your Occlumency training and make sure you don't have any screwups."

She looked affronted. "I think I somewhat resent the implication that I might screw up my Occlumency training."

"Hermione," Harry said, suddenly quite serious. "Voldemort only exists because the most brilliant student of his generation screwed up his Occlumency … once."

She sighed. "Fair enough. I'll talk to him this afternoon. About both Occlumency and counseling. I mean, I've already been seeing him for that business at the World Cup, but if I am able to reveal my alternate history, I'll tell him about that too."

Then, the girl gave Harry an appraising look. "And will you be seeking counseling from Healer Tonks?"

Harry coughed in embarrassment. "Honestly? The way things are going, I may yet consider it. I just haven't had a chance to slow down and think about it. But I will. Think about it, I mean."

The two talked for a few moments more before heading their separate ways. But once she was alone, Hermione shuddered at a sudden memory. An image of Albert Yaxley gloating about what would happen to her parents if she ever dared to embarrass any of the Pureblood students in class again.

And Albert's new girlfriend, Daphne Greengrass, simply stood beside him and smirked.

Later, Harry found Hermione again just after lunch and discreetly passed her a couple of Occlumency books with transfigured covers to hide their true subject matters. She thanked him warmly and then dropped the books into her expanded bag where they joined the other controversial books that she'd acquired the night before.

The Hogwarts Charter. The Wizengamot Charter. A draft copy of Alexander McAvity's memoirs and collected speeches. And a Muggle book entitled Rules for Radicals by Saul Alinsky.

Meanwhile, the topic of books triggered a memory in Harry Black, and he took a moment to chat with Luna Lovegood, who he knew had a book of her own that he was suddenly interested in borrowing.

28 October 1994
The Prince's Lair
4:30 p.m.

Harry stared at the vial in his hand, the one containing the Weasley Twins' illegal version of the Elder Futhark Language Potion. Around him were the members of the Prince's Court: Theo, Blaise, Amy, and Ginny. The group had met to unwind after a rather stressful week of school. Thankfully, nothing horrible had happened since Tuesday. Harry had even found time to meditate for a bit and felt his mental defenses had recovered somewhat from all those shocks of the last few days.

"So when are you going to take it?" asked Theo.

"Tonight, after dinner," he finally said. "I should be recovered by Sunday afternoon at the absolute latest. What about you, Blaise?"

"Tomorrow afternoon after lunch. I want to see the Wu Xi Do Club in action, and there's no way I'll be able to get out of bed for it if I take the potion tonight."

"Since when have you cared the tiniest bit about the Wu Xi Do Club?!" Ginny asked.

"Honestly, I still don't care about it," Blaise replied. "But you said that Patil invited all the foreign students to come out and watch. And between Potter, McLaggen, and my cousin Fleur, it has the potential to be hilarious."

Theo grimaced. "Oof. Don't remind me! If Potter didn't have enough reasons to snap and embarrass himself, Cormac McLaggen is probably wearing on his last nerve. And to be honest, he's wearing on my last nerve, too!"

"Why?" asked Harry. "Is McLaggen not taking it seriously?"

"Hah!" Ginny laughed. "Just the opposite! McLaggen is apparently some kind of weird idiot savant when it comes to martial arts! The arse barely knows which end of his wand to point at someone in a duel, but he just picks up every martial arts maneuver we cover on the first try! Padma's actually worried she'll run out of things to teach him before the end of the year! And it's driving Jim round the twist!"

Everyone laughed, and then Blaise addressed Harry.

"So, are you trying to get your potion sickness out of the way, so you'll have time on Sunday to figure out how to enter your name in the Tournament?"

Harry gave him a sour look. "If you must know, I've already figured out at least three ways around the Age Line. Maybe four. But I still don't know if I'm going to do it."

"Why?" asked Amy. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I get selected and have to actually compete in this stupid tournament on top of everything else happening this year. It will be a complete timewaster."

"You really think the Goblet will pick you?" asked Ginny in surprise.

"I would take offense to that if it weren't for the fact that I also think it's ridiculously unlikely," answered Harry. "I mean, I'm only a Fourth Year, and if the Tournament organizers have any sense, the Goblet won't pick someone who hasn't completely aced their OWLs, let alone someone who hasn't taken them at all. But one of those organizers is Ludo Bagman, so I can't ignore the possibility that the Goblet will consider how well someone can fly a broom. Or possibly just how much money they have in the bank."

"So what's the worst that can happen if it does pick you?"

"Humiliation on a national stage? I'd do my best since I'd be representing the whole school, but there is a huge gap between the Fourth Year curriculum and the NEWTs curriculum in every subject. Embarrassing myself in front of the whole nation is not an exciting prospect, even if I'll still be making money off selling the Eye-Spy recordings of me embarrassing myself in front of the whole nation."

"Do we even know what the challenges are yet?" asked Theo.

"Only in the broadest outlines," Harry replied. "Adrian did a little research while he was deciding whether or not to enter during his NEWTs year—I think he decided to go for it—and historically, the first challenge is some sort of creature-handling exercise. The second is usually either a capture-the-flag competition or some sort of treasure hunt. Follow clues to find the missing whatever-it-is. The third challenge is a grab-bag except that it's the only challenge where the Champions can compete directly against one another and can even attack each other in order to take out the competition. Regardless, it's going to take hours and hours of studying on top of my normal class load and my Prince responsibilities and figuring out where Erasmus Wilkes stashed all his loot and tracking down the Diadem Horcrux and …"

Amy sighed dramatically.

"Oh honestly, Harry, all this angsting is ridiculous. Whine all you want about your busy schedule, but we all know you're going to enter your name just to prove you can beat the Age Line, regardless of whether you get picked as Champion. So stop dawdling and just do it."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself," Harry said irritably.

"I know you, Harry. We all do."

Theo nodded. "And we all know that, regardless of what a boring hassle it would be to have to compete in the Tournament if you do get picked, you know that Jim Potter is going to put his name in somehow. And the merest thought of him succeeding at getting his name entered and then thinking he one-upped you would make your head explode."

Harry lifted his chin defiantly. "I'll have you know that what the Boy-Who-Lived thinks about me or any other topic is not something that concerns me in the slightest!"

The others just laughed.

"Yeah, right, Harry," said Ginny. "That might be a bit more believable if your eye hadn't started twitching just now when Amy mentioned his name."

The Prince of Slytherin was not amused.

29 October 1994
Harry's Room
1:00 p.m.

Theo knocked once before entering Harry's room with Blaise close behind.

"Harry?" Blaise asked cheerfully. "Are you dead yet?"

"Not yet … working on it," Harry mumbled from beneath his covers. Then, he threw back the blankets and regarded his two friends with bleary eyes. He looked ghastly pale, and the bucket next to his bed (currently empty thanks to the vanishing enchantments the Weasley Twins had helpfully put on it) attested to how sick the Language Potion had made him.

Despite himself, Blaise laughed at Harry's expression, only to sober upon Harry's reminder "your turn next."

"And once again," Theo remarked, "I am so glad I took CoMC instead of Ancient Runes. Anyway, we stopped off in the kitchens after lunch and picked you up a care package. You need to eat something to keep your strength up, so…"

He unloaded the small basket onto Harry's bedside table. "White toast (no butter), bananas, applesauce, and ginger ale. Courtesy of the Hogwarts house elves who all hope you get better soon."

"Mmm," moaned Harry appreciatively. "You were always my favorite, Theo. Blaise, you are, at best, in the top seven."

Harry pulled himself up into a seating position and took a slice of toast to munch on.

"Believe it or not, I am feeling better. I should be over it by tomorrow morning … when it will be our turn to mock Blaise for his suffering. So how was Wu Xi Do Club? As entertaining as Blaise was expecting?"

Blaise laughed out loud. "Oh, Harry. It was glorious."

Earlier that morning …

Padma Patil was quite pleased by the morning's turnout. There were now about thirty Hogwarts students who regularly attended Wu Xi Do classes every Saturday morning, though few had progressed beyond the level of novice. And finally, all of them were even wearing clothing that was reasonably appropriate for martial arts. (Apparently Parvati had shown Lavender a magazine about Muggle karate, and she'd figured out the trick for transfiguring regular everyday clothes into a passible imitation of a "gi.) Luckily, there was no Quidditch this year to interfere, though Padma was wise enough not to mention that thought to Jim, Ron, or any of the other guys in the club. And today, they were joined by about fifteen of the visiting students and a half-dozen faculty and staff from all three schools.

The Ravenclaw had prepared for this special session by drilling the club members relentlessly during the two prior sessions so that they could put on an effective (or at least "not embarrassing") demonstration of what they'd been learning. After their beginning warmups, stretches, and starting katas, she set up a schedule of practice bouts to demonstrate the differences in the four elemental styles and how they could be applied both in unarmed combat and as a form of simple wandless magic. Ron Weasley demonstrated how Fire Style could be helpful to incapacitate an attacker by striking precise pressure points on a training dummy. Theo Nott demonstrated how Water Style aided in maneuverability by dodging Stunners from five different wizards simultaneously. Colin Creevey and petite Amy Wilkes demonstrated their ability to break boards with their fists.

The highlight, however, was an exhibition bout between Jim Potter and Cormac McLaggen (who was shirtless once again!). She'd initially planned to pit Jim against either Ron or Theo, but Jim thought it would be boring since he'd been sparring against them both for over a year.

"Besides," Jim had said a few days earlier, "I kinda wanna take McLaggen down a peg or two."

"Well," she'd replied evenly, "I certainly expect someone is going to get taken down a peg or two."

Unfortunately, Jim had seriously underestimated how good McLaggen had gotten in just a few weeks. Worse, Jim himself had been distracted and irritable ever since breakfast, when the morning owls had delivered the latest edition of Teen Witch Weekly with Harry's dashing figure splayed across the front cover. He was wearing his Slytherin Quidditch uniform and was leaning rakishly against his Firebolt, and he had his head bowed slightly so that he could peer at the readers over the top of his glasses in what Lavender and Parvati described as a "sultry come-hither look."

"Bad enough," Jim thought angrily, "that Harry's a millionaire, Quidditch star, and master duelist who's living in my house! How can he be so much better looking than me if we're twins?!"

The talk all over the Great Hall about the article on Harry had already set Jim's teeth on edge, even more so when a First Year Gryffindor girl had asked him if he could get Harry to autograph her copy of the issue! Consequently, Jim was finding it harder than usual to focus on his technique.

Jim and Cormac took their places opposite one another and bowed respectfully before slipping into a fighting stance. Then, Padma gave the signal, and the fight commenced. And it was quite impressive given the amateur status of the two combatants. Plus, Cormac was doing that thing that Jim always found especially maddening: When the fight started, he'd had an intense expression on his face, but as soon as the punches and kicks started flying, that intensity faded away to be replaced with a bland, dull-witted expression, as if he was fighting while in a Zen trance. Or possibly while recovering from a head injury. Which Jim would not have minded had the annoying older Gryffindor not been a shockingly good fighter while in that headspace.

The two began to trade and block blows and kicks, faster and faster. Punch. Kick. Block. Sweep. Strike. At one point, Jim dropped into a crouch and tried a leg sweep, which Cormac evaded in some sort of cartwheel maneuver that carried him over Jim's leg to land on his feet and continue fighting. Cormac then punched Jim in the solar plexus hard enough to knock him onto his back, only for the Boy-Who-Lived to kick himself up off the ground so that he could punch the other Gryffindor in the stomach without missing a beat. The older Gryffindor groaned but didn't go down. He maintained his defense, and the two boys continued going back and forth with increasing speed, jumping higher and higher as they kicked at one another. Finally, Jim saw an opening for a finishing move and made a flying kick aimed at Cormac's chest. But to his shock, Cormac grabbed his ankle just before impact and stopped the kick from connecting. Then, he twisted his arms, causing Jim to spin around in a 360 before landing flat on his face.

"And that's enough for today, I think!" Padma called out.

Jim's expression was angry at first, but he calmed himself. It would do no good to lose his temper; he'd embarrassed himself enough that way over the years. He looked up towards Cormac, who shook his head for a few seconds as if to wake himself up from some daydream. Then, while Padma was making her closing remarks, McLaggen came over to him. With an amiable grin, he reached down to help Jim to his feet.

"That was amazing, Potter! Blimey, I thought you had me a few times!"

"You … It was a good fight, McLaggen. You're … really good at this."

Cormac's face lit up at the compliment. Then, he punched Jim on the shoulder (probably a bit harder than he'd meant to).

"Hey, call me Cormac. We've shared a Common Room long enough to be on a first name basis, haven't we?"

"Sure … Cormac. And you can call me Jim."

"Glad to hear it, Jimmy!" Jim winced at that. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go chat up some of those French birds. Maybe my Woozie Dough skills will have impressed some of them!"

Cormac turned and headed towards the Beauxbatons students, while Padma, who had finished her remarks, came up beside Jim.

"He's that good at Wu Xi Do," Jim said in amazement. "And yet, he still can't pronounce it!"

Padma laughed. "I know. My teachers in Shamballa used to say that some people would have innate skill at the art. It has nothing to do with practice or conditioning or … well, intelligence. Some people, once they start on the basic katas, just feel their magic harmonizing with the styles and pick it right up."

"Well, I'm slightly reassured to think that Cormac just randomly fell into something he's weirdly good at. No matter how much it hurts my ego … or my nose for that matter."

Jim rubbed his nose and brushed off the dirt from where he'd landed face first. Padma laughed. Luckily for both competitors, at their current level of mastery, neither Jim nor another of the other students could inflict any serious damage on another living being, even though many of them could punch boards with ease. Psychologically, however, the pain was real, if short-term.

"Well, I'm sorry you didn't beat him. But perhaps I could interest you in a prize for second place?"

"Oh?"

"Yes. There's a Hogsmeade Weekend coming up. And I seem to recall promising you a date."

Jim coughed. "Just to be clear, this is just our first official date, right?" He winced as his voice cracked on the word "right," thereby ruining his attempt at suaveness. Padma seemed to find it endearing, though.

"Yes," she replied. "If you can make it through lunch at Madam Puddifoot's without boring me with Quidditch talk or complaints about Cormac McLaggen or Harry Black, then we'll talk about a second date."

Their banter was interrupted by the sound of a covey of Beauxbatons girls clustering around Cormac, who was shirtless, sweaty, and flushed with victory. He was merrily demonstrating his technique with a bit of shadow boxing. Unfortunately, when Cormac was not in his trance-zone, he was often quite clumsy, and right now, he was so busy showing off that he failed to pay attention to his surroundings.

"Rule number one!" he said. "Never take your eyes off your oppon-OOF!"

As he spoke, he lashed out with a punch that was unfortunately headed straight for the head of a pretty blonde student. But then, with blinding speed, the girl (who seemed to act by pure instinct) grabbed him by the wrist, bent his arm up the elbow, and then jerked it down with enough force to flip McLaggen "arse over teakettle" so that he landed flat on his back.

"Ooh! Je suis désolée!" exclaimed Fleur Delacour as she bent to help the stunned Cormac back up.

"Fleur! Honestly!" exclaimed one of the other girls. "Eet ees always sometink with you!"

"I am sorry! Vraiment! He jus' startled me!" Then, she turned to Cormac. "Are you alright, Monseiur McLaggen?"

"Oh, fine, fine," he said easily. "It'll take more than taking me down to take me down!"

Nearby, Jim and Padma watched the scene with bemusement, while Professor Moody walked up behind them.

"Right, naturally," said Jim in consternation. "Cormac knocks me right on my arse. And then, a random French girl knocks him on his arse by accident. Shows me where I am in the pecking order, I reckon."

"I wouldn't feel too bad, Potter," said Moody, who was studying Fleur intently.

"Oh, Professor Moody?" Padma asked.

"Yeah, that wasn't entirely an accident. Since I started observing your little club, I've also done some research on Muggle martial arts. And I'm pretty sure that random French girl just took McLaggen down with a Judo flip!"

Later …

Harry laughed at Theo's recounting of the match and its aftermath. But then, he looked thoughtful.

"Thanks, I needed cheering up."

"Yes, well, you come and cheer me up tomorrow when I'm in my bed, moaning in potion-induced agony." Blaise turned and opened the door. "I'm off to take my own dose of misery now."

"Before you go, Blaise," Harry called out, "could you do something for me?"

Blaise turned back to his friend only to pause at his suddenly serious expression. "What do you need?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure," said Harry, "but I think I need to finally hear from you exactly what Fleur Delacour's deal is. Don't you agree?"

Blaise sighed and closed the door once more. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I do."

30 October 1994
4:30 p.m.

It was half an hour before the start of the feast and the official Lighting of the Goblet!as Ludo Bagman's exuberant press release had put it, but Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape were not in the Hall. Rather, they had assembled at the front gates to welcome some final guests who were almost two hours late. Finally, a blue Ford Anglia pulled up beside them and parked. The driver (who was a somewhat embarrassed James Potter!) exited the front door and nodded at the three teachers before opening the back door for the passengers. The first was champion duelist Julian Montmorency, who climbed out stiffly before taking a moment to stretch his back. Only then did he step forward with a smile to greet the Headmaster.

"Albus! Wonderful to be here … at last!" The last two words were added acerbically and accompanied by a nod towards James, who flushed slightly.

"Er, yes," James said with a grimace. "I was the only person available who was cleared to drive a Muggle vehicle, but there were some unexpected detours."

Montmorency laughed. "By which he means the map provided for him by the Ministry was from the 1940s!"

"Ah well," said Dumbledore. "You are here now, my old friend!"

"I am indeed, and in the company of an even older friend! Though If I had it to do over again, I might have just Apparated."

Montmorency gestured towards the car, but to Dumbledore's surprise, it was not Nicholas Flamel who exited the car next, but rather a stern-looking woman in a Mediwitch's robes. She looked fairly young, and yet her cool expression made her look much older than her years, with her hair pulled back into a bun so tight it looked painful.

"Oh yes," said Montmorency. "Do allow me to introduce my other traveling companion. May I present Fräulein Greta Müller, who is here as Master Flamel's … caregiver."

The Mediwitch clicked her heels together and gave a very sharp nod of her head.

"Guten Abend, Herr Dumbledore," she snapped before turning back to the car. From a pocket of her robes, she produced a tiny wheelchair that fit in the palm of her hand. She placed it on the ground and then loudly barked out a German command word that caused the chair to expand back to full size. Then, she bent her head into the interior of the vehicle.

"Vake up!" she yelled with a thick German accent. "Ve are vaiting!"

"Oh I wasn't sleeping, my little thumbscrew," came a raspy voice from inside. "I was feigning death so that I could enjoy the ride in peace."

And with that, a wizened pale hand reached out for Müller to grasp, and with a grunt, the Mediwitch helped a positively ancient and decrepit man in white robes to exit the car. Though over 650 years old, Nicholas Flamel did not look a day over 3000. His skin was grey and his long hair a silvery white. His face was full of wrinkles, but his eyes still spoke of a great intelligence that was only now being betrayed by his body. Even with Müller's help, Flamel had obvious difficulty in pulling himself from the car and settling down into the wheelchair. James moved to grasp the handles of the chair to maneuver it and the elderly man away from the vehicle, but Müller slapped his hand and gave him a severe look. James held up his hands placatingly and stepped aside as Müller took over control of the chair and pushed it over to where Dumbledore awaited them.

"Nicholas, my old friend. So wonderful to see you. It's been many years since you visited Hogwarts."

"Too many. And I apologize both for my own tardiness and the late arrival I foisted on young Montmorency here. Alas, Fräulein Müller says that in my current health, I cannot risk a Portkey, let alone Apparation, and so the Ministry made alternate arrangements."

"So I see." Dumbledore called out to James. "I say, James. Is that Arthur Weasley's car?"

"It is," the ex-Auror replied. "I was assigned to deliver your last two judges from the Edinburgh airport to here and also to stick around in case Master Flamel needs any additional ground transport. For the time being, my official title is 'Nicholas Flamel's driver and bodyguard,' which allows me to visit Hogwarts without the castle going mad and trying to kill me or anything. Arthur let me borrow his Anglia for the trip. I'll be staying at the Three Broomsticks for the foreseeable future."

And with that, James turned around and tapped the Anglia with his wand. For several seconds, there was a horrific sound of twisting metal as the Anglia folded in on itself, again and again, getting smaller with each fold, until finally, it snapped shut in the shape of a brown leather attaché case, which James then picked up with one hand. The others all watched in bemusement (except for Snape, who just rolled his eyes at the display) before heading inside for the feast.

The feast itself passed uneventfully, though the students found the new layout of the hall unusual. It had been expanded again, with a raised platform that surrounded the student tables on three sides like a large "U." Dumbledore had announced at one point that they were expecting nearly 100 guests on the following night, including Minister Fudge himself, and so all Hogwarts students were to be on their best behavior. He also took the opportunity to introduce the judges once again for the Triwizard Tournament, all twenty-four of whom were in attendance.

Once the feast was concluded, Dumbledore descended from the Head Table, accompanied by Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman. The three men stood in front of the plinth bearing the Goblet of Fire, and together, they cast the spells to cancel the wards that had protected it from anyone getting too close. Then, Crouch spoke out.

"As Director for the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and in the name of the British Ministry of Magic, acting under the authority vested in me by Minister Cornelius Fudge, I, Bartimius Crouch, do hereby declare that the Triwizard Tournament has BEGUN!"

As he spoke, he pointed his wand towards the Goblet, and with the final word, a bolt of flames shot out of his wand to ignite the Goblet, which then erupted in an eerie blue flame. The assembled crowd applauded loudly. Then, Dumbledore stepped forward with his wand raised, and he cast a lengthy incantation to reactivate the Age Line, which would prevent anyone below the age of seventeen from entering their names or even drawing close enough to try.

Ludo Bagman opened his mouth to say something, but Crouch angrily elbowed him in the ribs before he could speak.

"The Age Line will persist for 24 hours," Dumbledore announced. "Tomorrow night, at 7:00 p.m. precisely, it will fall. Between now and then, any students who are under the age of 17 but who have parental consent to enter the tournament may turn in their entry forms, which must be signed by both the student and at least one parent or guardian, to their school's Headmaster or, in the case of Hogwarts students, their Head of House. Entries must be submitted no later than 3:00 p.m. tomorrow so that we will have time to authenticate the parents' signatures. All of those names will be entered at once by myself after the Age Line falls. In keeping with the magical requirements of the Goblet of Fire, any students who are of age are free to enter their own names at any point between now and then."

Then, Dumbledore looked at once disgruntled and resigned.

"As I'm sure you are all aware by now, underage students may attempt to bypass the Age Line. I wish to advise you all that even if you do manage to do so, the Goblet will not consider any student under the age of 17 who enters their name without an attached parent's signature. Furthermore, in addition to the Age Line, the Great Hall will be locked with the Colloportus Charm from the moment we all leave here tonight until it reopens for breakfast tomorrow. Finally, the windows to the Great Hall will be warded to give off an alarm if any human beings attempt to pass through them.

"And on one final note, I do encourage all those who plan to enter to think carefully before doing so. While we certainly do not expect our modern Triwizard Tournament to carry any of the inherent dangers of its earlier iterations, the contest judges have only set the parameters of the Challenges. It is the Goblet itself that will set the precise Challenges to be undertaken according to those parameters, and the Tournament judges will have no discretion in altering the Challenges once the Goblet has set them. We anticipate that the eventual Challenges may call for NEWT-level expertise in Herbology, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and Runeworking, to name only a few of the Challenge subjects that are potentially dangerous for those without the requisite skill and training. And once a Champion has been selected, the Goblet itself will not permit him or her to withdraw without exacting a terrible penalty on that Champion! So please. Think carefully about whether you wish to subject yourself to the awful price of being selected and then withdrawing."

There was a murmur of comments from across the room at the Headmaster's portentous announcement.

"Laying it on a bit thick, isn't he?" Theo whispered while leaning in to Harry.

"A bit. But if this penalty—which Dumbledore has not bothered to name—was set by the judges and not by the Goblet itself, I'm not that worried. Whatever it is, there's no way Dumbledore would allow a student to be hurt or worse by the Goblet if they were injured and couldn't continue to compete."

With the Age Line in place, Dumbledore called the feast to a close, and the students retired to their dorms (or their boat or carriage, as the case may be).

Later around 2:00 a.m.

The Great Hall was dark save for the eerie glow emanating from the Goblet of Fire. The room was also utterly silent … save for the barely audible clink of a magically created grappling hook as it found purchase against the sill of a window more than sixty feet above the floor, followed by a soft whirr as the magical rope generated by the Carpe Retractum Spell pulled its caster up to the window.

As she perched for a moment on the windowsill, the caster was nearly invisible against the darkened sky, covered entirely as she was by a jet black catsuit with a balaclava covering her head and goggles over her eyes. She peered into the room carefully to make certain she was alone and unobserved. Then, she carefully studied the space in front of her through the enchanted goggles fashioned to detect wards of all kinds. Satisfied that whatever detection wards covering the windows were no match for L'Inconnu's most advanced stealth suit, she was nevertheless anxious as she stretched her hand forward across the threshold of the window. With her goggles, she could see the flicker of magic sparkling against the jet-black material, but no alarm was triggered.

Fleur smiled.

Then, she crouched before making a cat-like leap to a nearby balustrade almost twenty feet away, barely catching the edge of it with her fingers before hauling herself up onto it. The other balustrades along the wall were closer though, only ten feet apart, and she jumped easily from one to the next until she was even with the Goblet of Fire and the shimmering Age Line that surrounded it. But before Fleur Delacour could lower herself to the floor to enter her name, she froze upon hearing a sound from the door directly behind the Headmaster's chair. Instantly, her wand was in her hand, and she cast three Charms in quick succession that she'd learned to cast silently before she was twelve: Disillusionment, Silencio, and Notice-Me-Not.

And just in time, for the door in question suddenly opened … only to close once more seconds later with no sign of anyone having passed through. Fleur stayed frozen with all her senses focused on the area in front of the door, but she saw nothing. She did hear something though, but she wasn't sure what. Just some barely audible buzzing sound.

Meanwhile, Harry and the Weasley Twins remained crouched under the Potter Cloak and protected by Harry's Muffliato Charm. Harry had a bag slung over his shoulder and also clutched his Firebolt in his offhand.

"So," Fred whispered, "we're in. Are we just going to stand here for a while or what?"

"Shh!" Harry hissed.

He studied the room with all his Legilimency senses actively looking for any hidden spells or traps. It had been the Twins who had gotten them this far. Dumbledore had sealed the room with an advanced Colloportus Charm. However, as Fred had been happy to explain, magical locking spells were designed to counteract magical unlocking spells. Most locking spells did nothing against an actual key meant to open the lock in question, or else the key rings carried around by Hagrid and Filch would have been pointless. And any lock that could be opened by a nonmagical key was also vulnerable to nonmagical lockpicks (a fact that Harry found interesting, and he resolved to learn how to pick locks whenever his busy schedule left time for it).

But for all Harry's Legilimency prowess, he could detect nothing. And yet, he still thought there was something in the Hall that he couldn't quite perceive but was nevertheless subconsciously aware of. Before he had time to think about it anymore, however, he was distracted by an unexpected sight: a black bird flying in through one of the high windows with a folded paper clutched in its beak. It circled the room twice before landing on one of the crossbeams quite near where Fleur was perched, still hardly daring to breathe. It looked around jerkily before taking wing once more. This time, it flew higher before abruptly disappearing completely. In fact, it had merely flown into the space between the illusion of the night sky that was magically projected onto the ceiling and the ceiling itself. Just two seconds later, the raven reappeared, now in a dead fall heading straight for the Goblet of Fire! Halfway down, the bird began desperately flapping its wings to pull itself out of its dive, and it came to rest on the edge of the plinth. It hopped around to the front of the plinth before jumping up and dropping the folded paper into the Goblet.

Instantly, the Goblet let out a gout of blue flames that startled the bird and caused it to take wing. Its course caused it to pass through the Age Line from the inside, and there was a sudden flash of light as the raven was transformed back into Jim Potter, who was promptly hurled a good twenty feet away from the Goblet and towards the sealed doors. He landed on the ground and slid another few feet.

"Ooof!" he said, before coming to a halt. Then, the Boy-Who-Lived slowly pulled himself up to his feet and brushed himself off.

"Bloody hell, Dumbledore!" he whispered loudly. "So much for this contest not being dangerous!"

He took a moment to look around the room. Then, Jim took two quick steps towards the door before turning back into a raven and flying out the same window through which he'd entered. A second later, the Potter Cloak was whipped aside, and George Weasley strode forward with a shocked expression.

"Jim Potter? Is a bloody Raven Animagus?! When did that happen?!"

"Sometime over the summer, I think," said Harry. "Also, he's an illegal Raven Animagus. Does that make it better or worse?"

George looked thoughtful. "Bit of both, I suppose."

"Well personally," added Fred, "I'm just miffed that we spent a week brewing an Aging Potion to walk past the barrier when all we really needed to do was bite into a Canary Cream and then fly right over it!"

"You both have time to run back to Gryffindor Tower and grab a couple, I think," Harry said amiably.

"Naah!" Fred replied. "Feels like cheating to just copy what Bird Boy figured out first, I reckon."

"Jim Potter is an illegal Raven Animagus," George repeated. "Un-bloody-believable."

"Well either way, he's gone now," Harry said while opening up his backpack. "And if you don't mind, I'll be going first, since I'm slightly worried about your exotic and untested potion landing you in the Infirmary. No offense, but I want to get my name in first before I have to worry about getting you medical attention."

"Fair enough," said Fred. "So what's your plan, Harry? Just fly up to the top and toss your name in like it's a Quaffle?"

"Pfft. Nothing so pedestrian, Fred."

And with that, Harry pulled a copy of Standard Book of Spells, Year 7 from his bag, along with a small box.

"Blimey," said George. "Year Seven?! What spell are you using?"

Harry smiled, opened the book to a marked page, and pointed to a particular Charm. George's eyes widened.

"You think you can cast that?!"

"Yes, actually. The spell is intended to let you animate and command objects large objects provided they sufficiently resemble living creatures, like statues or suits of armor."

"Or ridiculously theatrical giant chess sets," he thought to himself as his mind flashed back to McGonagall's trap from his First Year.

"But," he continued, "it turns out that the actual difficulty of the Charm lies in how hard it is to give life to something heavy and solid and also to give it the ability to follow complex instructions on its own initiative. It turns out the Charm isn't very hard at all when cast on something small and light that you can concentrate on fully and that won't need to move for more than a moment or two while performing a simple task. Case in point …"

With a flourish, Harry opened the box and removed its contents. The Twins were suitably confused.

"And what's that supposed to be?" asked Fred.

"My entry form," Harry said with a grin, "carefully folded into the shape of an origami spider."

With that, he turned back to the spell book for one last review of the Charm. Then, he carefully performed the complex wand movements outlined in the book while intoning "PIERTOTUM LOCOMOTOR." And after a few seconds, the origami spider's legs began to twitch, and it began to crawl around the table.

"Okay, that's just creepy," said Fred. "I think I have more sympathy now for Ron's arachnophobia."

Harry gestured with his wand and the spider moved in response, quickly jumping onto his outstretched hand and crawling up his arm.

"Creepy, yes," Harry said. "But very effective."

As he spoke, the spider finally reached his shoulder where it waited for further orders. Then, Harry mounted his broomstick and floated upwards while carefully staying as close to the Age Line as he dared. Once near the ceiling, he slowed his ascent until his head was poking above the illusory sky and he could see the actual ceiling just a few feet above. He picked the paper spider from his shoulder and then lightly tossed it up towards the stone ceiling, training his wand on it as he did. And while the spider was just a construct of paper, while under the influence of the Animation Charm, it had most of the properties of a real spider. Just before it could bounce off and fall, the spider flipped itself around so that its legs could grasp the surface of the ceiling. At Harry's direction, the spider crawled over until it was in the center of the Age Line. Harry ducked down and back up again several times to maneuver the spider so that it was exactly over the Goblet. If he was right about the mechanics of the Age Line, he would not be able to maintain control over the spider once it fell more than a few feet and was within the ward's protection, so he would only have one chance to get this right.

"Drop," Harry whispered. And with that, the spider let go, tucking its eight legs against its body as it fell. The Slytherin watched, hardly daring to breathe, as the origami spider, now once more devoid of artificial life, dropped all the way down to land right in the center of the Goblet of Fire. The Goblet shot out another gout of blue flame, and Harry gave a fist pump before floating back down to where the gobsmacked Twins were waiting.

"Way to go, Harry!" said Fred. "Nicely done!"

"The easiest 5,000 galleons we've ever made!" George added.

Harry laughed. "Pretty sure it's the only 5,000 galleons you've ever made. And happy to be of service. Now then, let's see if your Aging Potion can get the job done so we can get some sleep before tomorrow."

The Twins nodded, and Fred pulled out a vial of an orange liquid. He filled an eyedropper from it and then carefully placed one drop on his tongue before handing it off to George, who followed suit.

"You don't look any different," Harry finally said.

"We weren't expecting to," George explained. "We only need to be about six months older, after all. Ready, Fred?"

"Ready, George."

Then, the Twins walked up to the Age Line side-by-side and, after a brief pause, took a step across. For a second, nothing happened. Then, there was a bang and a flash of light, and the two Weasleys were flung out of the circle to land painfully on the floor. And to their mutual surprise, they both now sported long grey beards.

Harry chuckled. "And people say Dumbledore has no sense of humor."

He fished a vial of green liquid out of his own bag and handed it off to the Twins. "Take no more than half-a-teaspoon. It's hard to come by."

Fred sniffed the vial and then shrugged and took a small taste. Then, he hiccupped loudly, and his new beard vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Nice. What is it?" Fred asked as he handed the vial to George.

"Mandrake Restorative Potion," Harry said idly as he moved closer to the Age Line to examine it.

"What? That stuff that they used to cure all the petrification victims two years ago?"

"Yep. It's not just for reviving petrified people, though. It can instantly undo most Transfiguration-type effects on living creatures. I nicked some from the Infirmary last year. You never know when it might come in handy."

Then, Harry raised his wand and cast a very complex wand movement. The Age Line lit up briefly before giving off a number of bright sparks that quickly organized themselves into a runic matrix floating in midair. Instantly, George jumped up in excitement.

"That's a Cursebreaker's Rune Decrypter! Where the hell did you learn that?!"

"I'm a Slytherin, George. I know people. Do you know this Charm?"

"No," he said dejectedly. "We haven't been able to coax it out of Bill yet, though not for lack of trying. But I tell you what—if you teach me that Charm, I'll knock 1% off the life debt you owe me!"

Harry looked at him sharply. "You actually think knowing how to illegally decrypt rune schemes is worth 1% of your entire life?!"

George grinned. "What's the point of life if you can't spend it well?"

The Slytherin scoffed. "Your moral framework is insane! Do you know that?"

Both Twins laughed before examining the rune scheme more carefully.

"Okay," said George. "That bit right there is the trigger. If you're under 17, it triggers one of several responses. The most basic response just won't let you through at all, but there are other responses. The one that hit us targets people whose body registers as over 17, but not their minds."

Harry grew thoughtful. "So, the Age Line can't definitively know how old you are? It can consider your biological age, but can also compare it to your mental age and see if they match?"

"I think so." George pointed to a different part of the rune scheme. "This other bit here is intent-based. It can zero in on the fact that deep down, we know we're not old enough to cross the line, and that triggers a response to stop us from crossing."

"Interesting," Harry replied. "So … do either of you know the Confundus Curse?"

The Twins looked at one another in response.

"We know it," said Fred, "but we're not very good with it."

Harry shrugged. "Are you good enough to change one little fact and make each other believe that your birthday was yesterday and that you're already 17?"

Both Twins broke out into broad grins.

"I dunno," said George. "Let's see!"

Quickly, they each took another dose of the Aging Potion, as those effects had also been undone by the Mandrake potion. Then, George pointed his wand at Fred.

"CONFUNDO! Your birthday was yesterday. You are of age."

Fred's eyes looked dazed for a second. But then, he shook his head and, with a sudden confident swagger, stepped over the Age Line without incident and dropped his entry form into the Goblet. A few seconds later, he stepped back out again, and George cancelled the spell.

"Nothing to it!" he said cheekily. Then, Fred cast the same spell on George, who was equally as successful in placing his name in the Goblet.

"Okay!" Harry said while clapping his hands together. "Mission accomplished. Mischief managed. Can we go to bed now?"

And with that, the three boys collected their things and exited the way they'd come in. A few seconds later, Fleur finally relaxed and dismissed her concealment Charms. She did a graceful flip off the balustrade before grasping the support column beneath it with her arms and legs and then sliding down to the ground. Quickly, she darted over to the Goblet of Fire, passing through the Age Line without incident, and tossed her own entry form inside. There was a familiar gout of blue flame to show that her form had been accepted.

Fleur looked around the now-empty hall and thought about what she'd just observed. Illegal Animagi. Sixteen-year-old boys able and willing to cast the Confundus on each other. And a fourteen-year-old boy who could crack encrypted ward schemes with ease and who, she felt certain, could have penetrated her Concealment Charms had he not been distracted by the aforementioned illegal Animagus.

"Mon dieu," she muttered. "This place is a madhouse."

Then, she swiftly turned and ran for the far wall, where she cast her Grappling Hook Charm once more and pulled herself back up to the window. She took one last look back at the Goblet before disappearing like a thief in the night.

31 October 1994
Hogwarts Front Courtyard
4:00 p.m.

As a prelude to that evening's feast and the Goblet's selection, a large open-air tent (enchanted for warmth) had been constructed in the Courtyard in front of the entryway to the castle. There, the adult visitors and dignitaries would mingle and enjoy some light appetizers and libations while the house elves finished the last-minute preparations for the feast itself. In addition to the judges and visiting faculties, dozens of prominent wizards and witches from across Britain were on hand for what had been hailed by the Daily Prophet society pages as the social event of the season. Indeed, Rita Skeeter was not the only reporter on hand; to her chagrin, her rival, Andrew Smudgley, was also on hand, along with Winnie Greengrass of Witch Weekly, and there were multiple photographers present snapping pictures of the guests in their finery.

For the most part, the younger students had been firmly directed to avoid the tent, which led to a certain amount of grumbling on their part. But Dumbledore had chosen not to completely ban students from the get-together, as it represented a prime networking opportunity for the upper year students. And so, quite a few students—Prefects, Quidditch Captains, and other student leaders—were permitted to attend the function. Naturally, there were also quite a few younger students (whether from prominent families or who just had the right connections) who were also allowed into the tent, if not to partake in any alcoholic beverages.

One such student was Hermione Granger, who was escorting Viktor Krum around the tent and introducing him to various prominent individuals, most of whom she herself only knew by reputation. If she saw any benefit to meeting influential wizards while on the arm of one of the most famous Quidditch stars in Europe, she kept it to herself. Ludo Bagman, in particular, was eager to meet with Krum and asked if he would consider any offers from British teams. Viktor looked around for a second to see if any other Durmstrang students were listening in before allowing himself to be drawn into a conversation with the gregarious Bagman. Hermione, for her part, struggled to feign interest in Quidditch when, luckily, she was distracted by someone calling her name. It was Ron Weasley.

"Hermione! There you are! I have someone I want you to meet!"

The excited Ron rushed over with two adult wizards following behind while Hermione stepped away in their direction. She noticed that one of them was an Auror wearing a dress uniform, while the other was a civilian. It was the latter who drew Ron's excited attention.

"Leonard, this is Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor in my year, and the brightest witch I know. Hermione, this is Leonard Dagworth-Granger. He's a Healer who works at St. Mungo's in the Spell Damage Ward."

"And I'm John," quipped the Auror. "Don't mind me. I'm just here for the free meal."

The Healer elbowed the other man in the ribs and whispered "behave" before addressing the two students.

"My sarcastic friend here is John Dawlish, one of the Senior Aurors. I'm actually here as his 'plus one.' And it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger."

"I wanted you two to meet because of your last names," said Ron. "I was wondering if you might be related somehow."

At that, Hermione's face suddenly assumed a brittle expression. "My understanding is that we are not," she said somewhat coolly.

"Oh?" the Healer asked in surprise. "You've already researched our family history?"

"I … made some inquiries two years ago. I was informed rather firmly that we are not related because the House of Dagworth-Granger has never produced any squibs from whom I could be descended."

"…You made … inquiries?" Leonard said in what sounded like mild dismay.

Meanwhile, Dawlish exhaled loudly while snatching two fresh glasses of champagne from a tray that floated past.

"Hoo-boy," he said almost in resignation. "I take it you wrote to Cressida."

"I did," Hermione answered with a hint of defiance in her tone. "Her reply was quick and to the point."

In response, Leonard put his hands over his face as if trying to block out a terrible mental image.

"Did she drop the M-word?" asked Dawlish before taking a sip from his drink while holding the other glass out to his boyfriend.

"John! That's not funny…"

"She did, actually." Hermione said flatly. "There was also a threat of a defamation lawsuit if I pressed the issue."

Leonard turned back to her with his eyes wide in horror. Then, he took the drink from Dawlish's hand before draining it in one swig. Ron, meanwhile, looked back and forth between the three people, now suddenly regretting that he'd ever introduced them. The Auror, however, just snorted derisively.

"Please. Like Wizard Britain actually has defamation laws."

"You're not helping!" Leonard whispered angrily to him before turning back to Hermione. "Look, Miss Granger—Hermione—I want to apologize for anything inappropriate that Great-Aunt Cressida may have said. She's just …"

His voice suddenly trailed off as he struggled to find the right word.

"Set in her ways?" Hermione offered.

"Nah," Dawlish drawled. "She's just a greedy old bitch."

"John!" exclaimed Leonard.

Dawlish ignored his boyfriend and spoke directly to Hermione with a sardonic expression.

"Don't feel too badly, Miss Granger. I'm pureblooded going back six generations, and she treats me like scum as well."

"Johnny, please…" Leonard said almost plaintively. Then, he turned back to Hermione.

"Hermione, as Heir to House Dagworth-Granger, I wish to apologize for any insult my Head of House gave to you. And if you are willing, I would very much like to meet with you at some later time to talk with you about possibly integrating into our House at some point in the future."

"Hopefully the near future," Dawlish repeated. "Because Cressida is 127 years old. The bitch has to die sometime."

Leonard glared at his partner before turning back to Hermione with a hopeful expression.

"Give him a chance, Hermione," Ron said earnestly. "I know Leonard. He's not a bigot or anything. And he helped me out a lot. You can trust him."

Hermione wavered before nodding. "Alright. If you wish to meet with me in the future, send me an owl. We'll see what we can schedule."

"I'll be back up here before too long teaching a seminar for Alastor Moody," Dawlish added helpfully. "Perhaps we can schedule it around that."

"Oh, yeah?" Ron asked. "What will you be lecturing on, if you don't mind saying?"

Dawlish grimaced slightly and looked suddenly guilty.

"Oh, you know," he mumbled. "This and that."

Leonard looked at his partner suspiciously but did not press the issue.

Elsewhere in the tent, a small group had coalesced around Nicholas Flamel who seemed delighted at all the attention, even as his long-suffering nurse fumed and rolled her eyes at his display. The group included Dumbledore, Elphias Doge, Porpentina Goldstein, and Julian Montmerency, and they happily regaled each other with tales from their days fighting together during the Grindelwald Conflict and the Muggle War that had been its backdrop. James Potter stood nearby, and he felt oddly like a schoolboy again while standing around such legendary figures.

"So there Newt was," said Tina. "At the VE Day Victory Party in Manhattan in front of half the Magical Congress of the United States, drunk as a skunk and without any pants on! And President Seraphina Piquery herself has the nerve to yell at him for his 'appalling lack of decorum on this most sacred day!' So naturally, Albus, who was also in his cups, had to speak up in Newt's defense and say …"

She turned towards Dumbledore expectantly and grinned. The Headmaster blushed furiously but nevertheless took over the tale.

"As I recall—through the passage of time and the haze of American gin—I said something along the lines of 'It could be worse, Madam President. He could be wearing a hat as ridiculous as yours!' At which point, Tina, her sister Queenie, and Eulalie all but tackled us and Apparated us away before any Aurors could be summoned!"

The others laughed, and then laughed even harder when he added: "And if memory serves, we never did find poor Newt's trousers!"

The laughter was intruded upon by a very timid "hem-hem," and everyone in the group turned to notice two figures standing nearby: a man in dress Auror robes and a woman in black formal robes, over which she wore a bright pink satin stole that matched her pink earrings and her pink clutch purse. Albus smiled at them and beckoned them closer.

"My friends, allow me to introduce two of our Ministry representatives: Senior Auror Pius Thicknesse and Madame Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic."

Albus then politely introduced those in his group, though most of them needed no introduction. After a few moments of chit-chat (marked by repeated glances towards Nicholas Flamel), Umbridge finally worked up the nerve to speak, only to swiftly descend into nervous babbling.

"Master Flamel, please do forgive my impertinence for asking … I'm sure you get asked all the time, so don't hesitate to say no if you don't wish to … it's just …"

"Out vith it," muttered Nurse Müller, which caused Dolores to blush even harder. Flamel took pity on her.

"My dear lady, please excuse my nurse. Greta's under a curse, you see. If she's not allowed to be rude to people at every opportunity, she will turn back into a frog. Now, what can I do for you?"

Umbridge took a second to clear her throat. "I was wondering, Master Flamel, if I might have an autograph," she asked earnestly.

"Of course, my dear," Flamel responded brightly. "Have you an autograph book or …?"

"Actually, sir," she said while reaching into her magically expanded purse. "I was hoping you would be willing to sign this."

And with that, she produced a moderately thick and very old book, which she passed over to the ancient wizard. He turned it over to examine the cover and gasped.

"Life in the Time of Revolution by Nicholas Flamel. My word, wherever did you find this?! It's been out of print since 1850!"

Umbridge coughed demurely. "I have a very keen interest in history, sir. And, well, my current position affords me a certain amount of luxury that I've never had before, and I have chosen, where possible, to spend it on good books about the past. I found your memoirs of your time in Paris during the French Revolution and later during the Napoleonic War in the Hogwarts Library when I was a girl and found them utterly captivating. I had to search high and low to find a copy for private sale."

"You're very kind, my dear." Flamel produced his wand and waved it over the title page. "There we are! 'To Dolores Umbridge. Warmest regards to my biggest fan. Nicholas Flamel.'"

Despite her best efforts, Umbridge tittered slightly as she took the book back.

"Has our illustrious Minister made his appearance yet?" asked Elphias Doge.

"I believe so, Lord Doge," said Thicknesse, who started looking around. "Ah, there he is!"

Thicknesse pointed to the far side of the tent, where Fudge was talking with Amelia Bones, Sirius Black, and Harry Black. James winced at the sight of both his former blood-brother and his former son, but no matter how much he wanted to talk to them and try to clear the air, he knew that the Oath of Enmity made it impossible.

"Ah yes," said Doge in a slightly strangled voice at the sight of Cornelius Fudge. "And he's wearing the lime green bowler, I see."

"Personally," said Dumbledore, "I find Cornelius's commitment to his own fashion style to be quite admirable."

Flamel snorted at his former apprentice, resplendent in robes of purple and gold. "Yes, Albus, I imagine you would."

And the Minister for Magic was indeed wearing his infamous bowler hat as he chatted with Amelia, Sirius, and Harry. For his part, Sirius had been asking some rather pointed questions about the current whereabouts of Peter Pettigrew. The Chief Auror was apologetic.

"I am sorry, Sirius. But as I told you, the trail's gone cold for the time being. Our last information about Pettigrew and Rookwood puts them in Eastern Europe, but no more recently than the start of the summer. I can only say that we have no reason to think either of them is in Britain right now."

"Other than the presence of werewolves at the World Cup finals," Sirius added sharply. Both of the Ministry officials looked pained.

"I understand your concerns, Sirius," said Fudge apologetically. "But the claims that Peter Pettigrew has some sort of control over werewolves are circumstantial and, in my opinion, highly unlikely."

Harry glowered but said nothing. The evidence was "circumstantial" only because he, Lily, and Jim had agreed to keep quiet about the role of Remus Lupin in the events that took place the previous spring in the Shrieking Shack. While he was a werewolf no longer, the fact that he had been would raise too many questions if publicly revealed. Then, Harry blinked rapidly as a sudden thought tickled the edges of his Occlumency. But he lost the thought just as quickly when the Minister addressed him.

"But enough of these unpleasant thoughts about Peter Pettigrew. Tell me, Lord Wilkes, how is your Eye-Spy venture coming along? I purchased one of your viewers myself. The depiction of the World Cup competition was extraordinary! Why it was like I was right up there with Viktor Krum himself during the finals!"

"Thank you, sir," replied Harry. "And please do call me Harry. Anyway, sales have been quite brisk so far, especially considering our 'programming' consists only of Cup matches at the moment. But—I don't know if you've heard—we have a contract with the Triwizard Tournament organizers and will be recording events surrounding it as well. In fact, there's an Eye-Spy waiting in the Great Hall right now ready to record the Goblet's selection later."

Amelia chuckled. "We should have hired you to keep one of your Eye-Spies covering the Goblet of Fire all last night. I think Albus is still worried that some underaged students might have actually gotten their names entered. I know the teachers caught two last night trying to break into the Great Hall."

"Shocking," said Harry, his face a mask of innocence. "Still, I can't imagine any underage students being selected by the Goblet, so there's probably no harm in it."

Sirius gave Harry a funny look but said nothing, while Fudge and Amelia laughed.

"I suppose you're right, Harry," said Fudge. "You know, it occurs to me … I wasn't planning on giving a speech tonight, but if your company will be marketing Tournament recordings, perhaps I should say a few words."

Harry grinned and thought that if he'd been a cartoon character, dollar signs would have just appeared in his eyes.

"I think I can do better than that, Minister Fudge. By any chance, are you familiar with a Muggle concept called 'political advertising?'"

Not far away, Fleur Delacour gave every appearance of listening to a conversation among several of her Beauxbatons peers about makeup tips while actually eavesdropping on Harry's conversation with Minister Fudge while also trying to watch Jim Potter (who was off by himself scarfing canapes while bearing a rather shifty and nervous expression). Unfortunately, that form of covert surveillance was often a bit distracting even for her, and so she was caught by surprise as she took a step to the left in order to keep Jim in view only to bump into someone in the process. It was a young man with shockingly red hair, and while trying to avoid spilling his drink on Fleur, he only managed to spill champagne on himself instead.

"Oh, excusez-moi." said Fleur with genuine embarrassment before switching to English. "I mean, pardon me."

"Oh, no," he assured her. "It's quite alright. Entirely my fault. I should have been paying more attention to where I was going."

"Please, allow me," Fleur said before pulling out her wand and vanishing the spill with a flick of her wand.

"C'est bien notre Fleur Du Mal," said Sophie Montessi with a nasty smirk. "Tellement maladroite qu'elle a dû apprendre les sortilèges informulés pour nettoyer derrière elle."

Sophie and the other girls around her laughed. Fleur flushed slightly, but before she could respond, the redhead replied in perfect French.

"Comme je le disais, l'incident était entièrement de ma faute. Et, veuillez pardonner ma curiosité, combien de sortilèges informulés connaissez-vous ?"

Sophie wrinkled her nose disdainfully while Fleur smiled at the young man's gallantry.

"Your French eez tres bien, Monsieur …"

"Weasley, mam'selle," he said politely. "Percival Weasley."

Four hours later …

As the feast drew to a close, Dumbledore introduced Barty Crouch "to say a few words before the selection." This was obviously an attempt at levity on the Headmaster's part as Crouch spoke for over half an hour, droning on about how much work had gone into making the Triwizard Tournament happen and calling out by name every single person who had played a role. He even (with obvious difficulty) welcomed Alexander McAvity in his capacity as representative of the ICW.

Everyone in the room was trying gamely to at least look like they weren't being bored to death. Idly, Harry looked over towards the back corner, where Anthony and Sue were hunched over an enchanted mirror, watching the Eye-Spy feed. Beside them, Colin Creevey directed the golden orb floating overhead with his wand as it recorded the speeches. Harry smiled. While still a bit hyperactive, young Creevey seemed to have a real gift for the visual arts, having graduated from still photos to cinematography.

Blaise leaned over to him. "Any last minute bets?"

"Surely it's too late to place a bet now," Harry whispered back.

And indeed he had reviewed the current odds with Blaise before entering the hall. As far as he knew, no fewer than ten Hogwarts students who were legal adults had crossed the Age Line to enter their names since that morning, and another dozen students who were not yet seventeen turned in signed permission slips which Dumbledore personally in the Goblet just before the feast commenced.

Diggory was still the odds-on favorite, but all three of the Gryffindor Chasers had also entered, along with Adrian Pucey (who Harry hoped might have a chance over "the Sky Badger"). As far as Harry knew, only six Durmstrang students were officially entering, five of them apparently doing so out of the mere hope that Viktor Krum would trip and break his leg before the Goblet could choose him. Harry did not know which of the Beauxbatons students had put their names in. He'd wondered if Fleur would, but thus far, the French witch had put a lot of effort into not drawing attention to herself.

Finally, Crouch got to the end of his "few words" and began the official Selection Ceremony. The man looked visibly pained as he called upon the ICW representative who would be handling the next bit. Crouch had caused a bit of a scene when Ludo unexpectedly announced to the organizers committee only a few days earlier that it would have to be an ICW representative who administered the oaths because everyone else involved was presumed to be biased in favor of one school or another. Once again, he cursed Gertrude Büstenhalter (or whatever the wretched witch's name was) for her badly-timed illness.

"I call upon Alexander McAvity, as representative of the International Confederation of Wizards, to administer the oaths."

With a smile, McAvity rose and walked down the steps to a lectern near the Goblet. Percy Weasley unfurled a parchment scroll and handed it to the man, who donned a pair of reading glasses before calling out in a loud voice.

"I, Alexander McAvity, acting as duly appointed representative of the Governing Council of the ICW, call upon the Headmasters of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Do you each swear that you have faithfully executed your responsibilities under the Tournament rules and have properly ensured that the names of all participants who meet the requirements of eligibility have been submitted to the Goblet of Fire, and that you will continue to so execute your responsibilities as heads of the participating schools?"

As he spoke, the three Headmasters all rose and held their wands aloft. "I so swear," they said in unison. Each of their wands lit up with a spontaneous Lumos, and in response, the flames in the Goblet briefly grew brighter. McAvity nodded in satisfaction.

"Next, I call upon the judges of the Triwizard Tournament. Do you each swear that you will faithfully execute your responsibilities under the Tournament rules, without bias or partiality, until its conclusion?"

The other twenty-one judges rose to join the Headmasters, and they all swore the second oath together. Twenty-four wands lit up as one.

"Finally, I call upon Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Do you swear that, as head of state for the host nation, you will faithfully ensure that the Goblet's requirements for all tasks will be complied with in accordance with the Tournament rules and the directives of the Goblet of Fire, without bias or partiality, until the Tournament's conclusion?"

"I swear," Fudge said, puffing his chest out slightly as his wand lit up.

McAvity turned to Crouch. "The oaths have been sworn in accordance with the Tournament rules and the dictates of the Goblet, Director Crouch."

"Thank you, Mr. McAvity," said Crouch before he turned to address the audience. "Next, we will submit the competition parameters to the Goblet of Fire. These parameters have been painstakingly designed by our blue-ribbon panel of judges to ensure that the competition will be as safe as possible for all Champions while still challenging their intellect, skill, and resourcefulness to the utmost. Mr. McAvity, will you please submit the parameters to the Goblet."

Percy stepped forward with a locked case, which he unlocked with a key before opening it facing McAvity. The other man reached in and pulled out a thick bound scroll, which he levitated over to the Goblet before dropping it in. The Goblet's blue flames flared up even higher.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Crouch called out, "as head of the host school, please step forward to receive the Goblet's Selection."

Dumbledore made his way down from the dais to stand in front of the Goblet while McAvity returned to his seat. The Headmaster addressed the Goblet as if it were a person.

"Let the Champions be named!"

The blue flames of the Goblet suddenly turned a vivid green. Off to the side, Percy Weasley frowned. It was a minor detail, but he did not recall reading anything about the Goblet's functioning that mentioned a color change at this point. Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and a scrap of paper was ejected out of the Goblet to float down to Dumbledore's waiting hand.

"The Champion for Durmstrang," he called out in a loud clear voice, "will be VIKTOR KRUM."

The hall erupted into loud applause as Harry and Draco took turns clapping Krum on the back before he rose and headed towards Dumbledore. Along the way, he passed by several Durmstrang students in his year who all congratulated him, including Alex Nott, the Head Boy, who gave him a firm handshake and wished him luck. As he reached the Goblet, Percy directed him up around the Head Table, and he exited through a door in the back.

"No surprises there," Ron said to Jim, who simply nodded. Ron noticed that Jim seemed anxious.

"Are you okay? Look, I know you're worried about somehow getting dragged into this Tournament, but I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

"Uh-huh," Jim replied in a tight voice without taking his eyes off the Goblet.

The applause died down, and everyone's attention was focused on the Goblet which, after a moment, flared again and shot out a second piece of parchment for Dumbledore to collect.

"The Champion for Beauxbatons is … FLEUR DELACOUR!"

Fleur rose gracefully and headed towards the Goblet, her face a mask of serene calm, as if she'd never doubted getting picked. Around her, the other Beauxbaton students looked at one another in complete shock that a girl they'd always dismissed as "competent and smart but nothing special" had been deemed the best person to represent their whole school. Several of the female students actually burst into tears.

Up at the Head Table, Gabriel Delacour looked thunderous. Harry noticed and whispered to Blaise.

"That's Fleur's uncle, right? The one who's … you know."

Blaise nodded. He'd explained to Harry over the weekend that Gabriel Delacour was not only related to the Countess Zabini by marriage, he was also a member of L'Inconnu, France's answer to the Unspeakables. Intrigued, Harry wondered exactly what it meant that Fleur's entry and selection had caught the man completely by surprise.

Finally, after Fleur too had vanished out the back door, the Goblet flared one final time. Jim leaned forward in his seat anxiously, while Harry held his breath while mentally preparing for the worst. Dumbledore caught the parchment that shot out of the Goblet.

"The Hogwarts Champion is … CEDRIC DIGGORY!"

The Hufflepuff table erupted into hysteria as Diggory rose somewhat shakily from his chair. Cho jumped into his arms and kissed him on the cheek while dozens of fellow Puffs crowded around to congratulate their school (and House!) Champion. Seemingly in a daze, Cedric followed the direction set by the other two Champions while, at the Gryffindor table, the Weasley Twins started up a cheer for him.

"KING PUFF! KING PUFF!"

At the Slytherin table, Harry Black leaned back and exhaled in relief, pleased that at least one problem had been avoided. Now, he needed only to wait for the posting of the list of everyone who'd submitted a name, and he, the Weasley Twins, and a few of their friends could collect significant winnings from his late-night entry.

Over at the Gryffindor table, Jim slumped in visible disappointment. Ron elbowed him while giving him an annoyed look, as Dumbledore said congratulatory words about the Champions in the background.

"What's going on, Jim? Surely you're not disappointed that you didn't somehow get selected for this?"

Jim opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, everyone was distracted when the Goblet flared a fourth time.

Yet another parchment shot out of the Goblet, and while surprised, Dumbledore had no difficulty catching it. But once he did, he simply stared at the writing on it for several seconds in abject confusion before he finally cleared his throat and called out.

"JIM POTTER … AND HARRY BLACK!"

There was no applause, but there was a loud muttering almost like a buzzing that swept through the Great Hall, one that was suddenly broken by the sound of one very annoyed Slytherin.

"SONOVABITCH!"

Next: The aftermath! Also, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and [insert whatever other holidays you celebrate].

Chapter Text

Moments later …

Inside a nearby meeting room, the three Triwizard Champions—Diggory, Krum, and Delacour—were just introducing themselves and getting to know one another when the door flew open and Harry and Jim stalked in, both angrily snapping accusations at the other.

"What eez it?" asked Fleur in her exaggerated French accent. "Do zey want us back in zee hall?"

"No, no," Harry said while waving his hand distractedly. "We're here to join you. Apparently, Potter and I are the fourth and fifth Champions in the Tri-wizard Tournament. Presumably because Ludo Bagman doesn't know how to count to three!"

"What?!" exclaimed Cedric. "What are you talking about?"

"Just a moment after you left the room, Diggory," Jim explained, "the Goblet spat out a fourth parchment."

He turned towards Harry and glared at him suspiciously. "And somehow, both our names were on it!"

Harry sneered at his sibling. "Don't you dare try to pin this on me, Potter! I'm certain that this is some sort of Boy-Who-Lived bullshit, and you've just dragged me along in your stupid Gryffindoring!"

But before the argument between the two brothers could continue, Bagman himself entered the room, followed closely by a furious Crouch and the three Headmasters. Maxime and Karkaroff were already shouting at Dumbledore. McGonagall and Snape came in just after, followed a few minutes later by Minister Fudge and his right hand, Dolores Umbridge. Moody came in last, stumping along loudly on his fake leg. While Ludo seemed delighted by the shocking developments, everyone else was visibly angry.

"Extraordinary!" exclaimed the ebullient Bagman. "Simply extraordinary!"

"Not the word I'd care to use right now," Crouch snapped. "But it does appear that our three-person tournament has grown to five!"

The three older champions looked at one another in confusion before Fleur spoke up.

"But … zey cannot compete, Monsieur Crouch. Zey are … leetle boys!"

"I beg your pardon!" Harry said, obviously affronted.

"Oi!" Jim snapped, just as affronted but less eloquently.

"Excusez-moi," the French girl said apologetically, visibly flustered by the circumstances. "I only meant, um, comment dit-on … mineurs?"

"Ah!" Viktor interjected before turning to Harry and Jim with a knowing expression. "She means you are both the age of under!"

Everyone stared at him in confusion before Harry nodded in understanding.

"Oh, right. Underaged. Well, that's a fair cop, so I withdraw my objection."

Meanwhile, Karkaroff and Maxime began flinging accusations at Crouch, Bagman, and even Minister Fudge. Finally, Moody unexpectedly let out a loud whistle to gain everyone's attention.

"Thank you, Alastor," said Dumbledore. "Now then, let me assure you all that we will soon get to the bottom of all this and ensure that the Tournament proceeds without any further difficulties and disruptions. But I should like to begin by speaking to the young men in question, if I may."

And with that, Dumbledore turned to the two added competitors.

"Now then, boys," he began calmly. "I must ask you both …"

"JIM POTTER! DID YOU PUT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE?!"

Everyone in the room jumped at the shriek that had come from the doorway. It was Lily Potter, and her eyes were ablaze in a fury. Jim went pale, while beside him, Harry just rolled his eyes at the display.

"Lily, please!" said Dumbledore as he stepped between the advancing Lily and her son. "I understand you're upset, but I will be the one to question Jim and Harry about this. Please calm down and step aside."

Lily glared at Dumbledore for a second before she finally nodded and moved to stand next to Snape and McGonagall, her Killing Curse eyes now fixed on a quailing Jim. Fleur leaned over towards Cedric and whispered.

"Eez she not zee one who murdered one of 'er relatives recently?"

"Uh, maybe?" Cedric whispered back nervously. "It's still kind of an open question, I think."

Unfortunately, their whispers weren't quite soft enough, as Jim fixed them both with a furious expression, while Lily glanced at them quickly before turning away. Harry simply looked amused at the exchange.

Dumbledore took a deep breath and turned back to the twins. "Now then," he said more calmly. "As I was saying, did either of you put …?"

"JIM POTTER! DID YOU PUT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE!?"

The whole room jumped again, this time in response to the furious bellow from James Potter, who strode into the chamber and likewise had to be intercepted by Dumbledore before he could reach Jim. Harry rolled his eyes contemptuously.

"Farce," he muttered. "An absolute farce."

Jim almost nodded along but then realized he was about to agree with his estranged brother and stopped himself.

Meanwhile, Moody had successfully subdued the enraged James Potter and maneuvered him over to the wall to stand next to Lily. Snape, who was on Lily's other side, gave him a disdainful glare and slid two steps farther away.

"I am so glad to be away from this lunatic family," Harry said under his breath. Jim looked at him angrily, but before he could respond, Dumbledore returned to them, taking an even deeper breath this time.

"Now, once again, I must ask: Did you …?

"JIM POTTER! DID YOU PUT MY GODSON'S NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE!?"

No one jumped this time, as the interruption seemed almost expected. This time, it was Sirius Black who burst into the room in a fury with Archie Goodwin close behind. Before he could say another word, however, Dumbledore held up his wand and shot off several loud firecrackers to get everyone's attention.

"Lord Black," he said in a firm voice accompanied by just enough visible annoyance to get everyone's attention. "Kindly take a spot against the wall until I have finished speaking to the two boys. Ideally, somewhere as far away from the Potters as possible."

Sirius started to say something back, but in response to the look Dumbledore was giving him, he snapped his mouth shut and allowed Archie to guide him to the far side of the room. Meanwhile, Jim leaned over to Harry.

"Lunatic pot, Black kettle," he whispered smugly.

Harry just sneered even more deeply at the boy before turning back to the approaching Dumbledore. This time, the aged wizard took two long deep breaths and opened his mouth to speak, only to turn quickly towards the open door as if waiting for yet another person to burst in. Then, he waved his hand in that direction, and the door shut and locked itself. Only then did he turn back to Harry and Jim.

"Now, finally, I must ask. Harry? Jim? Did you put your names into the Goblet of Fire?"

"Uh … yes?" Jim answered timidly.

"Of course," Harry answered with complete confidence.

The twin responses immediately set off another round of loud arguments from the adults in the room. The Potters were furious, but while Snape, Moody, and Archie all glared at Harry in varying degrees of consternation, Sirius suddenly burst out into laughter upon learning that Harry had somehow tricked his way into the Tournament after all. For their parts, Fleur and Viktor simply seemed amused, while Cedric was just befuddled. Finally, Dumbledore fired off another round of fireworks.

"Friends, please! Let us all display some decorum while we get down to the bottom of things!" He turned back to the boys. "Now, first things first. I know that Harry is emancipated and thus does not require parental approval. That does not hold true for you, Jim. How were you able to enter your name without a signature from either of your parents?"

Jim blanched at the question. He looked over at his parents, whose thunderous expressions promised harsh punishments in the future.

"I, um, did have a signature. My dad signed it for me."

"JAMES!" Lily shrieked even louder than before while James looked back and forth between his wife, his son, and the rest of the faces now regarding him in judgment.

"I DIDN'T! I NEVER SIGNED ANYTHING ABOUT THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!"

Jim winced.

"Actually … you did. On the day we left for the Hogwarts Express, I deliberately had us running late for the Floo so you'd be distracted. I gave you my entry form and told you it was my Hogsmeade permission slip. You signed it without reading it."

James opened his mouth to yell, but nothing came forth except a high-pitched garbling sound like a teakettle on the verge of whistling. His face turned purple as he angrily shook his finger at Jim while still too angry to speak. Nearby, Snape reached into a pocket to produce a vial which he passed over to Lily.

"Calming Draught. Or maybe a painless, fast-acting poison. I forget which, but I suspect he'd be happy with either option."

Lily fumed at the droll remark before snatching the potion out of Snape's hands and uncorking it. She did take a quick sniff to confirm it was a Calming Draught (it was Snape, after all) before pouring it down James's throat and helping him to a chair.

Dumbledore looked at Jim in disappointment before turning back to Harry.

"As for you, Harry, we have established that you are emancipated and could have simply given me your name to enter, but you never did. And so, I am curious as to why you felt the need to enter your name on your own instead of following the procedures I laid out for underage applicants."

"Well, sir," Harry began with some embarrassment (though less than Jim), "it was suggested to me that people thought it was impossible for me to figure out a way past the Age Line."

He held out his arms and shrugged. "And I took that personally."

"You entered your name just to prove you could beat the Age Line?!" Cedric asked incredulously.

"Yes," Harry replied. "Which, in retrospect, was incredibly arrogant and foolish of me, seeing as how I got picked somehow even though I'm only a Fourth Year. And I certainly don't understand how my name and Potter's could come out on the same entry form."

He turned back to Dumbledore. "May I see the form, sir?"

The Headmaster produced the form in question before holding it out for both boys to see. Harry was surprised and intrigued. He'd assumed the form literally had both names written on it but that was not the case. Instead, the form clearly showed the name "Jim Potter" written in what looked like the boy's handwriting. But after a few seconds, the ink suddenly swam around on the page until it read "Harry Black," now in Harry's own signature. A few seconds later, it switched back to Jim's name.

"Weird," Harry said. "Well, anyway, that doesn't look like the parchment I used, and while that looks like my signature, it doesn't look quite like how I wrote it on the form I entered. And in any case, I can't imagine how the way I got past the Age Line would cause both our names to appear on the same form."

"How exactly did you evade the Age Line, Mr. Black?" asked Professor McGongall.

"I folded my entry form into the shape of an origami spider and then animated it with Piertotum Locomotor. Then, I just directed it to climb across the ceiling and drop into the Goblet. There was a tiny gap in the Age Line between the illusion of the night sky generated by the ceiling and the ceiling itself."

"Piertotum Locomotor?!" exclaimed Cedric. "That's a Seventh Year Charm!"

Harry shrugged again. "I didn't find it especially difficult for my needs," he said with what was obviously false modesty. "Anyway, as I said, there's no way what I did could result in both our names coming out on the same form, and I never imagined that I could get selected as a Fourth-Year student."

"Bah," snarled Karkaroff. "The boy lies. Obviously, they are in it together. The Boy-Who-Lived has recently lost his family fortune, while his estranged sibling who has been in his younger brother's shadow his whole life now sees an opportunity to help his former family regain their prominence by tricking their way into the Tournament."

Harry snorted at the idea he'd do any such thing to help the Potters, while Sirius started to angrily retort before Archie elbowed him sharply.

"Besides," Karkaroff continued, "how could anyone resist the fame and riches that winning the Tournament conveys?!"

Finally, Harry had had enough. "Headmaster Karkaroff!" he snapped out. But then, he regained control of himself, and his angry expression melted into one of his more sincere-looking smiles.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think we've been formally introduced. I am Hadrian Remus Black Lord Wilkes, the youngest person to claim a Wizengamot seat in over 350 years. At 14, I'm already one of the richest wizards in Britain. I am a champion duelist and own my own successful company. For more information about my exciting and glamorous lifestyle, please see the feature story about me in the latest issue of Teen Witch Weekly, on sale in bookstores and newsstands now. In short, sir, I'm quite famous enough already. And, for the record, I wouldn't skip breakfast for a piddling thousand Galleons."

Karkaroff's face twisted in fury. "How dare you?!"

"Oh, put a sock in it, Karkaroff," interrupted Moody. "Kid's got a point. There's no way someone with as much money in the bank as Lord Wilkes would go to all this trouble just over a thousand Galleons."

Moody then turned towards Harry with a disdainful expression. "On the other hand, I know the kid. And entering just to show off how he could bypass the Age Line is completely in keeping with his incredibly arrogant character!"

"Agreed," said Snape, whose expression was disdainful as well. "And while we're at it, five points from Slytherin for being rude to a visiting dignitary. But moving on from young Mr. Black's well-known character flaws, perhaps we should also inquire how Mr. Potter managed to get his own name into the Goblet, should we not?"

"Yes, Jim," said Harry, turning to his sibling while wearing an expression of perfect innocence. "How did you manage to put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"

Jim looked wildly around the room and saw that everyone was suddenly interested in the same question. Then, he reluctantly took a few steps closer to the Headmaster and gestured for him to lean down so he could whisper into the old man's ear. Frowning, Dumbledore did so. Then, his eyes widened in shock, and he jerked his head back to look down at the boy in amazement.

"YOU WHAT?!" he nearly shrieked.

"Oh, Merlin," said James in a defeated tone. "Is it that bad?"

"It is … potentially rather serious, James," Dumbledore responded while giving Jim a look that somehow combined disappointment with amazement. "And something for which I will expect proof in short order. But in the meantime, Jim, did the parchment you entered—and which you deceitfully induced your father to sign—resemble this entry form?"

Jim looked at the form again and shook his head no. Dumbledore turned to face the Tournament officials.

"In that case, I can assure you all that if what Jim just told me is true, the method he used to bypass the Age Line could not have caused his or Harry's names to be selected in the manner they were. The method he used, however, does have certain legal consequences, and so I will not be sharing what he told me until after I have discussed things with Jim's parents. For the time being, I ask you to trust me in this matter."

There was some grumbling from the others, but they all agreed to place their faith in Dumbledore's assessment for the time being. Minister Fudge spoke up next.

"Well setting aside how the two lads managed to enter their names, what happens next? Will they have to participate in the Tournament under these irregular circumstances? Barty, you're the expert."

"Regardless of the circumstances, Minister, both of their names came out of the Goblet, and they are both bound by a magical contract."

"Hang on," said Harry. "We both entered our names, but the parchment that came out of the Goblet was one that was entered by someone else. So how could a magical contract have been formed?"

"Hem-hem," came a timid voice.

"You have something to add, Dolores?" asked Fudge.

"Only that I believe I can answer Lord Wilkes' question, Minister. You see, Lord Wilkes, the interwoven network of spells and oaths that are collectively known as magical contract law was first imposed upon every witch and wizard in the nation as part of the Wizengamot Charter. It was later expanded to most of the Wizarding World by the ratification of the ICW Charter in 1678. The Goblet of Fire, however, is thousands of years older than that and does not truly function according to magical contract law at all. Rather, it dates from the age of legendary sorcerer-kings who ruled entire nations, and they used the Goblet to settle their disputes with a trial by combat rather than open warfare. Even after people started using it for Champion selection during the Triwizard Tournament, the Goblet continued to view its role the same. While you are not technically bound by a magical contract in the conventional sense, as far as the Goblet is concerned, your name and Mr. Potter's were put into the Goblet at the behest of, well, King Dumbledore of the Nation of Hogwartia, I suppose. Of course, that raises the question of who else could have entered your names that the Goblet would recognize as having authority equal to the Headmaster. But regardless of who put your names in, the Goblet now assumes that your names were indeed lawfully entered and properly selected. And thus, you are now expected to do your duty to your king and serve as Champion whether you wanted to or not. And if you refused to compete, the Goblet would have the power to punish you appropriately under the theory that you were a traitor to your liege-lord."

"And what sort of penalties are we talking about?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Umbridge cleared her throat somewhat nervously. "Historically … loss of magic, death, or both."

Lily, James, and Sirius all began shouting their displeasure over that announcement, but Dumbledore quickly raised his hands to stop them.

"That was indeed the historical penalty. Naturally, the parameters we submitted to the Goblet earlier this evening do not call for such extreme punishments."

"But you did describe it as a terrible penalty earlier, Headmaster," said Harry. "What exactly is this terrible penalty?"

"Yes, well, that was me being a bit theatrical. The terrible penalty I alluded to is simply that anyone selected by the Goblet who later withdraws from competition for anything other than health issues or a family emergency will suffer a magical mark in the shape of the letter Q for quitter that will appear on his or her forehead and remain until the Tournament's conclusion."

Both boys looked aghast at that announcement, but Dumbledore merely smiled at their dismay.

Earlier …

After Jim and Harry's joint entry form came out of the Goblet, Dumbledore abruptly dismissed the students back to their respective dorms. Ron called after Jim as the Boy-Who-Lived made his way towards the back room where the other Champions awaited.

"It'll be okay, Ron," Jim had said over his shoulder. "I'll talk to you as soon as I can."

Ron stared after Jim in worry as his best mate headed off. Then, George clapped him on the shoulder and ushered him out of the Great Hall. Moments later, they were back in the Gryffindor Common Room, where everyone was loudly speculating on what Jim might have done to get himself and his ex-brother entered in the Tournament as "extra" Champions. Or, in some versions, what Harry might have done to get himself and Jim entered. Absolutely no one was entertaining the possibility that the two might have voluntarily worked together under any circumstances.

"That's all rubbish!" Ron snapped angrily. "I know Jim didn't put his name in the Goblet. He's been worried ever since it got announced that somehow his name was going to come out anyway! Someone else must have done it!"

Several of the Gryffindors laughed at Ron's pronouncement. Meanwhile, Luna Lovegood just looked at Ron almost sadly.

"I'm so sorry, Ron, but I think it's true. The second Jim and Harry's name came out of the Goblet, Jim's Nargles shifted from orange to periwinkle. Though, to be fair, their hind legs also started rubbing together very quickly."

At that, all the conversation stopped, as the whole room turned to stare at the girl in confusion.

"… What?!" Ron asked in consternation.

"Jim's emotions switched from disappointment to excitement, though with an undercurrent of anxiety and trepidation," Hermione explained.

"Isn't that what I said?" Luna asked in confusion.

Before Ron could say anything else, Fred and George each took an arm and dragged him off into a corner where they could talk privately.

"Look, Ron, I'm sorry to upset you," said Fred. "And Merlin knows we're the last two people who have any business being tattletales."

"But the truth is," George picked up. "Jim did put his name into the Goblet of Fire. We, um …"

"We sort of watched him do it," Fred finished.

Ron looked back and forth between the twins in confusion. "What? How?!"

Fred and George looked at each other before George finally answered. "Because we snuck into the Great Hall along with Harry Black under an invisibility cloak to put our own names in. Only Jim came in to add his name while we were still hidden."

"More specifically," said Fred while giving Ron a pointed look, "Jim flew in … if you know what we mean."

Ron's eyes widened as he absorbed that information. Then, he took a deep breath before bellowing out a stream of profanity so loud and vulgar that Prefect George actually felt obligated to take points.

Meanwhile, back in the conference room …

Despite his outburst (and to Harry's mild disappointment), Dumbledore did not immediately expose Jim as an illegal Animagus. He did scold both boys for being so bold and reckless as to enter their names, but his anger was reserved for Jim and mainly for his action in deceiving his own father into signing his entry form. While he did not openly admit it, Harry got the impression that the old man was quietly impressed with the twins' ingenuity in bypassing the Age Line, but less so with Jim's means for getting a signed entry form.

Not that Harry himself thought deceiving James Potter was a great achievement in cunning, but it was still shocking to think that Jim had done something so underhanded.

After a few minutes of additional interrogation, Dumbledore announced that he and the other Tournament officials would adjourn to the Great Hall to examine the Goblet and see if they could figure out exactly what had happened. However, he asked Moody to stay in the room until the Potters and Sirius departed "to prevent any unpleasantness." He also told both boys to remain in the room until he called for them or else sent word that they were free to return to their dorms (in case either of them needed to be on hand as part of any effort to remove them from the competition). Fudge and Umbridge departed after the Minister asked Crouch and Bagman to come to his office first thing in the morning to deliver a report. Neither of the officials looked happy at the prospect of such a meeting.

After that, the Potters and the Blacks clustered in opposite corners of the room with a bored Moody in the middle as if prepared to act as referee. However, once each group had enacted Muffliato spells, they did their best to ignore each other.

"Okay, first question," Sirius began. "Did you just happen to change your mind about entering the Tournament? Or were you outright lying to me when you assured me last week that you had no interest?"

"Sirius …" Archie began warningly.

"I'm not mad that Harry entered his name," Sirius interrupted before turning back to his Heir. "Honestly, I am amazingly impressed that you were able to do so. Merlin knows I'd have tried to at your age. But I have to confess, I'll be a little hurt if you lied to me about it."

Harry winced. "I … wasn't lying. I changed my mind over the weekend and didn't think to let you know. And I only did it …"

He blushed slightly. "Well, to be honest, as a money-making scheme. We discovered that someone was giving 50-1 odds that I would not be able to beat the Age Line. Since I immediately spotted at least one way to do so, I thought it was easy money. The Weasley Twins bet 100 galleons, and I gave Blaise Zabini another 200 to bet on my behalf. So that's 5000 for them and 10,000 for me. Which, amusingly, is ten times the reward for actually winning the Tournament outright."

"Harry," Archie said in an annoyed tone. "You're filthy rich. Why would you go to those lengths for 10,000 galleons?"

"What lengths? For me, it was literally less than thirty minutes of work, most of which involved carefully folding a piece of parchment over fifty times without ripping it apart in frustration."

Harry happened to glance over towards the Potters and smirked. Poor James Potter's face had turned purple with rage. He looked almost like a young, fit Vernon Dursley now. The other two wizards followed his gaze and saw the same thing.

Archie snorted disdainfully. "Potter's about to have an aneurysm, I think. Any ideas how the boy managed to get his name in? Dumbledore was secretive about it."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I think the reason James is so angry right now is because he just found out his son followed in his footsteps and is an Animagus. A raven, specifically."

"Ha! The hypocrite! Props to the Brat-Who-Lived for mastering it faster than his old man, I suppose."

"To be fair," Harry said, "he had the benefit of Peter Pettigrew's illegal notes on Wild Animagery. Speaking of which, we haven't discussed that in a while. You're not doing anything dangerous or recklessly foolish with your copy of that book, are you?"

"Are you seriously accusing me of doing something dangerous or recklessly foolish after what you just did?!"

"What I did was a thirty-minute arts and crafts project followed by five minutes on a broom. The Weasley Twins at least had to spend a few days brewing an exotic potion to put their names in."

"Uh-huh," said Archie. "And you're sure it's not Jim's fault somehow that you got dragged along with him?"

"Reasonably so. I mean maybe there's some weird twin thing involved, but I doubt it. I'm sure Dumbledore will figure it out in short order." Then, Harry looked at Sirius pointedly.

"You don't have anything to worry about. I seriously doubt I can win the Triwizard Tournament, but I think I can make a decent showing despite being underage." He looked back at his twin and raised his chin contemptuously.

"If nothing else, I know I won't be coming in last place."

The three Blacks (one in disguise) talked for a few more minutes until Harry encouraged Sirius to head back to Blackstone, as the Countess and Gunther were waiting for them at the Three Broomsticks. From there, they would go home via Floo, since Sirius was still not cleared for Apparation or Portkeys.

"Go on, Sirius. As soon as I know something from Dumbledore, I'll mirror-call you."

Sirius put his hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed. "Okay. But I'll be waiting for that call, so don't forget. I'm proud of you, Harry. You'll kick arse in this thing. I know it."

Harry smiled at that. Sirius and Archie left, with the Potters following close behind (though not too close). Lily wanted to assist the others as she had helped Dumbledore to set up the wards around the Goblet, while James wanted to stay longer to talk with the Headmaster, presumably about options for the newest illegal Animagus in the family.

"You two gonna be okay in here by yourselves?" Moody asked. "Not gonna start any duels or slap fights or anything like that? I want to speak to Albus myself for a bit."

"I think we can resist the temptation towards violence for a while, Professor," said Harry.

Jim just nodded, and Moody left the room. The two boys sat down on opposite sides of the chamber. Harry noticed that Jim looked uncharacteristically chastened.

"I take it your parents aren't happy with you. How bad was it?"

Jim sighed. "They're going to hold off on my official punishment until they know just how much of a mess this is going to be. At a minimum, I lose all my Hogsmeade privileges for the year, and I'll be grounded all summer."

"That's it?!" Harry asked in astonishment. Jim glared at him.

"In case you've forgotten, my family doesn't have a lot left to take away from me! Mum's a professor though, so I imagine she'll give me detentions and stuff as well. Why do you care? You did the exact same thing I did, but since you're emancipated, you probably won't even be punished at all!"

"Yes, well, I got in through clever use of an upper-level spell. As opposed to tricking my guardian into signing a form after he'd forbidden me to enter. Not to mention becoming an illegal Animagus."

Jim paled. "You know about that?! Did Ginny tell you?!"

Harry just smiled. "I actually got to see it first-hand. You might have forgotten, but I happen to be the owner—or at least, the renter—of an exceptionally fine invisibility cloak. I had already entered the Great Hall and was about to enter my name when you came flapping your way in."

Jim's face darkened at the mention of the Invisibility Cloak, but then, his attention shifted to Harry's remarks about seeing his animal form firsthand.

"So, are you gonna rat me out as an illegal Animagus?" he challenged. Harry sniffed disdainfully.

"I leave all the ratting to your godfather. As for exposing you, despite the Oath of Enmity, I have no immediate plans to do so. Please don't think it's because of any brotherly affection. I just hate the idea of having my mind and emotions manipulated, so I refuse to do anything to ruin your life just because I'm under a spell that encourages it."

He leaned forward almost menacingly. "You should try very hard not to give me a legitimate reason to ruin your life until the Oath is resolved."

Jim glowered but then looked away, biting down the urge to retort. The estranged brothers sat in silence for a moment. Then, Jim smiled and chuckled softly.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Nothing. I just thought—wouldn't it be funny if I ended up getting emancipated out of this too?"

Harry looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Well, I mean, I've been entered into a tournament that's only supposed to be open to students 17 and up. If I end up forced to compete, won't that be some sort of, I dunno, government recognition that I'm a legal adult?"

Harry stared at the other boy.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!" he finally said.

"Hey!" Jim exclaimed angrily, but Harry continued.

"Seriously, why on earth would you possibly think that the fact that someone else illegally entered your name into a competition otherwise limited to adults would have any sort of legal effect outside of the Tournament?!"

"It was just an idea!"

"Yes, a dumb one!"

"Is it any dumber than you getting emancipated just because you tricked Dad into giving it to you?"

Harry sneered. "We both know why James Potter was so eager to kick me out of the family, Jim! And after what you pulled with your entry form, you don't have any room to talk! It's not like I just handed James an emancipation form under false pretenses, and he was stupid enough to sign it without reading it! Although obviously, that probably would have worked!"

"Well they should have just let me enter anyway!" Jim said angrily. "It's not fair for me to be excluded just for being too young! I'm as qualified to compete in this Tournament as well as anyone!"

"Obviously not!" Harry said bitingly. "Seeing as how you weren't actually chosen as the Hogwarts Champion and only got in through some Boy-Who-Lived weirdness! That honor went to Cedric Diggory, a NEWT-level student on the Auror track who's at the top of his class and who was the odds-on favorite from the start! And rightly so because this tournament is designed for NEWT-level students. Not only are you unqualified despite being the Git-Who-Lived, the Tournament might be quite dangerous for someone as young as you!"

Jim scoffed. "As young as me?! You're barely eight minutes older than I am!"

"Yes, well, I think our lives have shown just how much more mature and competent those extra eight minutes have made me!"

"And besides," Jim continued. "The tasks won't be dangerous! Dumbledore and Crouch and Bagman all said so! I'll be fine!"

With that, Jim sat back in his chair while fuming sullenly. Harry said nothing. In fact, he continued to say nothing for several more seconds until Jim finally looked back over at him and noticed the strange look on his face.

"What?" Jim asked.

"The tasks … won't be … dangerous," Harry repeated softly while staring off into space. Then, his face twisted into a mask of rage.

"IDIOT!" he bellowed as he shot up out of his chair. Jim jumped up right after.

"STOP CALLING ME AN IDIOT!" Jim bellowed right back while Harry strode towards the door.

"NOT YOU! ME!" Harry shouted as he yanked the door open. "I! AM! AN! IDIOT!"

With that, Harry ran out the door and down the hall. Jim stared after him in surprise before following quickly.

Seconds later, Harry burst through the door that led back into the Great Hall, with Jim just a second behind.

"Headmaster!" Harry called out breathlessly. "Whoever put in an entry form for me and Jim! Could they have also tampered with the challenge parameters and the penalty for withdrawing?"

Dumbledore had been standing in front of the Goblet of Fire looking up at a truly massive rune scheme that was floating in the air above the magical cup. He slowly turned to look at the two boys. His eyes held no twinkle and instead looked terribly somber.

Then, Harry looked around and noticed the rest of the room. Snape's face was utterly impassive, a sign he was occluding heavily. Next to him, McGonagall's face was not so guarded, and she seemed stricken. Both Moody and Crouch were visibly angry, while Bagman was wringing his hands in terrible distress. James and Lily turned to look towards Harry and Jim before Lily burst into tears and buried her face in James's chest. James hugged her tightly with a look of devastation on his own face.

"Oh," Harry said almost in resignation. "I see you've already had the same thought."

Twenty contentious minutes later …

Harry Black sat calmly while bearing an aloof expression that concealed how hard he was occluding. He'd been ready to assume the worst once he had his little epiphany in the conference room, but the truth as related by Dumbledore was far more terrible than even his most cynical imaginings. Both Lily and James had needed Calming Draughts, and after that, they both tearfully consoled Jim (who'd promptly had a panic attack, of course).

"Honestly," Harry thought with mild contempt, "Are all Gryffindors emotional basket cases? Or is it just them?"

After answering Harry's immediate questions about what had been done to the Goblet, Dumbledore then sent for the three older Champions. Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor now sat in chairs next to Harry. Snape and Professor Sprout stood behind their respective students, while Maxime and Karkaroff did the same for the two foreign students. While none of those three students knew what had happened yet, from the mood of the room, they all knew it was something unpleasant.

Meanwhile, a shaken and pale Jim sat on the opposite side of the room with his parents. Harry was oddly torn; a part of him wished that Sirius were here to sit with him, while another part was glad his godfather was far away. He would contact him immediately after this meeting … but only after first making sure he had a medical professional on hand. Harry did not expect Sirius to take the news well.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"Mr. Diggory, Miss Delacour, Mr. Krum. Thank you for coming so quickly. I am sorry to have pulled you away from what I assume were boisterous parties in the Hufflepuff Common Room and aboard the vessels of the two visiting schools." He hesitated and looked deeply regretful. "Indeed, I am sorry about … a great many things which I must now share with you. But I wish you to know that we will do whatever we possibly can to ensure your safety as the Tournament moves forward."

The unease of the students only grew at that.

"As you recall from our meeting earlier, it was revealed that Mr. Black and Mr. Potter here managed to enter their names in the Goblet of Fire despite being underage. However, it was a different entry form from the one either of them entered which the Goblet issued as a selected Champion. Or rather … Champions, in their case."

"Does that mean they'll both have to compete, sir?" said Cedric with a look of concern towards both Harry and Jim. Dumbledore winced.

"I … am afraid, Mr. Diggory, that the situation is much more serious than we initially thought. You see, whoever entered the names of these two Fourth Years … did more. It appears that whoever was responsible also took steps to prevent most of the Tournament parameters which we entered from taking hold. Accordingly, the Challenges for the Triwizard Tournament will be designed and implemented according to the parameters … of the last Tournament."

Viktor frowned as if unsure whether he'd properly understood, while Fleur's eyes widened in shock. Cedric was confused.

"What? The 1792 Tournament?" he asked. "How will that make things different for us?"

"The 1792 Tournament," Harry said quietly, "was the one where everybody died."

Cedric's head snapped around towards Harry before turning back to the Headmaster.

"Wait, what?! You can't mean …!" he stammered in mounting panic. Crouch spoke up over him.

"In 1792, the parameters for the First Challenge, as designed by the contest judges, were supposed to have required the Champions to demonstrate proper handling of a Class XXX creature using only a wand. To this day, no one knows whether it was malice or just grotesque negligence, but the parameters that were actually fed into the Goblet of Fire called for a Challenge which instead involved a Class XXXXX creature. In keeping with those parameters, the Goblet generated a Challenge that called for competitors to tie a bell around the neck of an adult Cockatrice."

"WHAT?!" Cedric nearly shrieked. Across the room, Lily sobbed loudly while Jim and his father both looked sick.

"The Champions for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang each died within thirty seconds of entering the arena," Crouch continued. "The Hogwarts student, a Ravenclaw, decided discretion was the better part of valor and that life without magic was better than the death a Cockatrice would give him. Or perhaps he made the calculation that simply entering the arena might satisfy the Goblet's 'participation' requirements and he could escape punishment. Either way, he immediately Disillusioned himself and then set himself to making an opening in the wards around the arena so he could escape. He lasted nearly four minutes before the Cockatrice found him by scent and killed him. Unfortunately, in that time, he'd damaged the wards enough for the beast to break through, and its poisonous breath mortally wounded the Headmasters of all three schools, along with dozens of dignitaries and guests."

"And you expect us to face such a beast?!" Fleur asked angrily.

"Well … maybe?" Ludo said with a nervous gulp. "I mean, all we know is that you'll have to face some kind of XXXXX wizard-killer, but it's not specifically a Cockatrice. It might, you know, be … something else? Like a Lethifold or some Acromantula?"

"Or a Basilisk or maybe Dementors?" Harry thought to himself bitterly. But then, he just shook his head. "No, no Dementors. With Amigo, I could breeze through a Dementor challenge, and there's no way the Universe would be that kind to me."

"Rest assured, students," Dumbledore reassured the Champions, "we will do everything we can to ensure that you will not have to face any such terrors. Tomorrow morning, we will summon cursebreakers from Gringotts and the Ministry to examine the Goblet of Fire and determine whether it can be safely reset to negate tonight's selections."

"But what about … about …?!" Viktor tried to bark out a question but quickly became frustrated when the English words eluded him. He turned towards Karkaroff and spoke to him in Bulgarian. The Durmstrang Headmaster nodded and turned to Dumbledore.

"My student wishes to know whether there is a risk that such an examination might trigger a …" Karkaroff paused himself as if trying to be certain of his words. "A runic failure cascade? Though I must confess I have no idea what that means."

Dumbledore looked pained. "I assure you, Mr. Krum, we will do everything we can to avoid a cascade."

"But if you cannot …?!" Krum asked more urgently.

"Then there's a good chance you will all die," Moody interrupted brutally.

"Alastor!"

"The kids deserve to know the truth, Albus!" Moody responded angrily before continuing his answer. "A runic failure cascade means that an effort by a cursebreaker to undo the Goblet's selection has gone wrong and resulted in the Goblet resetting itself completely. Which might have no effect on any of you. Or it might kill all five of you instantly. And also the three Headmasters. And the other twenty-one judges. Oh, and Cornelius Fudge. Did I leave anyone out?"

"The heads of state for both the Entente Magique and the Balkan Alliance," Crouch added in a thick voice. "And very likely the entire Executive Council for the ICW."

Harry considered that news thoughtfully before addressing Dumbledore.

"Headmaster, did the Champions in 1792 know in advance that they would be fighting a XXXXX creature?"

Surprised at the question, Dumbledore looked at the other Tournament officials before answering. "No. As I recall, they found out on the morning of the First Challenge."

"Okay. Next question: Do we know if the Second or Third Tasks were also altered to be more dangerous?"

"We don't know one way or another," said Bagman with some confusion. "Everyone died in the First Challenge, so the Goblet never actually generated the later tasks."

"Right," said Harry firmly. "In that case, speaking for myself, I wish to continue in the Tournament under the parameters that are currently in place."

That announcement led to an uproar from nearly everyone assembled, but Harry ignored them to focus on Dumbledore.

"Headmaster, with all due respect, I would rather have my life in my own hands against a XXXXX creature than sit around trusting in some cursebreakers to monkey around with a millennia-old magical artifact, all the while knowing that if they make a mistake, I could just keel over dead along with dozens of other innocent people and quite a few important world leaders."

"Harry!" Jim yelled. "This is a Cockatrice they're talking about!"

"Which is on the same level as a Basilisk, a Dementor, a Werewolf, and an Acromantula." He turned towards Fleur, Viktor, and Cedric. "If any of you three knew you had to put a bell around a Cockatrice and had a few weeks to prepare for it, what strategy would you use?"

The three older students regarded him in confusion before Viktor spoke up first.

"Reinforced Vestamentarum Shield and Bubblehead Charm to protect against poison breath!" he said with authority. "Doppleganger Defense to distract … Death Rooster?"

"Cockatrice," Fleur said while patting Viktor on the knee. "Zee Greeks called it zee Ichneumon."

"Ah!" Viktor exclaimed, suddenly excited to finally know exactly what monster they were talking about. Meanwhile, Fleur turned back to Harry to answer his question.

"In addition to zose options, I would also Transfigure nearby objects into large mirrors to hide behind. Le Cocatris cannot bear the sight of eets own appearance and is repelled by mirrors. Zen, I would try to cast multiple Bubblehead Charms on zee creature itself. In a tightly enclosed space, it can be overcome by its own breath and rendered … endormi?"

"Asleep, she means," Viktor translated approvingly. "Da! Much cleverment!"

Meanwhile, poor Cedric looked back and forth between his fellow competitors. "I … would probably do something like that … also."

Harry gave Diggory a warm smile despite the lameness of his response. Then, he turned back to the Headmaster.

"Unlike the 1792 competitors, we actually know we'll be facing a XXXXX creature and will be able to prepare with that in mind. Obviously, we don't know exactly what kind of XXXXX creature it will be, but hopefully, we'll have time to prepare for contingencies. And from what Mr. Crouch said, it's possible that the First Task in 1792 was only deadly because of a screwup, and the other two Tasks might not be dangerous. Or at least, not insanely dangerous."

He turned to Ludo. "Mr. Bagman, can you tell us when the First Challenge will be?"

"Huh? Oh, right!" said Bagman, suddenly excited to be involved again. "The First Task will be on Saturday, November the twenty-eighth. I can tell you that you will only be allowed to use your wands. And, as you've already guessed, this challenge is all about daring, so we won't be able to tell you anything else beyond what you've already figured out. Also, you cannot ask for or receive any help from any of your professors."

"What about fellow students?" Harry asked. "And for that matter, can we help one another in Tournament preparations?"

Dumbledore considered the matter but deferred to Crouch.

"You are free to consult with any of your fellow students," he said. "And let me double-check before you do anything definitive, but I believe it is permissible for Champions to help one another prepare. But you each must devise your own strategies for each Task. The Goblet itself will impose an automatic penalty on you if it decides—by whatever criteria it uses—that your strategy is too similar to what one of your fellow Champions did earlier in the same Task. And I must warn you: Under the 1792 rules, if you score a zero or less on any Challenge, including by a Goblet-imposed penalty, the Goblet will likely treat it as a failure to participate, which will invoke the Goblet's penalty for such refusal."

Crouch swallowed. "Loss of magic."

A silence fell across the room.

"Mr. Black—Harry," said Dumbledore. "I implore you to reconsider. Let us at least try…"

"Harry Black is wise and brave!" Viktor interrupted forcefully. "Viktor is Bogatyr. Will not risk lives of innocents just to save own … outside part!"

Everyone stared at the Bulgarian and tried to puzzle out his word choice. Harry coughed loudly into his hand.

"Skin!" he stage-whispered.

Viktor blushed slightly but nodded. "Yes! Skin!"

"I agree," said Fleur. "I will not endanger zee judges, one of whom eez my own Headmistress, by asking to be removed from zee Tournament. I shall compete under zee 1792 rules!"

Harry leaned over. "Don't you also have a family member who's one of the judges at risk?"

Fleur crinkled her nose almost disdainfully. "Yes, well … I suppose I want to save 'im as well."

"I'm in too!" Jim said while jumping up out of his chair in a manner Harry found ridiculously dramatic and Gryffindorish.

"Dammit, Jim!" James yelled angrily as he tried to pull his son back down into his chair, but Jim was too fast for him.

"Dad, I know I screwed up by entering my own name. But it turns out I was right! I did get entered anyway, regardless of whether I'd even put my name in the Goblet or not! And I may not know Ancient Runes or Arithmancy or NEWT-level Charms or Potions! But I can do stuff like this!"

As Jim continued to argue with his parents, Harry felt his teeth grind. Luckily, Moody spoke up to interrupt the domestic drama.

"You know, while I admire the bravery that everyone's spouting off, now that I think about it, it really is kind of a moot point. Albus, am I right in assuming that before you can call in any cursebreakers to muck around with the Cursed Spittoon of Doom over there, you're gonna need Ministry approval?"

The question caught Dumbledore by surprise, and he suddenly looked like he was sucking one of his famous sherbet lemons.

Cedric looked around dazedly. "Is that a problem?"

"That depends, I suppose," said Harry, "on whether Cornelius Fudge is the sort of man who'd risk his own life in a dangerous scheme to get a bunch of school children out of a deadly situation that we all basically volunteered for."

"It does," said Moody. "And he's not."

Cedric deflated at that. "Oh, well, in that case, I guess it doesn't matter. But for the record, I was about to say I'm willing to compete as well."

"Better late than never, Diggory," said Harry amiably.

"How are you so calm about this?!" Cedric asked Harry in consternation.

Harry regarded the Hufflepuff before leaning over and whispering with a wry smile.

"Just between us, I'm in the grip of a hysterical panic. But I'm a Slytherin, so I've learned not to show it."

Later …

The meeting in the Great Hall lasted for another thirty minutes. At the end, there was another five minutes of yelling from Jim's parents. Mainly Lily, as James seemed very subdued, to an extent that made Jim uncomfortable. In fact, the description for James' expression, Jim thought, was beaten down. And then, the boy suddenly realized the reason. The elder Potter was blaming himself because, once again, his family was endangered because he'd signed something without reading it. Jim opened his mouth to reassure his father that Jim's entry in the Goblet of Fire wasn't his fault, as both Dumbledore and Moody agreed that some unknown enemy had ensured that Jim and Harry's names would come out whether either of them had entered or not. But that didn't change the fact that Jim had blatantly manipulated his father in order to get his (ultimately superfluous) signature. As Jim took in James's devastated expression, he finally understood why Ron had been so horrified and disgusted when Jim told him how he'd gotten a signed permission slip.

Before Jim could apologize or say anything to reduce his father's distress, however, McGonagall came over to collect the boy and escort him back to Gryffindor Tower.

His Head of House said nothing as they walked, but then, to Jim's surprise, she suddenly took a right and led him down a side corridor. After about twenty feet, McGonagall looked around, pulled out her wand, and cast a Homenum Revelio and a few other detection spells. Satisfied with the results, she looked down at Jim and fixed him with a firm expression.

"Now then, Mr. Potter," she said in a commanding voice. "The Headmaster has advised me of your … status. Kindly reveal it to me now."

Jim opened his mouth, but McGongall's expression clearly would brook no objections. He signed dejectedly and took a step back before transforming into a raven. The bird hopped around for a few seconds and then returned to Jim's human shape. He was slightly relieved when McGonagall smiled.

"A most impressive specimen, Mr. Potter," she said. "All the more so for your youth. Naturally, now that it is apparent how closely you hew to your father's legacy, I shall expect a much better effort in your Transfiguration lessons than you have shown me thus far."

Jim winced at that. Transfiguration was his best class after DADA, but he was not as good at it as Harry, and neither of them was a prodigy like James Potter had been in his youth. Jim stammered a promise to do better.

"I shall hold you to that, Mr. Potter. Sadly, while I would normally grant a large award of House points for becoming an Animagus, the fact that you have done so illegally precludes me from doing so. Instead, I shall reward you by refraining from taking points on account of how you went about entering the Triwizard Tournament."

Jim chuckled. "I'm happy to accept that as a reward, Professor."

McGongall nodded and led Jim back in the direction of the Tower.

"Have you named your form yet?" she asked. "As with the Patronus Charm, there is an informal custom among Animagi that we have a nickname associated with our animal forms. Looking back, I was always baffled as to how your father obtained the peculiar nickname of Prongs when he was a boy not much older than you. Of course, the answer was obvious when the truth of his own Animagus form was revealed last spring."

Despite himself, Jim made a face. The circumstances under which James Potter had been forced to reveal himself as an illegal Animagus were a bit of a sore spot in the Potter family.

"I haven't really thought about it," Jim said. "May I ask what your cat-form's name is?"

The normally stern professor looked off into the distance with a fond expression as if recalling some happy memory from her youth.

"Jenny," she finally said. "Short for Jennyanydots. It was from a Muggle poem about cats. My late husband suggested it and thought that that particular character suited my personality."

Then, she frowned slightly. "I'm told that, many years later, some other Muggles set it to music in some popular song-and-dance production which I have never seen and do not plan to."

She gave Jim a stern expression. "And I hope I can count upon you to not bandy that personal detail with others. Animagi, in my opinion, represent a somewhat elite fraternity, and the secrets of our animal selves are not to be shared lightly save with those we trust the most."

Jim nodded seriously. By now, they had reached the entrance to the Gryffindor dormitory, and McGonagall gave the password to the Fat Lady. Just as Jim was about to cross the threshold into the Gryffindor Common Room, he turned back to his Head of House and whispered.

"Poe," Jim said. "My raven's name is Poe."

Once inside the Common Room, Jim was taken aback by the sound of most of his fellow Gryffindors loudly cheering his arrival. Someone had even found time to make a banner that said "GO POTTER! THE GRYFFINDOR CHAMPION!" and hang it over the fireplace.

"Good show, Potter!" exclaimed Cormac McLaggen (who still had not apologized for physically attacking him back during Jim's Second Year when McLaggen had thought he was the Heir of Slytherin). "But how the blazes did you get your name to come out of the Giblet of Fire?"

"Oh, I can't really say, McLaggen," Jim said weakly, while ignoring Cormac's mangling of the Goblet's name. "Can't reveal all my tricks now, can I?"

McLaggen laughed and clapped him on the back. But Jim noticed that not everyone seemed excited about his "success" in getting into the Tournament. In particular, Hermione seemed very disapproving, while George was practically sneering at him. One face was conspicuous by the owner's absence, though.

"Anybody know where Ron is?" Jim asked somewhat nervously. It was Neville who answered.

"He should be up in your room waiting for you, I think." The other boy grimaced slightly. "He's … not happy. There was a lot of cursing when he found out you'd entered the Tournament. In fact, a few words I didn't even know! Just thought you should know before you walk in on him."

Jim nodded and made his way through the throng of supporters towards the stairs. Moments later, he was standing in front of the door to his own room, where he steeled himself before opening the door. Ron was inside, sitting on his bed with Steve (Jim's king snake companion) resting on his lap. Ron didn't look up at first as Jim entered. He just sat with his back to the headboard while he gently stroked Steve's scales.

"So," he finally said without looking up, "congratulations."

"Listen," said Jim, "I didn't put my name in the Goblet."

At that, Ron finally raised his head and looked him squarely in the eye. The look he gave made it clear that he didn't believe Jim.

"I mean, okay, I did put my name in the Goblet," Jim hastily corrected. "But someone else must have also put my name in. Mine and Harry's. And that's what came out."

"Well, okay, I guess it's alright then if it wasn't specifically the form you put in yourself. No harm, no foul or whatever it is they say. By the way, if you put your own form in—and I'm guessing it was the same form you tricked your own dad into signing—what the hell was it I burned back in September after you specifically encouraged me to?"

Jim winced at Ron's sarcasm. "Um, it was … a copy I made with the Gemino Charm. I just didn't want you to be mad at me anymore. I missed you. So … I …"

"Lied to me and tricked me into burning a copy? What, because you were lonely? Or because you couldn't stand the fact that one of your fans wasn't looking at you like you'd hung the moon anymore?"

"No! It wasn't like that! I just … I needed the money! My Mum's been accused of murder, and there's no way we can afford a solicitor!"

"BULLSHIT!" Ron exclaimed angrily. He set the king snake aside as he jumped off the bed. "Your mum got accused of murder yesterday! You gave me that fake parchment last month! And you insisted I burn it! Ha! I bet you had a good laugh about that, didn't you!"

"Ron, please, just listen …" In the face of his friend's anger, Jim was growing distraught himself.

"No," Ron continued relentlessly, "you didn't do it because you needed money for a solicitor! You just did it for money, period! Because even though you've spent the better part of three years reassuring me that you didn't look down on me and my family for being poor, it turns out you can't bear the thought of being poor yourself! You wanted money and all that fame that you can't seem to live without!"

"No, Ron! It wasn't like that!'

Ron just shook his head and shouldered past Jim.

"You should probably go to bed, Jim. I expect you'll need to be up early tomorrow for a photo-call or something!"

Ron yanked the door open, but before he could exit, Jim finally cried out in desperation.

"THIS ISN'T JUST A GAME ANYMORE! WHOEVER PUT MY NAME IN THE GOBLET SCREWED UP THE CHALLENGES TO MAKE THEM DANGEROUS! I COULD GET KILLED!"

Ron paused for a second in the doorway and then glared back over his shoulder.

"Yeah, of course. Because you went looking for danger. Again! And you found it. Again! Just another day in the life of the Bloody Boy-Who-Lived! If it's not money or fame you're after, it must be throwing yourself into danger so everyone will know what a big, damned hero you are! Good luck with that!"

And with that, Ron exited, slamming the door shut behind him.

Jim stared at the door with a look of anguish on his face. Then, he sat down on the bed, put his hands over his face, and began to weep. In response, Steve crawled into his lap and hissed up at him.

"It'll be all right, Jimbo. He'll come around. Jussst give him time. Big Red will be back before you know it."

Jim just shook his head and sobbed. "No. He wassss my bessst mate. And I jussst … ruined it. And all jussst for a thoussssand galleonsss and a chancccce to get my name in the papersss again. He'll probably never ssspeak to me again."

The bedroom of a tasteful flat in Diagon Alley
10:00 p.m.

Humming idly to himself, John Dawlish stood in front of his bathroom mirror in his underwear as he cast the Tooth-Cleaning Charm into his mouth. He swished for a few seconds and then spat out the magical residue that left a fresh, minty aftertaste behind. After wiping his mouth with a towel, he stepped out of the bathroom and started rummaging around in a drawer for pajamas.

All the while doing his best to ignore the glare his partner Leonard was giving him from the bed.

"We're not going to sleep until we talk," Leonard snapped.

"Talk about what, love?" the Auror asked breezily while still not looking over at the other wizard as he pulled on his night clothes.

"About whatever it is that you're going to Hogwarts for that you don't want to tell me about. Because you're doing that thing again! The one where you completely refuse to make eye contact with me because you're doing something dangerous for the Auror Corps that you don't want me to know about. It's bad enough when you're about to go on undercover assignments. What in Merlin's name are you doing at Hogwarts that you're so afraid to tell me about?!"

John deflated a bit as he made his way over to the bed, pulled back the covers, and sat down.

"It's nothing … dangerous. It's just something you won't like."

"Oh yeah? Well, I bet I'll like it even less if you refuse to tell me and I find out from someone else later. So spill it!"

"Okay, okay. Alastor Moody somehow got approval from Bones to provide training on Imperius resistance as part of the DADA classes, and I got tapped to oversee it."

"Imperius … resistance?" Leonard repeated in confusion. Then, his eyes widened in shock. "Oh for Merlin's sake, John! Don't tell me you're going to be using the Imperius Curse on children!"

John shrugged. "Orders from up top, love. With Robards and Shacklebolt gone, there's only three Aurors legally permitted to use the curse for training purposes, and I'm the highest-ranking of them."

Leonard shook his head. "John, you know what that does to you! Using the Imperius repeatedly can have serious effects on your mind and soul! The last time you did Imperius training …!"

"That was two years ago!" John interrupted heatedly. In fact, the two had first met at St. Mungo's while Dawlish was recovering from that unpleasantness. It was the only good thing that had come out of that dark period.

"And anyway, that was an intensive training program against Aurors who were trying to resist me. It won't be so bad using it on kids."

"Won't it? Speaking as your Healer as well as your lover, the effects of using the Imperius aren't based on how hard someone resists but on how frequently you use it. Even if it's just children, using it on scores of people in a short time will likely be worse on you than using it on a half-dozen trained Aurors over a few days. Not to mention, the very fact that it is children may well heighten the reaction. They won't be able to truly defend themselves at all, so you'll be under an even stronger urge to …"

"I'm not going to hurt or abuse any of them!" John said angrily. "I've learned how to be stronger than that! Trust me! Plus, Moody and Crouch will both be on hand to keep an eye on things. Oh, and according to Moody, there's a Healer on staff now who can provide counseling if I start to feel … you know. Some bloke named Ted Tonks. You know him?"

Leonard fumed. "Yeah, I know him. He's a bloody pediatrician! A skilled Healer before his injuries, but he's not a qualified Mind Healer!"

"Lenny!" John reached up and cupped his partner's chin. Then, he leaned in and kissed the other wizard gently on the lips. "It's going to be alright. I promise you."

Leonard tenderly put his hand around the back of John's neck and pulled him in for a deeper kiss.

"I'll hold you to that, Auror Dawlish," he said with a smile.

John chuckled. "Besides, look on the bright side. While I'm doing this, I'm off active duty. So, for a change, you won't have to worry about me doing any dangerous field work."

John settled back down and rested his head against his pillow.

"I mean honestly—how dangerous can Hogwarts be?"

The sitting room at Blackstone
10:30 p.m.

Unaware of the changes made to the Triwizard Tournament, Sirius Black returned to Harry's manor house to entertain his houseguest, the ever-charming Serena Zabini. The two were sitting together in the parlor enjoying a nightcap while making small talk about the current state of French magical politics when the Floo erupted in green flames. And within the flames, Sirius could see the face of his cousin, Andromeda Tonks, who was supposed to be ensconced at Malfoy Manor looking after the injured Lucius Malfoy.

"Good evening, Sirius," she said brightly. "Might I come through?"

"Certainly," said Sirius as he opened the Floo for travel with a flick of his wand. Andromeda quickly entered carrying a small leather satchel.

"Countess, this is my cousin, Andromeda Tonks, a private Healer of some note. Andi, this is Madame Serena Zabini, la Comtesse de Provence Magique."

The two witches greeted each other cordially.

"So, what brings you here so late, Andi? Troubles with Lucius?"

"No, actually," the Healer replied. "I just received a message—via Patronus, no less—from Harry which requested that I come here at once and ask you to contact him by mirror as soon as possible."

Sirius frowned. "Why would he do that? He knows I always keep my mirror handy. Why didn't he just contact me directly?"

"I've no idea, Sirius," Andi replied. "I'm just delivering the message."

In fact, Andi suspected that she knew exactly why Harry had reached out to her first. Presumably, it was the same reason his Patronus had instructed her to bring her medical bag.

Perturbed, Sirius reached into a pocket and pulled out the small mirror he carried everywhere and said Harry's name. Seconds later, the mirror's surface flickered, and Harry's face appeared. The boy seemed relaxed and completely at ease.

"Sirius!" Harry said confidently. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Not at all!" the older wizard replied. "I'm here with the Countess who is, as always, delightful company."

"I'm glad to hear it. Please give her my regards."

"Of course. Now, do you want to tell me why you sent word through Andromeda instead of mirroring me directly?"

"Well," Harry said sheepishly, "I have some news about this stupid Tournament. I don't think it's something to be overly concerned about, but I wanted to tell you before the Prophet started sensationalizing it in the morning. And I asked Andi to come over because, well, I was afraid you might take the news poorly."

Sirius scoffed. "Honestly, Harry, I'm not a bloody invalid. Now what's happened that you're afraid will cause me to have some sort of breakdown?"

"Well, Dumbledore and the other Tournament officials have looked over the Goblet of Fire. It seems clear that my name and Jim's both came out of the Goblet because some third party mucked about with it. So, we will both definitely have to compete. Thankfully, we will be competing separately instead of, Merlin forbid, as a team, because there was no way in hell that was going to while I am confident that I'll be ready for the First Challenge, I wanted to let you know that … it will be a bit more challenging than everyone thought."

Sirius's eyes narrowed. "In what sense?"

Harry smiled even wider as if to reassure his godfather of how utterly unconcerned he was about things. "Well, we don't know any details about what the Challenge will be. But it will most likely be something to do with a XXXXX creature."

"WHAT?!" Sirius bellowed before suddenly breaking into a coughing fit.

"Drink!" Andromeda commanded while slapping a potion already uncapped into Sirius's free hand. Sirius glared at his cousin, but Andromeda was both an experienced healer and a former Black, so his glare was no match for hers. Sullenly, Sirius slammed back the Calming Draught and made a face at the taste before turning back to the mirror.

"Harry, you're 14! You have no business fighting XXXXX creatures!"

"Oh, I don't know, Sirius," Harry responded breezily. "I've got a pretty good Patronus, so I'm ready for Dementors, Lethifolds, and werewolves. Not that they can even use werewolves since the Challenge will be during the day and it won't even be the full moon that day—I've already checked. And my Incendio is good enough to burn Acromantulas or anything else I'm likely to see."

"Manticores? Sphinxes? Basilisks?" Sirius asked pointedly.

"I'm pretty sure Manticores and Sphinxes will also burn nicely if I put enough effort into it. And are you seriously suggesting I should be worried about a Basilisk?"

"Okay, okay," Sirius grumbled as the tranquilizing potion kicked in. "Honestly, I don't know what's more worrying, right now: the fact that you have to go up against a class XXXXX or the fact that you're so bloody blasé about it!"

"What can I say? Slytherins consider poise a virtue. Just relax, Sirius. I've got this. I have a whole month to figure out what kind of creature they're going to use and come up with a counter to it. I'll be fine."

Sirius looked frustrated for a moment but finally grew resigned. "Okay, Harry. But I expect you to mirror-call me every day until we know what you're fighting and how you're fighting it!"

"I will. I promise. But now, I'm exhausted and just want to go to bed."

The two made their goodbyes, and Harry signed off. Sirius looked at the mirror pensively before setting it aside. Nearby, the Countess Zabini took another sip of her drink while trying not to show how closely she was studying her host.

Harry's Room

Harry set the mirror down on his desk and exhaled loudly while closing his eyes. That had gone better than expected. Indeed, it was the only thing all day that had. Not that he would be going to bed anytime soon, despite what he'd told his godfather. He'd already circulated a message to his inner circle that they would be meeting in the Prince's Lair shortly. Idly, the boy wondered where he could get hold of a Pepper-Up Potion at this late hour. Then, he jumped in surprise at the sound of a very unexpected voice.

"You handled that very well," said James Potter with pride in his voice.

Harry stared in shock at the intrusion.

"What in the hell are you doing here?!"

"Language!" chided James. "And I'm here because this is a good time for us to talk. A time when you obviously need my advice."

"I … obviously … WHAT?!"

"Come on," James said amiably. "Think about what happened earlier tonight! You'd already entered your name basically on a dare. Then, when your name came out, you proudly admitted what you'd done. You also very politely told Igor Karkaroff, an ex-Death Eater, to go fuck himself. And when you learned that you would have to compete in a deadly tournament or else risk the lives of innocent people, you were the first one to volunteer to stay in the game rather than look for a way out. You didn't even hesitate. Now that's Gryffindor courage right there!"

"No!" Harry snarled.

"Sure it is!" James replied with an infectious grin. "I mean, granted, it was kind of a slimy Slytherin thing to do to mind-whammy Sirius into not being worried about things, but even that was for the Greater Good. You care about Sirius enough to overcome your own deep-seated ambivalence about Legilimizing people for their own benefit. Totally a Gryffindor thing!"

"NO! SHUT UP!"

"Now I know it's hard because of that stupid Oath of Enmity that Sirius swore. Which is so typically him, isn't it? He loses his temper and lashes out without knowing all the facts. Basically, it's Snivellus and Remus in the Shrieking Shack all over again."

"DAMMIT! JUST GO AWAY!

"But don't worry! In a few months, that oath will be over and done with. Then, we can finally get to know each other! You know, like father and son!"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT! STOP IT!

"I mean, be honest, Harry. We both know you've got a hero complex even if you like pretending you're an aloof cynic. That's your Gryffindor side peeking out. Your 'saving people thing.' And it's getting stronger with every person on whose behalf you risk your life. So who better to teach you how to embrace that inner Gryffindor than your old man?"

"I! SAID! NO!" Harry bellowed in a fury as his frustrations over the last few days finally burst through his Occlumency self-control. And as he yelled his rejection of James Potter, he also lashed out physically by punching the man right in the face.

Then, Harry screamed in pain instead of anger and jerked his bleeding hand back from the shattered mirror he'd just punched with all his might. James Potter was gone as if he'd never been there (which, in truth, he hadn't). All that remained was Harry's own reflection multiplied in the spiderweb of cracks he'd just put in the mirror that hung over his writing desk. Harry sat back down in his chair and fought to get his breathing under control.

"Okay," he said softly while gingerly taking his wand in his injured hand and casting a Reparo at the mirror. "Something else to add to my neverending to-do list: Talk to Snape about why my brain might be generating unintentional candidates for my Advocatus Diaboli. And especially why it might generate an Advocatus I hate!"

Then, he switched his wand to his uninjured hand and tried unsuccessfully to cast the Episkey Charm. After three tries, he gave it up as a bad job. Harry slumped in his chair.

"And another thing to add, I reckon: Learn to cast Healing Charms with my off hand."

The Prince of Slytherin took one last look at his exhausted reflection in the repaired mirror before pulling himself up to his feet. He still had a meeting at midnight, after all.

No rest for the wicked.

Meanwhile. back in Jim's Room …

The morose Boy-Who-Lived sat on his bed, commiserating with his pet snake who continued trying to console him after Ron's furious departure. But then, just as he was about to call it a night, Ron unexpectedly stormed back into the room and violently slammed the door behind him. Then, he fixed the startled Jim with a furious expression and pointed his finger accusingly.

"You put your name in the Goblet of Fire!" the boy practically snarled. "But someone else put your name in too, and that's what came out?!"

Jim nodded dumbly.

"And whoever it was also made the challenges more dangerous?!" Ron asked just as forcefully and angrily.

"Uh-huh," Jim answered timidly.

Ron took a deep shuddery breath and then rubbed his hands over his face. He just stood there for several seconds, as if deep in thought, before finally putting his hands down and focusing on Jim.

"Okay," he said in quiet resignation. "So I reckon someone's trying to murder you. What are we going to do about it?"

Jim jumped up off the bed in surprise. "You mean you're going to help me?!"

"Well, of course I'm going to help you, you big stupid git!" Ron snapped as if annoyed at being asked such a dumb question.

"But … even after I …?"

"After you what, Jim?" Ron snapped as he folded his arms and looked sternly at the other boy. "You lied to me. Just like you did your own parents. You blew off my concerns and my feelings. You actually made a fake entry form and got me to destroy it so that I would feel happy you actually listened to me about something for once."

As Ron spoke, his voice grew louder and angrier. "You betrayed my trust! Y-you took a big steaming crap on everything Gryffindor House is supposed to stand for and on everything I grew up believing about the Boy-Who-Lived! YOU LET ME DOWN!"

Jim quailed before Ron's accusations. After the last outburst, silence hung in the air, broken only by Ron's heavy breathing and sniffling from Jim.

"If you feel that way," said Jim quietly while he wiped his eyes, "why did you come back?"

For several seconds, Ron simply glared at Jim in annoyance and consternation. Then, he rolled his eyes almost theatrically.

"Merlin's balls, Jim!" he finally said. "After everything you and I have been through over the last three years, no matter how angry I might get at you—and I am furious with you right now!—do you really think I'm the sort of friend who'd abandon you while someone was trying to kill you? No matter how much you might deserve it for being, as I said, A BIG, STUPID GIT?!"

Jim stared at his best mate for several seconds, while his lower lip trembled. Then, with a loud sob, he rushed forward and pulled Ron into a bearhug. And after a moment of surprise and discomfort, Ron tentatively put his own arms around Jim and gave the emotional boy a consoling pat on the back.

"Pffft!" hissed Steve. "I sssaid he'd be back sssoon!"

An undisclosed location …

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?!" spat an astonished and angry Peter Pettigrew.

"I don't think my words were unclear, Mr. Norvegicus," said Narcissa Black (aka Miss Direction aka the Nott Regent), her hand resting on the noticeable bump in her stomach. "Nor was there any ambiguity in Mr. January's report. The Goblet of Fire named both Jim Potter and Harry Black as Champions! And on the same entry form, no less!"

"How could that have happened?" asked Augustus Rookwood sharply. "And how will that affect the ritual?"

Pettigrew's eye twitched as everyone in the room focused their attention on him. Everyone.

"Everything went perfectly during the performance of the ritual. There must have been a defect in the ritual the Selwyns provided. Some mistranslation from the Apophic Egyptian!"

Nearby, Cassilda Selwyn chuckled softly as she swirled a fluted glass containing a thick red liquid.

"How tedious, Mr. Norvegicus, to attempt to shift the blame to others for your own failures. The Selwyns do not make mistakes when it comes to the rituals of Lost Kemet. They are our birthright and both the root and heart of our power. And besides, had there been any flaw in the ritual, it simply would not have worked at all. This outcome—the naming of two Champions and especially on a single parchment—could only result from some error in your implementation!"

A feral snarl escaped from Peter's clenched teeth, but before he could respond, a different voice spoke up to hush all the others. A disturbingly sibilant and high-pitched voice. An infantile voice, in fact.

"Sssilence," said Voldemort. The Dark Lord was slightly larger now but not much. He still bore the form of a grotesque toddler as he sat in the lap of the Inferius who had once been Yetta Gershi. Poor Yetta herself was somewhat worse for wear. Most of her hair and teeth had fallen out, and at some point, she'd lost one of her eyes, leaving an open socket that dripped pus down the side of her face.

"Potter and Black are twinsss, dessspite their essstrangement," the blasphemous child hissed. "Perhapsss their joint entry wasss due to that and not any missstake on the part of dear Mr. Norvegicusss."

Peter exhaled in relief. "Yes, my lord. Undoubtedly, that was the cause."

"Misss Direction, sssend word to Mr. January. For now, he isss to obssserve both of our Championsss while we evaluate what effectsss this will have on the final ccceremony. Indeed, perhapsss we can find a ussse for both Jim Potter and Harry Black, the usssurper of the Houssse of Wilkesss."

"At once, my lord," said Narcissa.

"Misss Vessspertine, consssult your family'sss lore. Find out the implicationsss of thessse developmentsss."

"As you command, my lord," said Cassilda. Then, the hideous baby-thing twisted its head towards Peter.

"Alasss, Mr. Norvegicusss, whether or not you are to blame for thisss … unfortunate development, do you agree that … all hasss not gone according to plan?"

Peter swallowed painfully. "N-no, my lord. I concede that it has not."

"Indeed. And while you are truly a faithful and beloved ssservant, you underssstand that, for my Greatessst Ssservant, no allowance for failure can be permitted until the ritual of rebirth isss completed? Not even the mossst innocccent missstake, yesss?"

From across the room, there was a soft ki-ki-ki from Nagini. Among the humans in the room, Peter assumed (hoped?) that Augustus Rookwood at least felt some degree of compassion for his predicament, though Mr. Nemo's flawless Occlumency would not permit him to show it. The others in the room, he suspected, would enjoy what was about to come.

"I understand, my lord," said Peter as he dropped to his knees and then prostrated himself before the infant Voldemort. "I accept my deserved punishment."

"Sssuch devotion," whispered Voldemort. "Truly, it movesss me. CRUCIO!"

NEXT: The fallout from the Goblet's selection continues in unexpected ways.

Chapter Text

From the Daily Prophet (Early Sunday Edition)
1 November 1994

DISASTER AT THE GOBLET OF FIRE SELECTION!
MINISTRY AND HOGWARTS BOTH FAIL TO PROTECT STUDENTS! AGAIN!

By Rita Skeeter

The much-anticipated Selection Ceremony for the Triwizard Tournament Champions held at Hogwarts last night was marred, first by controversy, then by horror! The Ceremony initially proceeded as expected with all the pomp and circumstance the Ministry promised. Although perhaps the whole proceedings were doomed from the start due to the Ministry's bizarre decision to allow the Dark Lord McAvity to participate in the ceremony, crucially by being the dignitary tasked with placing into the Goblet of Fire the parameters according to which the Tournament's challenges will be designed.

Whether what happened next was due to some malice from McAvity or not, this reporter couldn't say, but the end results speak for themselves. The Goblet initially performed its functions as expected in naming the Champions. First was Bulgarian Quidditch star Viktor Krum for Durmstrang. The second selection was more unexpected, however: a Seventh Year Beauxbatons student named Flower De Lacore, about whom little is known, though this reporter noted that the entire Beauxbatons delegation seemed shocked by young Flower's selection. We at the Daily Prophet wish Flower the best of luck. Finally, to represent Hogwarts, the Goblet selected popular Sixth Year Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory, son of well-respected Ministry official Amos Diggory.

But it was only after those three Champions had left the room that things started to go horribly wrong. For the Goblet then unexpectedly spat out a fourth selection form, and even more surprisingly, it was a form with two names on it: Jim Potter and Harry Black! The former, of course, needs no introduction: the world-famous Boy-Who-Lived who saved us all from the scourge of You-Know-Who! The other is his estranged Slytherin sibling who captured the attention of the whole nation by achieving emancipation from his neglectful parents, the Lordship of an Ancient and Noble House, and extraordinary fame and fortune in his own right all before the age of 14! This reporter personally observed both siblings after their names were selected, and it was obvious from their reactions that neither had expected to be chosen in that manner.

But the forced inclusion of underage competitors in a contest for NEWT-level students was not the worst development, dear readers! No, it was the fact that, in addition to adding young Jim and Harry to the list of competitors, the Goblet was also tampered with to make the Challenges far more dangerous to all the Champions. Indeed, it appears that this simple academic competition has been transformed into a blood sport that will pit five bright young students against Class XXXXX monsters! Even worse, a loss of magic is now the penalty for any Champions who refuse to compete, and death is a possibility for dozens of judges, ministry officials, and foreign leaders if any attempt is made to deviate from the Goblet's lethal games!

It was at this moment that Harry Black stepped forward and, despite his Slytherin Sorting, showed bravery that would make any Gryffindor proud. Rather than risk the lives of those officials who might be punished by that vile vessel for trying to cancel the Tournament, he boldly insisted on competing despite the danger. Inspired by his heroism and calm self-assurance, the other four Champions all swiftly joined him. Truly, we at the Daily Prophet are moved by this display and wish success and safety to all five competitors.

Finally, to dispel some rumors which may have arisen since the events of last night, this reporter wishes to clarify that, apparently, both Jim Potter and Harry Black admitted to placing their names into the Goblet of Fire, with young Harry candidly admitting that he simply wished to prove he could bypass the protections set up by both Dumbledore and the Ministry to prevent underaged entrants. He was not alone in undertaking that challenge, as this reporter has learned that no fewer than seven students other than Black and Potter were able to bypass the Age Line and enter their names, though thankfully they were not also selected. A mark of pride for those resourceful students? Or a sad commentary on the capacity of our leaders to protect the future of Wizarding Britain from those who would do them harm? I'm sure my readers can decide that on their own.

Be that as it may, however, Headmaster Dumbledore was insistent that their selection was due to malfeasance by some other party. Perhaps the Ministry should take the opportunity to further interrogate the Dark Lord McAvity, who was the ICW representative who entered the flawed contest parameters and who even now has taken up residence at Hogwarts! Or could there be a connection between this fiasco and the horrific events which took place last summer at the Quidditch World Cup, events which the Ministry attributed to Peter Pettigrew and Augustus Rookwood? After all, those two Death Eater traitors remain at large after their bloody rampage through the Ministry last spring that left seventeen people dead and former Chief Auror James Potter's career in shambles. Indeed, perhaps the vindictive Pettigrew seeks to humiliate James Potter further by endangering both of his sons in this Tournament of Death!

Not that Potter (now the Junior Assistant to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office) can't endanger the Boy-Who-Lived on his own. For this reporter has learned that the form Jim Potter entered into the Goblet of Fire had been signed by his father, whose defense (such as it is) to a charge of child endangerment is that he didn't bother to read the form before signing it!

The Office of the Minister for Magic
7:30 a.m.

Cornelius Fudge slapped the paper down on his desk angrily and glared at the two men now sitting across the desk from him, with particular ire focused on the younger (and more vacuous) of the two.

"Ludo," said Cornelius, "explain to me, please, after everything that happened last night with the Tournament, why you thought it was a good idea to meet with Rita Skeeter and tell her every blasted thing that happened before the Ministry had a chance to issue a statement?!"

Bagman seemed on the verge of bursting into tears at the Minister's angry questioning.

"I didn't think anything of it, Corny! I mean, Minister Fudge," he wailed. "I'd already agreed to meet with Rita at the Three Broomsticks immediately after the Selection Ceremony! You know, just a few drinks and a quick interview! I had no way of knowing about the Goblet going all persnickety! I just thought it was going to be a puff piece! Something to make the Department look good!"

Crouch scoffed at Ludo's idiocy. "Yes, Ludo, well done as usual." Then, he turned to Fudge.

"Obviously, these weren't the sort of headlines we were looking for, but the truth would have come out soon enough. There were too many people in the room, and I doubt Albus would have concealed the nature of the Goblet's sabotage, particularly since he has three students now endangered by the Tournament."

Fudge shook his head in amazement. "How did this happen, Barty? Is there anything to the insinuations that it was McAvity? Or maybe Pettigrew and Rookwood?"

"You would have to ask Amelia about the latter two, though as far as I've heard through back channels, there are no indications that either of them is in Britain right now. That said, coming on the heels of the Quidditch World Cup, this certainly seems like it might be connected, given that both events were terrorist acts meant to embarrass our government on the international stage."

"Terrorist?!" yelped Ludo. Crouch glared at him before turning back to Fudge.

"At a minimum, the sabotage of the Goblet will endanger the lives of five high-profile schoolchildren. And worse, make us complicit in their endangerment. The only alternative is, as Albus suggested, to have curse breakers attempt to … well, for lack of a better term, disarm the Goblet as if it were a Muggle bomb. And if that went wrong, it would literally be a decapitation strike against Wizarding Britain, the Entente Magique, the Balkan Alliance, and the ICW itself, aside from all the other casualties."

Cornelius fumed. "I know, I know. Understand, Barty, if it were just my own safety …"

The Minister trailed off without finishing the thought. He didn't think his former political rival would believe him if he said he'd be willing to risk his own life for a chance to save those five children. Indeed, he wasn't entirely sure he believed it himself. It was easy to talk piously about self-sacrifice after the opportunity to do so had already been eliminated, after all.

"For what it's worth," Crouch said, "my assistant, Percy Weasley, and I will be taking up rooms at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future. I will be personally overseeing the investigation into what went wrong with the Goblet. Percy's young but quite brilliant. Hopefully, with his help, we can figure a way around all this."

"What about your other departmental duties?" Fudge asked. Crouch shrugged.

"I'd already begun delegating all my other responsibilities, as it was always my intention to retire from the DIMC next July. I'd planned to issue a formal letter of resignation in January, but no sense beating around the bush. With your consent, I would like to focus 100% of my attention on the Tournament."

"Of course, of course," Fudge said with a nod. "And perhaps while you're there, you can keep an eye on McAvity and see if perhaps he did have something to do with all this."

Crouch's eye twitched at the thought of staying in close quarters with the wizard he'd publicly accused of engineering the murder of his first wife.

"But in the meantime, I'm calling a Special Session of the Wizengamot for later this week. I want you to make a report on everything you've learned by then. Just you, Crouch." The Minister turned and directed a harsh glare towards Bagman.

"Ludo, you will stand next to him and be ready to answer any question put specifically to you. And otherwise, you will keep your mouth shut! And specifically, you will have no contact with Rita Skeeter. Do you understand me?"

Ludo nodded fearfully. Then, Fudge was distracted by another thought.

"By 'make us complicit,' I assume you refer to the fact that, as Minister, I will be personally obligated to help make sure the Challenges are set up according to whatever damned-fool instructions the Goblet chooses to issue. How is that going to …"

The Minister's query was interrupted by a sudden flash of light that heralded the arrival of a wooden box on the man's desk. All three men jumped in surprise. The box sat facing Minister Fudge, and he immediately noticed that his name was burned into the top lid in an elegant script just beneath an embossed image that appeared to be a cup with flames shooting out of it.

"… work?" Cornelius said wearily. "Well, it seems the Goblet has just answered that question for us."

He debated casting detection Charms to see if there were any traps or curses, but then decided that, at this point, it hardly mattered since the Goblet apparently had the power to summarily execute people at any range. Fudge opened the box and withdrew a scroll, which he unfurled. He spent several minutes studying his instructions with wide eyes before setting the scroll aside and rubbing his eyes in frustration.

"Minister?" Crouch asked cautiously.

"One of the Champions is Amos Diggory's boy, yes? I suppose that means we need to keep him out of the loop on any Challenges, or it would constitute cheating in the boy's favor. Which, in turn, means we can't just go to Wales or the Hebrides for this."

"Wales? The Hebrides?" Ludo inquired in confusion. Fudge ignored him and fixed a firm gaze on Barty Crouch.

"Here's your first Tournament-related task, Barty," he said ruefully. "Get on the Floo to the Dragon Reserve in Romania. Tell them we need five dragons ready for transport to Hogwarts no later than 27 November."

"Dragons," Crouch practically whispered. Beside him, Ludo went utterly pale.

"Specifically … nesting mothers."

The Durmstrang Ship
8:15 a.m.

Viktor Krum was on his way to debark from the Durmstrang ship for breakfast in the Hogwarts Great Hall (followed by a meeting with his fellow Champions), when Alexander Nott barked out his name before stepping back into his private cabin. The Durmstrang Head Boy looked angry for some reason. Viktor sighed and told his fellow Bogatyrs that he would join them later. Then, he followed Nott into the cabin. Idly, he looked around and noted that the Head Boy's room was bigger than the cabin he was sharing with three other boys. He briefly contemplated the fact that this would have been his room had Bulgarian nationalism not compelled him to turn down the Head Boy position in favor of flying for his national team.

Not that he would have traded his time with the Bulgarian team for anything, but it sometimes made his relations with the classmate who'd taken the Head Boy spot in place of him complicated.

"Head Boy wished for to speak to Viktor?" he said rather loudly before closing the door. In response, Alex looked at him in confusion.

"Zashto govorish na angliĭski vmesto na bŭlgarski?" he asked in Viktor's mother tongue. Krum just raised his chin.

"Viktor is speaking Englander instead of Bulgarian because Viktor wishes for to master Englander speech," the Bulgarian said mulishly. "Whenever Viktor slips into other languages but especially Bulgarian, Viktor … loses improvements what Viktor has gained."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Viktor, you don't need to be fluent in English. You already speak six languages as if you were born to them."

Viktor shook his head. "Alex learned Bulgarian. Viktor will learn Englander."

The Head Boy snorted softly. "Well, you can start by calling it English instead of Englander."

Viktor considered that. "Eng-leesh," he said slowly.

"Close enough. And enough about languages! I want to know why the hell I had to hear from Karkaroff at the staff meeting this morning that this damned Tournament is now potentially lethal!"

"Viktor is not afraid," he said defiantly. "Viktor is Bogatyr …!"

"Fuck the fucking Bogatyrs!" Alex suddenly yelled. "This isn't about damned House pride! This is about your life! Even if there's no way out of it, you could at least have come and told me yourself!"

"Viktor did not return with Headmaster until late!" the Seeker said defensively. "Head Boy was already asleep!"

"And stop calling me Head Boy!" Alex sputtered angrily. Despite himself, Viktor smiled.

"Why? Viktor likes it when Head Boy's face turn purple."

At that, Alex began to curse in a variety of foreign languages. Then, Viktor stepped forward and put his hands on Alex's shoulders.

"It was Alex who said that Alex and Viktor … that we … should be discreet. Until schooling is done. For both our families' sakes. Because Viktor's family … my family is old-fashioned and controlling and would not approve. And your family is … uzhasno."

"Horrible, yes. But just my wicked stepmother. The rest are all dead. And my … my Theo isn't uzhasno."

"Your Theo is also not family. Or else you could call him brother."

Alex looked unsettled at that, and Viktor pulled him into a hug.

"Be at peace, lyubimi," the Bulgarian said softly. "Viktor will survive Tournament. Survive and win. Then, Viktor will have fame and money enough for to come to England and protect you from wicked Mother of the Steppes. That is what Bogatyrs are for, after all."

Alex pulled back and looked into Viktor's eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm not a brave Bogatyr. I got Sorted into House Bolyarin. And we Boyars always know how to get what we want."

"Ha. And what does my Boyar want now?"

Alex's answer came in the form of a kiss.

A brief digression on housing at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang …

While the Hogwarts Houses generally stuck to their own tables for meals, the visiting students were encouraged to "mix things up" from day to day so that they would have the chance to meet Hogwarts students from different Houses (and, of course, students from the other foreign school). Most of the visitors found the intense focus that Britain placed on House selection (and at the age of eleven!) and the resulting inter-House conflicts to be quite odd.

Beauxbatons, for example, had nothing resembling Houses. Instead, students were randomly assigned by year to four-person suites, and then randomly reassigned after the Winter and Spring Breaks. (Beauxbatons did not associate those breaks with any Muggle holiday.) Starting in Third Year, students whose grades were high enough could request to be roommates, or even suitemates if four students became friends and wished to share a suite. Third-Year students taking more demanding courses could also request assignment to "quiet floors," while the very top performers in each academic year were allowed private rooms with en suite bathrooms. (It was a source of great frustration to Fleur Delacour that her uncle had forbidden her from drawing attention to herself by taking the top spot in her year, even if it would have afforded her a private room that would have facilitated many of her extracurricular activities.) With those exceptions, housing at Beauxbatons was randomized as much as possible.

Durmstrang, on the other hand, had seven Houses. Literally so—each House had its own separate residence hall on the Durmstrang grounds unconnected to the main facility. Referred to colloquially as dachas, each of these dormitories could house up to 200 students. Each dacha was designed to represent the character of the occupying House, from the flamboyant Bogatyr Tower with its solid gold cupola to the stately Neoclassical-inspired Bolyarin Manor to the foreboding Czarnobóg Hut, an enormous wooden structure that rests on what appear to be the legs of an enormous bird that can occasionally cause the whole building to rise up and walk around the grounds.

For the most part, there was very little rivalry between the Durmstrang Houses, largely because the Sortings did not take place until the start of each student's Third Year, which afforded two years to form friendships outside of the House structure. For those two initial years, students were grouped together in large, military-style barracks segregated only by gender. Also (and perhaps more importantly), the Durmstrang Quidditch teams were completely unrelated to the House system, with students from all seven Houses allowed to try out for one of eight teams (four junior teams for years 2-4 and four senior teams for years 5-7).

The Durmstrang students were as cagey about how their Sortings occurred as the Hogwarts students were about the Sorting Hat, but the process seemed to involve not only some kind of magical psychological evaluation, but also an assessment of the magical strengths demonstrated during the first two years and each student's general interests, preferences, background, and career goals. That said, each Durmstrang House had its own reputation, which also played a role in the Sorting process.

For example, House Bogatyr was associated with physical and mental excellence, a strong code of personal honor, and a reputation for recklessness. A Hogwarts graduate might well think of Bogatyr as comparable to Gryffindor but with fewer pranks and more calisthenics. House Bolyarin, in contrast, was associated with ambition, political acumen, teamworking, and leadership skills, and a British wizard might think of a Boyar as either a particularly aggressive (if not ruthless) Hufflepuff or perhaps an unusually nice Slytherin. The other Houses were, in no particular order, House Keraunos, House Zmeyevich, House Zorya, House Taltos, and House Czarnobóg, each of which had its good and bad qualities.

House rivalries were generally far less cutthroat at Durmstrang than the hostility between the Gryffindors and Slytherins that, in the past, had disrupted Hogwarts with violence on both sides. That said, there was a traditional friendly rivalry between both the Bogatyrs and the gruff Storm Kings of House Keraunos on one side and the mischievous Dragons of House Zmeyevich on the other. (The Dragons were bitterly disappointed that Draco Malfoy did not come to their House simply because of his name.) The rivalry between the Bogatyrs and the Black Wolves of House Czarnobóg has been far more serious and occasionally violent. Of course, everyone at Durmstrang seems to have a bit of a rivalry with the Black Wolves, as most of Durmstrang's sinister reputation among the larger Wizarding World could be attributed to House Czarnobóg.

Grindelwald had been a Black Wolf, after all.

(For more information about the history and culture of the Durmstrang Institute, see The History of Magic (12th Edition) by Bathilda Bagshot, included under Supplemental Reading.)

The Great Hall
8:30 a.m.

To Blaise Zabini's surprise, Fleur Delacour strode confidently over to the Slytherin table with a small wicker basket at her side. She did not so much as look at the rest of the Beauxbatons contingent, most of whom were presently sitting at the Ravenclaw table. The other Beauxbatons students were certainly watching her (glaring at her in some cases), but Fleur paid them no heed. And she did so in a way that let all of them know she was paying them no heed. As a Slytherin, Blaise was impressed.

"Bonjour, cousin," Fleur said brightly. "Your friend 'Arry has asked that we Champions meet later thees morning to discuss what 'appened last night and how we can work together going forward. I brought some food from zee care package Maman sent zis morning to share with my fellow Champions. Pastries straight from La Pâtisserie Enchanteresse in zee Quartier Magique. A nice brunch dominical over which to discuss our impending deaths. I thought I would share one weeth my favorite cousin."

"How unusually kind of you," Blaise said with a smirk. Despite his snark, the boy's eyes lit up at the mention of La Pâtisserie Enchanteresse, the best magical patisserie-boulangerie in all of France. Which basically made it the best such bakery in all the world as far as he was concerned.

"Yes, eet was," she said. "But zen, I remembered that all my favorite cousins are back in France, so I decided to offer something to you instead. Pain au chocolat?"

Blaise made a face. "Er, no thank you, Fleur. I have … a bad history with pain au chocolat. Have you anything else?"

Fleur shrugged and looked through the basket. "You may 'ave your choice of a mocha Paris-Brest or a religieuse à la fraise."

"Hmm. Well, I'm more of a Brest man than a religious one." Blaise smirked, while Fleur simply scoffed at the double-entendre. She reached into the basket and delicately handed him a Paris-Brest, which, for the uninitiated, was a two-layer choux pastry in the shape of a wheel, filled with a mocha-praline crème. The religieuse à la fraise, on the other hand, was a double pastry filled with a strawberry crème and coated with strawberry frosting. The pastry was called a religieuse because the French decided it was shaped like Catholic nun, though Blaise for one could not see the resemblance.

Despite his teasing, the Slytherin was grateful. While the food at Hogwarts was generally good, no house elf could compete with the artistry of magical French patisserie. Blaise invited his cousin to sit with him for a while before her meeting. Fleur duly took a seat next to Blaise and blandly ignored the stares from the other Slytherins around them.

"So, what happened in the Beauxbatons carriage after last night's insanity?" the boy asked between delicious bites. "Your uncle looked … displeased."

Fleur shrugged almost defiantly. "He'll get over it," she said with a noticeable lack of French accent.

And, in fact, Gabriel Delacour had been quite furious at how Fleur had thrown away years spent hiding beneath the notice of her classmates and instructors by getting herself selected as the Beauxbatons Champion. And also how she'd defied his direct orders in doing so. Of course, there was nothing to be done now that her name had come out, and, as Fleur herself had said as an after-the-fact justification, by being in the Tournament, she would have a chance to get closer to both Jim Potter and Harry Black. Unmollified, her uncle had confiscated her stealth suit, a very, very expensive bit of enchanted clothing which Le Bureau de L'Inconnu had assigned to her for "missions of national importance, not childish acts of rebellion."

Somewhat more troublingly, Chevalier Delacour also advised Fleur that she would not be returning home for Christmas with her family as expected. Rather, Jacques and Apolline Delacour would be coming to Scotland just after the New Year in time for the Second Challenge, along with Fleur's young sister, eight-year-old Gabrielle. The little girl had been named after their uncle, the older (and more politically important) Gabriel Delacour. Uncle Gabriel darkly intimated his hope that Fleur's parents could "talk some sense" into her. Or failing that, that the presence of Fleur's young sister at the Tournament might "impress upon you the risks your defiance might impose on your loved ones." She was distracted from her dark musings when Blaise peered into the gift basket.

"I must say," he said with a cheeky grin. "It's a bit surprising that your mother sends you this much pastry as a 'care package.' However will you keep your girlish figure?"

Fleur laughed brightly. "It is zee oddest thing, cousin. I can eat what I want and never gain any weight."

"I imagine that's a source of endless frustration to your classmates."

She turned and looked over at her Beauxbatons classmates at the Ravenclaw table.

"Oui," she said. "I certainly hope so."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Great Hall, Lee Jordan went pale at the sight of a particular barn owl flapping into the Hall and heading in his direction. He grew even paler when he took the envelope it carried and noticed that it was addressed to him in red ink. Red ink because Lee's uncle, Mundungus Fletcher, was too professional to send a Howler to bellow out details about the family business in a public forum.

And indeed, the letter, once opened, appeared to be an innocuous note from his mother full of nothing but gossip about various family members and neighbors back in London, and the ink was black instead of red. But off to one side, there was a tiny inkblot that, if one looked at it just right, resembled a little handprint. A black hand, as it were. Lee looked around to make sure no one was watching. Then, he rubbed his thumb over the inkblot and whispered a word. Instantly, the black ink swam around on the page and changed from black to red, forming a message only he could read.

To My Idiot Nephew,

I have seldom been as FUCKING PISSED at a family member as I am right now, and I want you to know that if you weren't my baby sister's boy, there would be some "mutual acquaintances" waiting for you at the next Hogsmeade Weekend to introduce you to the Knee-Cap Breaking Curse, a rare bit of magic that is cast with a Beater's bat in place of a wand.

I hope I don't have to explain to you the nature and enormity of your foul-up, but since you made said foul-up, you've apparently gone stupid, so I will explain just in case. YOU DO NOT GIVE 50-1 ODDS TO ANYONE WITHOUT CONSULTING ME. AND IF YOU DO GIVE OUT 50-1 ODDS FOR SOME INANE REASON, YOU DO NOT ACCEPT A BET LARGER THAN YOU (AND BY YOU, I MEAN ME) CAN COVER!

Because of your thoughtless blunder, I now owe a grand total of TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND GALLEONS to a quartet of Hogwarts students! And of the four, two are cousins to my indispensable numbers guy, one is Lord of an Ancient and Noble House historically known for horrifically murdering people who piss them off, and the fourth one is THE FUCKING MONTESSI HEIR!

So, nephew, here is what you are going to do. In no particular order but as soon as possible, you will:

• BEG your two ginger friends for a few weeks' forbearance on the 5000 Galleons we owe them. I should have that much scraped together by the end of November out of bets on the First Task and our "transport fee" activities.
• Go to Blaise Zabini. SHOW him the utmost respect! And ask him (by which I mean BEG HIM) to intercede with Harry Black on our behalf and for the two of them to grant us a six-month forbearance in which to come up with the 20K we owe to them.
• In the meantime, until the debt is paid, you will consider yourself the personal servant of both Black and Zabini. Inform them of this and let them know that they should not hesitate to call upon you (or, through you, upon me) for any services they require up to and including killing somebody!
• If they do want us to kill somebody, thank your lucky stars it won't be you doing the deed, simply because I promised your mother that I would never let you into that side of the business. Let me know immediately through the special channel and I'll call in a contractor.

I love you, nephew, but love will only get you so far where our little thing is concerned. Never, ever, EVER screw up like this again. You make me look bad in front of others whose opinions matter. And that's something I can't tolerate even for your mother's sake.

Burn after reading.

MF

Lee read the letter three times before putting his thumb over the tiny black hand sigil next to Mundungus Fletcher's initials to encrypt the missive once more. Then, he looked up across the room towards the Slytherin table, where Blaise Zabini sat next to one of the French birds, the one who'd beaten the odds to become Champion (and Fleur Delacour had been such a dark horse that no one had even made a bet on her). The Weasley Twins weren't down for breakfast yet, so he might as well deal with the scariest of the four people mentioned first.

Of course, they were all scary in one way or another. Lee slept in the same dorm as the Weasley Twins, and there were all kinds of stories about the new Lord Wilkes. But Blaise Zabini was a Slytherin, the future capo of the Italian Wizarding Mafia, and the son of the notorious Widow Zabini. Plus, there were rumors floating around that Zabini might be into blokes.

Not that there was anything wrong with that in the abstract, of course. But while Uncle Dung had promised Lee wouldn't have to kill for Zabini, the boy couldn't help but wonder what other "services" might still be on the table. Then, he simply shrugged.

"Merlin," he muttered under his breath. "The things a guy has to do to make an honest Galleon these days."

Blackstone
9:00 a.m.

Sirius Black fumed as he read the Daily Prophet but fought to bring his emotions under control. The last thing he wanted was for someone to rush towards him with a Calming Draught in hand like he was a bloody invalid. And while histrionic in tone, the article about the Goblet selections from the prior night had no new information beyond what Harry had told him in their mirror-call.

Across the table sat Sirius's house guest, Serena Zabini, who gave him a reassuring look.

"I am certain that the Headmaster and the others are doing whatever they can to see to your godson's safety. And besides, Harry has proven himself to be most resourceful."

"Resourcefulness can only get you so far against a XXXXX monster, though," Sirius said ruefully. "Most grown wizards wouldn't last more than a minute against one."

Serena laughed softly. "Most grown wizards wouldn't last a minute against Harry either, I suspect."

"True. I just … I just want to be there to help him."

"And you will be, mio caro. But the first Challenge is not for several weeks. He has time. You have time."

With that, the Countess set aside her napkin and rose from her seat.

"Come, amico mio. Breakfast is over. Let us dress for the day before us."

Sirius blinked. "Where are we going?"

"First to your owlery. I shall send a message back to my family in Italy. We have many connections across Europe. I shall, as the Muggles say, 'put out feelers' and see what information there is about who might have done this thing to your godson. Then, I shall reach out to my dear cousin, Gabriel, who is here as one of the Beauxbatons judges, and find out what he knows and what he suspects."

Serena walked over and put a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "And then, you shall take me to Diagon Alley and show me the sights of Wizarding Britain. Let us have one day free of worries and concern before we hurl ourselves into doing what we most for those we care about. Perhaps dinner at Summerisles, about which I have heard so much."

Sirius looked up at the glamorous witch. "And after Summerisles?"

She smiled and crooked an eyebrow. "Then, we shall see where the night takes us."

Hogwarts
10:00 a.m.

Harry had picked an empty third-floor classroom with a lovely view of the Black Lake for his meeting with the other Champions. Krum and Diggory were the first two to arrive and, despite the seriousness of their situation, the two were nevertheless engaged in a debate about Seeker tactics. Delacour came next with a small wicker basket under her arm.

"Ah hope you all 'ave an appetite," she said brightly as she opened the basket to unleash the irresistible aroma of French patisserie. "Maman has sent me a care package."

"That's very gracious of you, Fleur," began Harry, "but to be honest I'm not very—Oooo are those Napoleons?!"

The French witch sniffed disdainfully. "Zey are called mille-feuille," she said tartly. "In Magical France, we do not glamourize ze memory of ze despot Emperor."

Harry chuckled. "Holding a grudge over the name of a pastry since the early 19th century. How very French."

Fleur nodded. "Oui. And how very British of you to say so."

Flummoxed by the exotic French pastries (about which he knew very little) and their relationship to some bloke named Napoleon (about which he knew nothing), Cedric peered into the basket and retrieved something that seemed doughnut-like but oblong and covered in chocolate. Fleur helpfully identified it as an éclair, and as he bit into it, he was surprised to find it filled with a very sweet cream of some kind. He swiftly grabbed a napkin to wipe his face.

His father wouldn't like it if he made a mess of himself after all.

"Where is Potter?" he asked Harry. "You did tell him about this meeting, right?"

"Of course," Harry said sharply. "I sent word through Hermione."

Cedric put up a hand. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise. But I know you two have that Oath of Enmity thing going."

At that, Fleur and Viktor looked at Harry in surprise.

"I did not know such things existed in Britain," said Fleur. "Zey were banned in France after zee Revolution."

Viktor snorted. "More that they were irreverent after the Revolution, yes? You had no aristocrats left who could swear such things against one another."

"Irrelevant," Fleur corrected. "And no, we did not. But zee Magical Legislature also passed laws making eet a crime to improperly influence the mind of another wizard or witch by any means."

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I should like to talk with you sometime about those laws, Fleur. I'm of the opinion that the British laws on that topic are … lax."

"What about your lot, Viktor?" asked Cedric. "I don't know much about the Balkan Alliance. Do you still have … aristocrats, I guess?"

"Depends on country. Balkan Alliance is many nations bound by treaty, just like …" He paused in annoyance and then snapped his fingers towards Fleur. "Your thing."

"Zee Entente Magique," Fleur supplied. "Zee British use zee French title for our alliance."

Viktor absorbed that. "Like Entente Magique. Balkan Alliance is many nations. Some still have lords and ladies after fashion. My homeland of Bulgaria does. So do Poland and … Viking places?"

"Scandinavia?" guessed Cedric, who was surprised that correcting the Bulgarian's odd linguistic quirks seemed to have become a parlor game.

"Da. Those governments still have hered ... herdit ... rulerships passed down upon death."

"Hang on," Harry interrupted in some confusion. "Why are there Scandinavian countries in the Balkan Alliance?"

Viktor shrugged. "Balkan Alliance started in Balkan countries. Many other nations joined later so that we could match …" He trailed off and looked back and forth between Harry and Cedric somewhat sheepishly. Fleur, less embarrassed by the politics involved, finished his thought.

"He means zat most Eastern European magical nations joined zee Balkan Alliance for zee same reason zat most Western European magical nations joined zee Entente Magique. Independently, zee smaller nations are no match for Wizarding Britain, but together, we can pool our resources and exert power in zee ICW equivalent to zat of your nation."

The Bulgarian nodded, somewhat worried that he might have offended the two British students, though they were obviously more confused than bothered. "Balkan Alliance has existed in some form since Secrecy of Statute came into being. Was logical for smaller nations to ally with us."

"And, naturellement, France was zee only logical nation to become zee backbone of zee Western alliance."

"Naturellement," Harry said dryly before turning to the main topic of the morning's discussion. His plan had been to brainstorm likely Class XXXXX creatures that the Goblet might select as obstacles for the first challenge, as well as probable formats for the Challenges. He was quite surprised to find that Cedric Diggory of all people was already on the ball.

"Right, then," said Diggory as he pulled a stack of papers out of a bag and set them on the table. With a flick of his wand, the Gemino Charm made copies for everyone.

"This is a spreadsheet that lists every Challenge that has appeared in the Triwizard Tournament from 1792 all the way back to 1552, which is as far back as we could find comprehensive records available in the Hogwarts library. There are earlier references to the Tournament in various older editions of Hogwarts: A History, but they didn't discuss in depth what the Challenges were. But this gives us fifty Tournaments to work with."

"Impressive that you got all this done so fast, Diggory," said Harry. "And, no offense, but how did you get this done so fast?"

"Well, I'm a Hufflepuff dating a popular Ravenclaw prefect, so that's two Houses who are invested in my doing well. Or at least surviving. And I'd be grateful if you all called me Cedric."

The others agreed with that and invited everyone to use their first names as well (even though Harry, Fleur, and Viktor were already on a first name basis).

"Unfortunately, I don't know how useful this will be for the First Challenge," Cedric continued. "Other than 1792, the Tournament never required a XXXXX creature for any tasks."

"Perhaps," said Fleur. "But zis is still useful. It is likely that zee nature of the Challenges themselves were not changed in 1792 save for zee addition of a more lethal creature."

"Quite," said Cedric, who blanched at Fleur's casual reference to "lethal creatures."

Just then, the door opened, and a flushed Jim Potter entered. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Went to the wrong room."

"Well, better late than never," Harry said blandly. "Please, have a seat and a pastry, and we'll fill you in on what we've learned so far."

At that point, the other three Champions immediately noticed the rising tension in the room. Jim sat as far from Harry as the size of the table would allow, and he continually insisted on questioning every proposal Harry offered. For his part, Harry responded with barely restrained sarcasm to every comment Jim made. It didn't help that being in close proximity to his "idiot Gryffindor brother" was giving Harry a headache that cried out for a potion of some kind.

After two hours of brainstorming, the Champions still had little to go on, but the consensus was that the First Challenge would probably require them to get uncomfortably close to the targeted creature, either to do something to it or to take something from it. Mercifully, no task in recorded history had required a Champion to attack or even directly provoke a First Task creature, so they wouldn't have to kill the thing. On the other hand, under most Tournament guidelines, they would lose a significant number of points if they did kill the creature. So just shooting the thing with the Killing Curse, even if they could get legal authority to do so, would likely be treated as a Tournament failure.

Adding another complication, while the Champions could compare notes on what the First Task would be, they could not simply jointly come up with the optimal strategy. If anything, they would have to take efforts to make sure they weren't copying one another. According to the Tournament Rules, if a Champion used a technique for the First Challenge that the Goblet of Fire deemed too similar to one a prior Champion had already used, the later Champion would suffer an automatic 10-point penalty to the final score, and for each subsequent Champion to use the same solution, the penalty would increase by an additional 10 points. The pre-penalty scores for each Challenge were taken from the average of all the individual judges' scores which could range from zero to 50. If penalties imposed by the Goblet reduced the Champion's score to zero or below, it would be treated as a failure to participate, with an accompanying loss of magic! The very thought of that shook the quintet, and while they wanted to help each other against the Challenge, the nature of it also made them wary of revealing too much of their plans.

"I guess that means using a broom is out," said Jim to Viktor. "You're better at it than me, I reckon. So you should be the one to have that option."

Viktor waved him off. "Viktor has seen both Jim Potter and Harry Black on broom. Broom riding may not even be useful option. Bagman said Champions could only use wand and can take no magic items into arena."

Jim looked glum at that. Then, he glanced over at Harry who seemed amused that his suggestion of using a broom was shot down so quickly. Jim quickly looked away and fought down the anger that his father's idiotic Imperius screwup had instilled in him.

Finally, the meeting broke up, but the five students agreed to meet again regularly. To Harry's surprise, Jim was the last to leave. Harry crooked an eyebrow expectantly in his direction.

"So … are you okay?" Jim asked.

"In what sense?" Harry asked cautiously.

"I mean … are you okay being around me? You know, with the Oath thing."

"I am acutely aware of the Oath thing. But I can focus past it … for the most part."

"Because of Occlumency?" Jim asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry said dryly. "Our government frowns upon Occlumency, and I am a loyal supporter of the Ministry's laws and policies. I would no more pursue a study of Occlumency than I would become an illegal Animagus."

Jim glowered at that but didn't rise to the bait. "Fair enough, I reckon. So do you have any ideas who might have wanted us both in the Tournament?"

Harry shrugged. "I've got ideas. Your godfather seems like the most obvious suspect, what with him being a Death Eater with a grudge against both your family and me as an individual. I still don't know why he put both our names on the same form like that. Possibly it was just a screwup on his part."

Jim pushed down a sudden spike of anger over Harry's insults against Peter Pettigrew. It was ridiculous that Jim might still feel any sympathy for the traitor, but between a lifetime looking up to the man as a beloved uncle combined with the Imperius-induced compulsion to distrust Harry, he couldn't quite help the impulse.

"Any other thoughts?" he asked.

Harry thought about it for a moment. "Assuming this isn't Death Eater-related, I'm wondering if it's to do with Ludo Bagman."

"Bagman?" Jim asked in surprise. "Why him? He's a complete moron!"

"That he is. But he's the only person involved with the Tournament who seems to view our addition with barely restrained glee rather than horror. And I am reliably informed that he has gambling issues. I suspect a lot of Galleons changed hands when our names came out like that. I've got people looking into it."

Jim looked at him suspiciously. "People?"

"Yes. People." Harry reached up to massage his temples. "Are we done, Potter? You're really starting to give me a headache. I don't mean that as an insult. Talking to you without hexing or even insulting you is literally giving me a headache."

Jim nodded slowly. "If you say so. But I was hoping we could also talk about the other thing."

"What other thing?" Harry snapped irritably.

"… Vernon Dursley."

At that name, Harry openly sneered at Jim. "What about the dead walrus?"

Jim frowned in response to Harry's cruel description of the dead man who was presently haunting Jim's home. The dead man who was quite insistent that his death was somehow Harry's fault.

"I'm sorry I came after you the other day after the newspaper article came out," Jim said suddenly. "I was upset, and I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Par for the course," Harry muttered under his breath. Jim ignored the dig.

"But I assume you've had your people or whatever looking into that as well. I was hoping you'd share what you've learned."

Harry lifted his chin defiantly. "And if I've learned that she really did it? Would you want to know that?"

Jim flinched. "I would certainly want to hear what evidence you had."

"Well, I'm not the one to talk to about that, Jim. But if you want answers, you should start by asking your mother if she's an Occlumens or not. You know, that legally suspect ability you just accused me of having? Because if she does and she's a Level 4 or higher, she can beat Veritaserum and claim to be innocent of crimes she committed."

Jim studied his estranged brother for a moment. "You know, it's funny. I honestly can't tell if you hope she did do it or she didn't."

Harry snorted. "You want to hear something even funnier? I honestly can't tell either. Now is that all?"

The other boy's face hardened in response to the dismissal. "Yeah, that's all. Thanks for nothing!"

Jim turned and strode angrily out of the room. The second he was gone, Harry staggered slightly, and he grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself while closing his eyes against the aching head pain and the sudden vertigo that were plaguing him. After a minute or so, Harry collected himself and left the room as well to head for the Infirmary in search of a Headache Potion.

Severus Snape's Quarters
3:00 p.m.

Snape sighed in irritation at the soft knock on his door. He'd been up the night before assisting Dumbledore in a futile effort to learn who had sabotaged the Goblet of Fire. He'd also made an early morning visit to Malfoy Manor to consult with Lucius. There had been no changes to Snape's Dark Mark (and, of course, Lucius no longer carried any such marking), and from their mutual resources there were no signs of the Dark Lord's presence in Britain. But Lucius's instinct was that whatever was happening with the Triwizard Tournament was somehow connected to the World Cup attack. And between the Dark Mark in the sky, the anti-Apparation wards identical to those used by Death Eaters, and the presence of the late, unlamented Tiberius Nott on the scene, it was clear that the attack bore Voldemort's fingerprints. Its purpose was still elusive, though the fact that the Goblet of Fire was present at both events was certainly suggestive.

Irritated by the interruption, Snape strode to the door and pulled it open. It was Lily. He froze in surprise for a moment before composing himself and inviting her inside.

"What brings you to see me, Lily?" he asked. Lily was visibly nervous, he noticed, and she wrung her hands while sitting down on the couch.

"Is this about last night?" he added.

"No, not as such. Although … if you know anything new …"

"No new developments since last evening, I'm afraid. I'm sure the Headmaster will apprise you of any new information."

"Of course, of course," Lily said distractedly before gathering her wits.

"I'm here about something else. Something pertaining to what we discussed last week in my chambers. About … Occlumency."

Instantly, Snape's wand was in his hand, and he cast several detection and privacy Charms, including a Charm specifically to detect Animagi. None registered, which was to be expected as Snape had fitted his quarters and his Potions lab with wards designed to repel insects of all kinds, and, at the moment, that was the only type of Animagus of concern to him. Once that was done, he nodded to his confused guest.

"Go on," he said without explanation of his spellcasting. Lily stared at him and then shrugged.

"Based on what you told me and … some evidence I discovered at 4 Privet Drive, I … I now believe you were correct earlier. I am an Occlumens but have somehow forgotten about it. Just as I apparently took a course on Muggle Pharmacology and have also forgotten about it."

She took a deep breath. "I'm here asking for your help to recover those lost memories. I … I think I really did murder Vernon Dursley, but … I need to know, one way or the other."

Snape stared at her in consternation. "Why?!"

Lily stared back in equal confusion. "What do you mean why?! If my memories have been tampered with, why wouldn't I want to know the truth?"

"Because it is clear that your ignorance is intentional on your part and has, in fact, provided you with your strongest defense against murder charges and an eventual Azkaban sentence!"

"You can't know that!" the witch exclaimed.

"It is by far the most likely explanation for the facts before us. And attempting to undo the memory alterations you have inflicted upon yourself, aside from the real danger of damaging your psyche, will also leave you vulnerable to being made to testify against yourself!"

Lily buried her face in her hands. "I understand that there are risks, Severus. But … I can't deal with simply not knowing. With always wondering if there's a part of myself that's … evil."

The Slyltherin snorted. "I would hardly consider you evil for engineering the death of the man who had abused your child before trying to murder him with a doxy swarm."

"But what else would I … no, would she do if that part of me gets back in charge. For better or worse, the Lily Potter sitting before you right now considers murdering someone in cold blood to be unthinkable. Who knows what other unthinkable thoughts I might be having and don't realize it?!"

Snape started to respond, but Lily interrupted.

"Sev, we both know you have contingent Occlumency triggers of your own. How can you live with knowing that somewhere deep inside your mind, there is another you and you don't know what it's capable of?!"

Something in the way she framed the question brought Snape up short, and his face was suddenly stricken. Finally, he relented.

"What you propose will require an extensive use of Legilimency over a period of several weeks to map out your interior psychic architecture and determine which of your memories are real and which are false. The process is arduous, painful, and ultimately may be a waste of time. And as I've said, you may well find that answers you find are not worth the price you pay to obtain them."

"Maybe, but it's a price I'm willing to pay," said Lily earnestly. "I'm not afraid."

Snape growled softly and leaned forward. "You will be, Lily. You will be."

The Muggleborn witch stared at him for several seconds. "Did … did you just quote Yoda at me?"

Snape scowled and leaned back in his chair. "My ward, Justin Finch-Fletchley. While my intention was for our relationship to be strictly transactional, he and his family have shown a desire for us to develop a familial relationship despite how extremely distantly we're related. At one point that included … movie night."

Despite herself, Lily laughed at the thought of Severus Snape being press-ganged into watching The Empire Strikes Back with a family of Muggles.

"I must confess," Snape continued, "that I understood none of the plot, but I found the dialogue of that little house elf in the swamp quite compelling."

Blackstone
9:30 p.m.

"This was a mistake," said the Countess Serena Zabini while looking up at the ceiling.

Sirius Black, who was lying next to her and still trying to catch his breath, looked at her in concern and perhaps a little offense.

"Well, look, I know I'm a bit out of practice, but I didn't think it was that bad."

Serena looked over at her paramour fondly and smiled at his remark. "You were most impressive, tesoro. It was an enjoyable experience I have not had in some time. I was referring, however, to the larger situation."

"Oh?" Sirius asked in confusion. "How so?"

Privately, Black was suddenly nervous. He'd known, after all, what happened to her seven husbands, though nothing against the Countess had ever been proven. But he'd assumed he'd be safe so long as they didn't actually tie the knot. The witch's currently pensive expression now made him wonder how safe he was.

Serena didn't answer at first. Rather, she rose from the bed and picked up her wand before summoning first a satin robe to don and then her nearby purse. From within it, she removed a small carton bearing the label Pall Mall. The witch walked over towards the window while lighting a cigarette with her wand. She inhaled deeply and then blew out a large puff of smoke. Behind her, Sirius got out of bed as well and followed her, not bothering with a robe.

"Those are Muggle cigarettes," he said in surprise. "You smoke?"

She turned to him as if surprised by such a silly question.

"I am Italian," she said simply.

"Ah, of course." Sirius reached out and took the lit cigarette from her before taking a puff himself. Then, he broke out into a coughing fit before quickly handing the cigarette back.

"Sorry – coff, coff – I used to be a smoker before Azkaban. Fourteen years of forced withdrawal. You know what the Muggles say: These things will kill you."

Sirius laughed. Serena did not.

"So," the wizard said returning to the subject. "Why was this a mistake in your eyes?"

"It was a mistake, Sirius Black, because I let passion overcome my reason. If I allow this to continue, I believe I would come to love you. And you me. And inevitably, we would marry. And then you would die."

A chill ran down Sirius's bare back, and he suddenly wished he'd put on a robe after all.

"Die. Like your seven husbands did?"

"Eight," Serena replied. "No one ever remembers my first husband, Paolo."

Sirius looked at her strangely and waited for her to continue. She took another drag on the Pall Mall and began her story.

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl who grew up on a large estate in Italia. Her magic was strong, as was the magic of her family. But she was young and impetuous and had read too many tales of amore e passione. In time, she went off to school at Beauxbatons. But every summer she came home, and from her window, she watched in delight as Paolo, the handsome Squib who worked at the villa as a stable boy, attended to his duties. Very frequently with his shirt off. When she was a little older, the girl developed quite an interest in horseback riding, and she came to know Paolo very well indeed."

She smiled fondly at the memory.

"After the little girl completed her seventh year of schooling, she returned home only to find that her family had found her a husband. A wealthy and influential German potioneer some thirty years her senior. The little girl—no longer so little, of course—was horrified. In a fit of childish tantrum, she ran to Paolo and begged him to run away with her. As smitten with her as she was with him, the two eloped. They were happy together for a time, and soon, the young bride was with child."

Serena took another drag as her face turned colder.

"And then, one day, Paolo was run over and killed by a speeding Muggle motorist who'd had too much to drink, and the shock of it caused his young bride to miscarry."

The witch turned away from the window to look deeply into Sirius's eyes.

"I returned to the House of Zabini with nothing, hoping they would take pity on me. And they did, after a fashion. They erased all evidence of my marriage to Paolo and soon after, I was married off to that same rich wizard. He was much older than I, but kind and quite besotted with me. And in time, I came to truly care for him. Then, one day, less than a year into our marriage, my second husband was working on a potion in his laboratory when something went wrong, and he died from poisonous fumes. I was not yet twenty and already a widow twice over.

"It was only then that my grandmother, the matriarch of the House of Zabini told me the truth. I was a Maledictus, the inheritor of a blood curse passed down through the women of our family, and the first woman to show signs of the curse in three generations."

Serena gave a brittle smile.

"She actually congratulated me. For while it was a curse for me, it was a blessing for my family. You see, the Zabini Maledictus manifests as a form of fate binding. Inevitably, I would be drawn to men who were doomed to die, and they would be drawn just as inexorably to me. While the curse itself was not selective, with Divination, it was a simple matter to point me in the direction of men of wealth and power and influence who were surrounded by omens of ill fortune and then, as the saying goes, see what developed. Those I came to care about and even love would come to feel the same towards me and offer to take my hand in matrimony. And in due course, they would die and leave everything to the Zabini coffers."

"Eight husbands," Sirius whispered.

"Yes. And I loved every one of them." Serena vanished the cigarette with a wandless gesture and then took one of Sirius's hands in her own. "That is why this was a mistake which cannot continue. Because if we do, I think I would fall in love with you, and you with me. And I would make you happy in the time left to us. But when you died, I fear your godson would hold it against me regardless of fault. And I would not have him look at me with hatred for something not of my doing or my desire."

Sirius swallowed deeply. "So … you think that because you are attracted to me, it means I'm …"

He trailed off, unable to complete the thought. So, she did it for him.

"My curse has left me a bride and a widow eight times over, Sirius. I have become very sensitive to its workings."

Then, she took his hand and turned it over before gently tracing her fingers along the life-line of his palm, a quick Divination to confirm what she already knew to be true. She looked up at him sadly.

"I am sorry, truly sorry. But the portents are unmistakable."

Sirius's eyes widened. "How … how long?"

She looked at his palm again. "At least six months. Perhaps as much as two years. But certainly no more. I am sorry, but I cannot say more precisely than that."

The wizard nodded slowly. "Of course. Divination is … an imprecise art. But I thank you for your … insight. And for both the kindness and the pleasure you have shown me tonight."

He lifted her hand and kissed it before summoning a robe for himself and retiring to his own bedchamber. He lay in bed staring out the window at the night sky while grappling with what Serena Zabini had told him. But eventually, sleep came.

Later that night, Sirius Black had The Nightmare for the first time.

"SAY MY NAME! SAY MY NAME!"

NEXT: As the Wizengamot weighs in on the Tournament debacle, young Lord Wilkes takes the opportunity to meet up with his "father" once more.

AN2: As you might guess from Fleur's interactions with Blaise and with Harry, I watch a lot of The Great British Bake-Off.

AN3: In addition to this new chapter, please check out the companion piece published alongside it: Supplemental Reading, which will contain background information that might be of interest to POS readers. The first few chapters will concern the history of the Durmstrang Institute and the political structure and history of Eastern Europe.

AN4: What the Sinister Man is reading:

Hermione Granger and the Theft of Magic by Scribbling Steve. It's several years after the defeat of Voldemort, and Harry is an Auror assigned to track down occult tomes that have fallen into Muggle hands. His job leads him to Hermione Granger, a Muggle grad student whose research threatens the Statute of Secrecy. Only it turns out that she's not a Muggle at all, but rather the first Muggleborn to manifest powers since 1982. Harry must help Hermione to master her powers and quickly while working to unravel the conspiracy of why Britain has seen no Muggleborns since Voldemort's first defeat.

The Fragile House of Black by Fantismal and Jormandugr. Kreacher defies his orders and comes to Sirius Black to beg him to save Regulus. And everything changes as a result. The main story is Power the Dark Lord Knows Not, which is 72 chapters and completed. There are 18 side stories that flesh out the House of Black. A truly mammoth project and I can't believe I only just found it.

Dumbledore's Secret by JukeHero461. How the last meeting between Harry and Dumbledore in OotP should have gone.

When In Doubt, Obliviate by Sarah1281 (the same author as the beloved Oh God, Not Again!). Through a ridiculous contrivance, Gilderoy Lockhart adopts baby Harry, in the process somehow saving Sirius from arrest and the Longbottoms from insanity. Glorious crack and hilariously funny.

AN5: Special thanks to my Discord editors: _Paryanoia, BlueWater5, Earwing, EssayOfThoughts | Aich, Farsight, JimRavenCruisin' (Gods of Irony), kean, Krisni, MadNova, Plantae\, PrettyPinkCupcake, Sakkiko. Sehrrhes, skyari, and TrendyTreky. With special shout-outs to MadNova for help with the Italian and Plantae for help with the Bulgarian. Thanks guys!

AN6: Vital Statistics: Reviews: 19,003. Followers: 20,888. Favorites: 19,193. Communities: 256 Discord followers: 5,610! Go Team POS!

Chapter Text

4 November 1994
The Wizengamot Chamber

As Artemus Podmore fiddled with the papers on his small desk in the Wilkes Box, Harry sat next to him placidly. The young Lord Wilkes was wearing his best formal robes, but as his solicitor and proxy was on hand to speak for his House, Harry himself was not obligated to wear the official Wizengamot attire. While Harry enjoyed the power that came from the Lordship of an Ancient and Noble House, he was not a fan of the "uniform" that was expected of those who actually sat in these chairs to cast votes. The plum-colored robes did not go well with his complexion, after all, and the hats were utterly ridiculous. And if Harry needed any confirmation of that fact, he needed only to look across the chamber to the Potter Box, where poor James Potter looked miserable in his own ill-fitting plum robes. For over a decade, Peter Pettigrew had been the proxy for House Potter, and Harry suspected the day of the rat's appointment might have been the last time James wore that outfit. At least the robes didn't look moth-eaten.

Beside James sat his Heir, Jim Potter, who looked just as uncomfortable attending these august proceedings while wearing his school uniform. Apparently, all of Jim's formal attire had been sold during House Potter's "downsizing," and a school uniform was probably the nicest clothes he had. The two siblings briefly made eye contact from across the room. Jim glowered. Harry sneered. But then they were both distracted as the court scribe (a much younger man than the utterly ancient fellow who'd been in office the last time Harry had been here) called for House Potter. James rose stiffly, adjusted his collar nervously, and responded.

"James Lord Potter speaks for House Potter." James grimaced slightly before adding "One vote."

Despite his best efforts at occluding, Harry still smirked. Then, shaking off the vindictive mood, he looked around at the rest of the assembly. There were quite a few absences on account of the limited notice of the special session (and perhaps because, unlike the last special session, this one didn't involve the escape of several high-ranking Death Eaters whose escape from Azkaban invoked issues of national security).

Sirius was in the Black box, with Archie Goodwin sitting beside him and his proxy, Hestia Jones, in her own plum robes. ("I will disinherit myself and give up my Lordship before I ever allow myself to be seen in that hat!" he'd said.) Down in the well of the Wizengamot, a special table had been set up for various witnesses to be called. The three real Triwizard Champions sat there. Fleur and Viktor were each accompanied by their respective Headmasters. While Maxime looked bored with the proceedings and disdainful of the medieval ambience, Karkaroff looked visibly anxious to be here. According to Sirius, the last time Igor Karkaroff had been in the Wizengamot Chamber had been in 1981, and he'd been chained up in an iron cage after three weeks in Azkaban, so the room obviously held unpleasant memories. Cedric sat nervously next to his father, Amos Diggory, who seemed almost thrilled at the attention his family was receiving even if it was at the cost of his son's life being put in danger.

The final seat at the witness table was taken by Alexander McAvity, who seemed neither frightened like Karkaroff nor excited like the elder Diggory. Instead, the face of the Muggleborn "Dark Lord" seemed utterly serene, and Harry realized the man must be an Occlumens. A very skilled Occlumens, it seemed, because when Harry focused his Legilimency on the Australian, McAvity immediately tensed and looked up in Harry's general direction as if to see who was scrutinizing him. Harry looked away quickly and filed that information away for future consideration.

Elsewhere in the area reserved for Lordship boxes, Andrew Parkinson took the opportunity to visit his friend and liege-lord, Lucius Malfoy, as their own Houses had already been called upon. Along the way, he passed by the Nott Box, which was currently occupied by Mortimer Renwick, Tiberius Nott's solicitor and now his proxy as well, it seemed. Parkinson sat down beside Lucius as the latter engaged the extensive privacy protections afforded to each House's box.

"Tiberius is still out sick?" Parkinson asked. "That's one bad case of Spattergoit, isn't it, to be out for over two months?"

Lucius glanced over towards the Nott proxy who was paying them no mind. Lucius, of course, knew that his old rival was not sick at all but was, in fact, dead and digested by his own Barghest.

"I suspect, my friend, that Tiberius's illness is a bit more serious than Spattergoit. And has resulted in a rather more permanent incapacity."

Lord Parkinson's eyes widened at that revelation, while Malfoy glanced back over towards the Nott proxy. Lucius had been assessing the best way to expose Tiberius's unlamented death so as to inflict the maximum damage on Narcissa Nott (the former Mrs. Malfoy), but he'd gotten side-tracked by the unfortunate incident a few weeks earlier that had ended with him burning his own arm off to save himself from one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. His convalescence from that incident was ongoing. Presently, his arm was in a sling (supposedly the result of a "potions mishap"), with his forearm replaced by a prosthetic concealed by an illusion and weakly animated with an obscure Charm. That, alas, did not stop Parkinson from noticing both his injury and his generally unhealthy pallor.

"Speaking of illnesses, what really happened to you? You look ghastly! And there's no way you hurt yourself in a bloody potions accident!"

"And you are so sure of that because …?"

Parkinson snorted. "Because I know how good you are with potions, Lucius. More importantly, I also know how egotistical you are about your own skills. If you'd really hurt yourself in a potions accident, you'd have lied and said it was because of something else. Something more dramatic like a Manticore sting or a Venomous Tentacula. Or perhaps just a dark curse from an angry ex-wife?"

"Very droll, Andrew," Lucius said languidly, though his affected boredom with the conversation was marred by a brief coughing fit. "My medical affairs are none of your concern. Kindly change the topic or else return to your seat."

Parkinson glared at Malfoy in annoyance. "Fine, fine. Here's a change of topic for you. Something I've been meaning to ask you for many months but never quite found the time or the nerve."

"Oh?"

The younger Death Eater looked around as if afraid someone could hear through Lucius's impeccable Charms.

"What's the deal with House Malfoy and Hermione Granger?"

Lucius gave him an odd look. "I have no deal as you put it with Miss Granger. What makes you think I do?"

Parkinson snorted. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that she blackmailed me over the life debt Pansy owed to her and got me to remain in fealty to you even when Nott was offering a better deal. And even while you were intentionally letting the whole Wizarding World think that Narcissa had fleeced you of all your wealth!"

The corners of Lucius's mouth slowly rose in genuine amusement.

"Did she really? I shall have to send her a gift basket! But I assure you, Andrew, that was no machination of mine. Despite her youth, Hermione Granger is a gifted young woman who has powerful allies, a bright future, and doubtless some agenda of her own. While the resolution of that supposed life debt has cleared the slates, you would do well to reach out to her and try to develop a more positive relationship. If nothing else, at least encourage your youngest daughter to be more respectful to a peer who is, by all accounts, more magically powerful and more academically gifted than herself. And who also actually took the trouble to save your Pansy's life."

For a few seconds, Parkinson was literally speechless. "This is Hermione Granger you're speaking of, right? The Mudblood Gryffindor?"

Lucius clucked his tongue. "Andrew, Andrew. Times are changing. And we must change with them if we are to prosper. It is undignified for the Lord of a Noble House to use such vulgarity in the Great Chamber of the Wizengamot."

Then, Malfoy sniffed disdainfully. "Well, unless you're someone like Crabbe or Goyle, I suppose. Is it your desire to be like Crabbe and Goyle, Andrew?"

The younger Lord stared goggle-eyed at his long-time mentor, as he pondered just what sort of changing times Lucius Malfoy was now banking everything on. He also briefly wondered whether his using the M-word in front of Malfoy had just caused Granger's blasted magical swear jar to deduct money from his accounts. He would have to check his Gringotts records later to find out iMaf Lucius Malfoy now counted as someone he was no longer allowed to use blood status slurs around.

"I will … consider those suggestions and act accordingly." He started to rise but then paused and leaned in closer to whisper. "But I do have one final question. Another that I've wanted to ask you for a while, but I've been too afraid of the answer. Who the hell is Marcellus Frump?"

Lucius smiled in genuine amusement. "Really, Andrew! You were here in the Wizengamot Chamber last spring, just as I was, when the amazing truth was revealed! Marcellus Frump was the shapeshifting secret member of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle and the man responsible for our being placed under the Imperius Curse!"

Parkinson just stared at Malfoy for several seconds before shaking his head dismissively. "Fine, whatever. You can play your cryptic little mind games, Lucius."

Then the man stood but leaned in for one final remark before leaving the box.

"But let us not forget, old friend," he said bitingly. "We both know exactly who put me under the Imperius Curse!"

Soon after, Artie registered twenty-two votes for House Wilkes, and Corban Yaxley did the same for House Yaxley's one remaining vote. The roll call was complete, and the Acting Scribe informed Chief Warlock Dumbledore that the quorum had been met and that the Wizengamot's business could proceed. This was followed by a rare parliamentary procedure whereby Dumbledore called for the appointment of an Acting Chief Warlock to take his place for the session, as he was expected to testify in both his capacity as Hogwarts Headmaster and as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW. The motion was made by Artemus Podmore on behalf of House Wilkes and seconded by James Potter (Dumbledore had made arrangements with both houses before the rollcall began), and it was swiftly approved by acclamation.

The appointment of the Acting Chief Warlock, however, was complicated by the fact that emergency succession to the post went according to a strict gerontocracy. But the oldest member of the Wizengamot, Griselda Marchbank, had to recuse herself because she was a Triwizard Tournament judge, as was the next-oldest, Elphias Doge. Acacia Brown (cosmetics magnate and Lavender's "Nan") was out of the country on a business trip. So was Tiberius Ogden, the owner of Ogden's Finest Firewhiskey, which he was trying to expand into overseas markets. The next oldest was Uriah Travers, but after someone woke him up and asked him if he would accept the temporary position (the man was visibly still drunk from the night before), he yawned, mumbled something about declining for health reasons, and went back to sleep. Barty Crouch, after taking a moment to sneer contemptuously at Uriah, recused himself. And that was how Sam Macmillan (Ernie's grandfather) became Acting Chief Warlock at the tender age of 67.

"Right, then," said Lord Macmillan, as he gingerly took the gavel in hand. "Somebody point at me when it's time for me to bang this thing. Minister Fudge, it's your show."

It took over an hour for Dumbledore, Crouch, and a visibly terrified Bagman to explain (as best they knew) what had happened with the Goblet of Fire: Apparently, someone had tampered with its workings with some incredibly powerful effect not unlike a Confundus spell. Not a true Confundus, of course, because it targeted a legendary magical artifact with fantastic properties instead of an actual human being, but conceptually, it was the same principle. Dumbledore theorized that the Goblet had been made to believe that there was a fourth school participating in the Tournament. He had no explanation as to how both Harry and Jim had been entered on the same form, but he speculated that the Goblet became confused because of the presence of magical twins. There was historical precedent, he noted, for magical devices and effects to become confused by identical twin wizards or witches, and so it was impossible to know if Harry had simply been dragged along in a plot against Jim or vice versa. Or indeed if the inclusion of both twins had been intentional all along.

After a few more questions for those three officials from the assembled Lords and Ladies, Jim Potter was called forth to give testimony. Moments later, Jim was sitting uncomfortably and nervously in a chair that had been summoned to the center of the Well of the Chamber. A normal chair, Artie explained to Harry, as opposed to the magical chair adorned with writhing chains that was used when criminal suspects were interrogated. The present hearing was categorized as an inquiry, mainly because of the number of people involved in the Goblet's malfunction that either held Wizengamot seats or were related to those who did. Accordingly, Jim Potter merely swore a nonmagical oath on the honor of his House, a perquisite of such well-connected witnesses, whereas an ordinary citizen in his place likely would have been subjected to lie-detecting magic if not actual Veritaserum.

Jim's testimony was straightforward, at least until he got to the part about putting his own name into the Goblet. He admitted to doing so, but he swore that the form that came out of the Goblet which bore both his name and Harry's was not the one he entered. He reiterated Dumbledore's testimony that someone else had sabotaged the Goblet so that his name would have come out whether he'd entered or not.

"And, for the record," asked the Acting Chief Warlock, "how did you manage to defeat the Headmaster's protections to enter your own name into the Goblet?"

Jim glanced up in the direction of James Potter who simply nodded.

"I flew over it," Jim said confidently. "There's a small gap at the top of the Age Line. I … changed into a bird with my entry form in my beak and flew over it."

There was a commotion over that announcement, and Macmillan banged his gavel. Then, DMLE Director Corban Yaxley rose and claimed a point of inquiry.

"Just to clarify, Mr. Potter. Do you mean that you had an older student perform a human-to-animal Transfiguration upon you? Or that you did such high-level magic yourself? I ask because in the former case, whoever transformed you committed a serious crime since you, as a minor, cannot legally consent to such magic."

Jim frowned at the former Death Eater who was now the nation's top law enforcement officer.

"Neither … sir. Human-to-animal Transfiguration was not involved. I … am an Animagus. Specifically, a raven."

That revelation caused an even bigger stir. Even Harry was surprised. He, of course, knew that Jim was an Animagus, but he was not expecting Jim to admit to it in front of the entire Wizengamot. Though, in retrospect, he realized it was a perfectly Gryffindorish move. When in doubt, do something bold and unexpected.

Yaxley, who had not yielded the floor, looked up towards James with a cruel expression and then spoke again.

"Mr. Potter, you are only 14 years old, and Animagus training is a highly regulated NEWT-level course of study! I must ask you who illegally trained you in this skill. Was it your father, who was himself an illegal Animagus before his exposure last year?"

Jim's face darkened, but he held his temper, while up in his box, James's face was impassive.

"No one helped me, Mr. Yaxley," Jim said. "Least of all my father. I am a natural Animagus."

That blatant lie caused Harry's eyebrows to shoot up. He immediately realized Jim's goal: reveal his Animagus status under controlled circumstances and in a way that would take all the pressure off him for his illegal study and all suspicion away from James for illegally teaching him. Idly, Harry wondered who came up with the stratagem.

"Probably Lily," he thought to himself. "I can't imagine James even realizing that a lie might be necessary."

"Last summer," Jim continued, "I started having a lot of weird dreams about flying. Then, when those Death Eaters … or people dressed like Death Eaters, I suppose … attacked at the World Cup, there was a moment when I saw a little girl about to be run over and killed. And the next thing I knew, I had turned into a bird and flown to her defense. I didn't realize what had happened at first, but once Hogwarts started, I began researching the matter and soon figured out how to change at will. I assume the fact that my father is an Animagus and that my family has a natural affinity for Transfiguration, plus Boy-Who-Lived weirdness, all combined to give me the gift. But I didn't reveal it to my parents or to the Headmaster until after my name came out of the Goblet."

"Could you please demonstrate for us, Mr. Potter?" asked the Acting Chief Warlock. From his expression, Macmillan seemed more fascinated at the thought of seeing an Animagus in person than doubtful of Jim's claims.

Jim nodded and closed his eyes. A second later, he was gone, and a black raven took wing from the chair, flew once around the chamber, and returned to the chair before resuming Jim's true form. There was a louder commotion from the gallery at this sign of the Boy-Who-Lived's power. Up in his box, Harry almost rolled his eyes. Of course the masses would accept Jim's cock-and-bull story as just another part of Jim Potter's natural awesomeness.

"An impressive performance," drawled Yaxley. "But it raises yet another question: Why have you not registered your form yet?"

In response, Dumbledore rose from his own seat. "If I may be recognized by the Acting Chief Warlock, I would point out that new Animagi have a six-month grace period before they are required to register so that they can confirm the nature of their form. Jim still has until February to officially register. But since he is already here today, I understand that Jim plans to register immediately after the conclusion of his testimony."

Yaxley made a face like he was sucking on a lemon. "Based on that information, I withdraw my point of inquiry."

After that, Jim answered a few more questions before he was dismissed. The boy then headed towards the main doors of the Chamber, where Percy Weasley was waiting for him, apparently to escort him to the DMLE to register.

Once outside, Jim addressed Percy.

"You don't have to chaperone me, Percy," the boy said. "After all these years at Ministry events, I think I know my way to the DMLE offices."

"That's quite all right, Jim," Percy sniffed. "The Headmaster asked me to make sure that you made your way to register your Animagus form, and Mr. Crouch signed off on it. That makes it part of my job."

From his tone, the older boy did not sound as though he was happy about babysitting the Boy-Who-Lived being a part of his job. The two stepped together into the empty elevator reserved for official Wizengamot business, and Percy pressed the button for the Second Floor where DMLE headquarters was located. After a long silence, Jim spoke up again.

"Percy, are you mad at me for something?" he asked cautiously.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jim," Percy said in a clipped tone. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"I have no idea. That's why I asked."

Percy scowled. "It's not that I'm … mad at you per se. Although I do not appreciate how you went to such absurd lengths to get your name into the Goblet and thereby embarrass my boss in front of all Wizarding Britain."

"It's not my fault that I found a loophole to enter my name … which Ludo Bagman encouraged people to do!" Jim exclaimed hotly.

"Be that as it may," Percy replied somewhat pompously, "you were still the one who exercised that loophole. It's like I said to you two years ago …"

Percy stopped suddenly in mid-sentence.

"What?" Jim asked. "What were you going to say?"

Percy grimly shook his head. "Never mind. I just remembered. It wasn't you I was talking to at the time. It was Ron who was Polyjuiced to look like you while under control of You-Know-Who as part of a plot to frame you as the Heir of Slytherin."

Jim stared at Percy for a long moment before reaching over to press the elevator's stop button.

"Okay, it's me talking to you now. So say what you were going to say to me back then."

Percy returned Jim's gaze levelly. "Very well. If you must know, I told the other you that I thought you, the real you, were a bad influence on Ron and that I wish I'd taken steps to separate you two before you'd grown so close."

Jim's face burned as if he'd been slapped. "A bad influence? Seriously?!"

Then, he thought a bit more about what Percy had said. "Wait a minute! You thought you were calling me a bad influence! But you were really talking to Ron, who was possessed by Voldemort and who had spent most of that year trying to destroy my reputation! Who was really a bad influence on who there?!"

Percy winced at the word Voldemort but marshalled himself before responding. "Yes, yes. I am well-aware of the irony. But the fact remains: In my first four years at Hogwarts, I can think of only two incidents outside of Quidditch where school children were endangered. During my Second Year, there was a mishap involving a Venomous Tentacula in a Fifth Year Herbology class and three Ravenclaws spent a week at St. Mungos. And near the end of my Fourth Year, the DADA instructor tried to take sexual liberties with a Seventh-Year student but was caught and fired before anything came of it. That's it!"

By this point, Percy's face had flushed, and his nostrils were flaring.

"But in the three years and two months since you were Sorted, you have dragged Ron through a gauntlet that included a Cerberus, a Devil's Snare, and a death-dealing chessboard before bringing him face-to-face with a rogue DADA instructor! The next year, he ended up possessed by You-Know-Who's diary and also illegally flew my father's car at your behest and almost got my father into a Ministry inquiry that could have cost him his job! The next year, he was almost burned alive with sentient Fiendfyre during the Hogsmeade attack apparently orchestrated by your Death Eater godfather! And this past summer at the World Cup, he was menaced by Death Eaters and werewolves and nearly killed himself using a Parselmagic healing spell he learned while on a summer holiday with you in Shamballa! In just the past year, we've seen the three deadliest terrorist incidents Wizarding Britain has endured in over a decade, all of which featured either you or your family in the middle of the action: the Hogsmeade attack, Pettigrew and Rookwood's escape from the Ministry, and the World Cup attacks! It never ends!"

"None of that was my fault!" Jim yelled angrily.

Percy started to respond but then caught himself, ran a quick Occlumency exercise, and spoke more calmly.

"No, it wasn't. But you are a nexus for these happenings. Your status as the Boy-Who-Lived seems destined to draw strange happenings and to place your life and the lives of those around you in danger. And I know that's not your fault. I don't blame you for it. But what is your fault, Jim Potter, is this: Knowing full well the kind of life you lead—and based on your actions that led you here today, the kind of life you want to lead—you have made my brother Ron want to impress you. And that is why I don't trust you around him."

Jim swallowed painfully. "I notice you don't seem so protective of your other siblings who might also be in danger just from being around me due to my dangerous lifestyle."

"I worry about everyone in my family. But the Twins have grown up so much this past year. I'm proud of them both and trust them to look after each other. And Ginny has flourished in Slytherin and has a whole network of friends she can call on for help. But as far as I can tell, all Ron has … is you. And you … are reckless and irresponsible."

"I'm not reckless!" Jim snapped. "Or irresponsible!"

"No? So, answer me this, Boy-Who-Lived. If this fiasco over the Goblet of Fire hadn't forced the issue … would you ever have registered as an Animagus? Or would you have just stayed an illegal Animagus like your father did until you inevitably got caught because little things like following the law are for lesser beings?"

Jim fumed but didn't answer, in no small part because he and his parents had spent over an hour the night before debating whether there was any way around registration before finally deciding it was too risky. After a few seconds the two spent glaring at each other, Percy pushed the button to start the elevator back up again. Then, he took a moment to adjust his tie and make himself presentable. The two rode the rest of the way in silence.

After Jim had left the Chamber, Macmillan briefly addressed the other three Champions, all of whom were of age and thus did not engage in any unusual procedures to bypass the Age Line.

After about forty-five minutes, it was finally Harry's turn.

Upon his name being called, Harry rose from his box and strode down confidently to take his seat in the witness chair. After swearing the same oath as Jim had, the boy concisely answered every question put to him. When he revealed the spell he'd used to animate his origami spider—Piertotum Locomotor—there were expressions of shock. The spell was NEWT level and, historically, had been used for feats such as animating armies of statues or suits of armor to march in defense of a wizard's lands. Harry patiently explained that, while that was the primary function of the spell in the centuries of its usage, the actual requirements of the spell involved many factors, and the spell could be performed quite easily by a younger student if the goal of the spell was simpler. In this case, he needed the spell to manipulate a folded piece of paper from less than ten feet away while never giving it any instructions more complicated than "walk in a straight line and then drop when I tell you." Several Wizengamot members who were familiar with the Charm, Lucius Malfoy among them, rose to points of order to confirm Harry's description.

After about fifteen minutes of testimony, Harry returned to his box and then leaned in and whispered to Artie.

"Am I allowed to sneak out and run to the loo?" he asked.

Artie nodded in the affirmative. Harry then left the box and headed for the exit reserved for Wizengamot members that led to their private restrooms … and to their private offices.

Harry did indeed need to use the loo. But afterwards, he also needed to make a side-trip to the Wilkes Office while he could do so unobtrusively because everyone else was tied up in the special session. As he passed through the doors, he stuck his hand into his pocket and felt the reassuring weight of a simple brass key.

Moments later, Harry stood in front of an ornate wooden door and mentally prepared himself to reenter the Official Government Office of the House of Wilkes. As he grasped the door handle, the young Lord felt a tiny spark of magic, one that carried a hint of recognition. Like all the office spaces of the Noble Houses, the Wilkes Office was sealed with a biomagical signature. Now that he'd claimed the Wilkes Lordship, no one could get into these offices except for Harry himself or someone he had specifically keyed into the system. Not even so much as a bug, a fact which had become unexpectedly important in the days since he'd discovered Rita Skeeter's little secret.

Indeed, Harry had thus far not bothered to key anyone else into the chamber's wards other than himself. Sirius had turned the Black Offices over completely to Podmore & Associates because Artie and Hestia Jones (Sirius's own proxy) worked so closely together, and Artie had not minded at all Harry's desire to keep the Wilkes Offices vacant and locked up for the foreseeable future. Even experienced wizards were uncomfortable at the thought of being in the same room with Erasmus Wilkes's supposedly dormant portrait. But Artie's wife Elizabeth had died due to one of Erasmus Wilkes's cursed toys, and as far as he was concerned, the Toymaker's portrait could stay locked away forever. Unfortunately, Harry still had need of the dead man's vital knowledge.

Taking one last look around the empty corridor, the boy stepped into the antechamber. Like the last time, this small waiting room was empty save for a few chairs, a wall-mounted coatrack, and a full-length mirror. He spent a few moments carefully modifying his appearance (and, to an extent, his personality) into that of "Harry Wilkes," Erasmus's devoted and quietly psychotic only child. The Azkabal was at an impasse over finding the Diadem Horcrux (even assuming that it was really the last one), while Harry was personally just as flummoxed with the mysterious key that Erasmus Wilkes had left next to the Horcrux Ring in the container they'd recovered from the old Gaunt Shack. Lucius, Reg, and Harry had tentatively planned an excursion to see the Toymaker's portrait during the next Christmas break, but then this Goblet of Fire nonsense had struck, and they decided to take advantage of Harry's required presence at today's special session instead.

"Time flies when you waste it," Harry thought to himself.

Satisfied that his false identity was in place, Harry then stepped into the main office, closed the door behind him, and moved to face the Toymaker's portrait.

"Hello, Father. I'm back."

The figure in the portrait (who had been stretched out on a fainting couch napping) suddenly jerked awake and looked around wildly. Then, his eyes settled on Harry, and he grinned broadly.

"Harry, m'boy!" exclaimed the Toymaker in a delighted tone. "Back already?"

Then, he frowned in confusion.

"How long has it been, anyway? I've no one to talk to in here, so I tend to go dormant whenever I get bored, or else I'll go bonkers."

Harry crooked an eyebrow in a way that projected reams of sarcastic commentary. Erasmus noticed and snorted jovially.

"Yes, alright. Let us say that I don't want to go bonkers in unproductive ways. It's one thing to be a mad genius. It's another to go all …" He paused to strum a finger over his lips while making a burbling 'blblblbl' sound. "… out of having no one to talk with and nothing to do."

"Good to know," thought Harry. "Maybe once I have all the information I need from you, I can have you sealed away forever behind a brick wall somewhere."

"To answer your question," Harry said, "it's 4 November 1994."

"So only a few months, then," Erasmus noted. "You're obviously here for a reason. Any progress on what we talked about last time?"

Harry tossed the key up into the air and caught it easily a few times while smirking at the Death Eater. "A little, I guess."

The Toymaker's eyes widened, and he broke out into a raucous laugh as Harry continued.

"I actually took possession of your orichalcum hope chest and its contents late last summer, but after all the problems that ensued once I figured out how to open it, this is the first chance I've had to come see you."

"You figured out my little guessing game?" Erasmus asked delightedly. "Does that mean T... our Lord is back?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. He'd had suspicions after his last meeting with the Toymaker's portrait, but now he felt quite certain. Erasmus Wilkes (or his portrait, at least) knew Voldemort was really Tom Riddle. Which likely meant that the virulently blood purist Wilkes also knew that Voldemort was really the halfblood scion of an impoverished and inbred Pureblood family. More importantly, it meant that Voldemort himself trusted Wilkes enough to share a Secret which he'd hidden beneath a Fidelius. And since Wilkes already knew the Secret at the time of the Diary's destruction, his portrait (like Jim and Harry himself) was now a Secret Keeper.

"But who else knows?" Harry wondered. "I'd assumed that Tom was keeping his true history from all his followers. But if Wilkes knew? Knew and still willingly followed Tom Riddle? Who else from the Inner Circle did? I mean, just finding out that Voldemort was Tom Riddle was enough to give Tiberius Nott a breakdown!"

"Is our Lord back?" the boy repeated almost mockingly. "Oh, was that what was supposed to happen? Because all I noticed was Lord Goyle knocking me to the ground after I opened the box and then rushing to put that ugly ring on. And then screaming loudly as his arm rotted off before expiring messily all over a very nice Persian rug! At which point I picked up the Ring with a set of fireplace tongs—along with the remains of Goyle's rotting finger—and put it back into the box until I had a chance to talk to you."

Wilkes looked confused. "Hang on. The Ring killed Goyle but then didn't do anything else? But that's not right! Consuming a human soul should have given it enough magical power to animate the corpse to provide you with further instructions!"

"Well, it didn't!" Harry said, sticking to the false story that had been devised during a hasty Floo conference the prior evening. Inwardly, he was horrified to think that if he'd been just a moment or two slower, he'd have returned to face some kind of talking Inferius version of Lucius Malfoy, one ready to restore Voldemort to life! "It just killed him and turned his body into a stinking goo! Though I'm pleased to see you have so much concern for your son's welfare that you were happy to see me die in a failed effort to resurrect Voldemort!"

Wilkes clutched his arm and hissed. "Do not say that name!"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "Would you rather I call him Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

At that, the Toymaker was visibly shocked. "How …!?"

"Slytherin cunning," he snapped contemptuously. "I managed to eavesdrop on a conversation between the Boy-Who-Lived and some of his cronies. He's a bit of a blabbermouth, but then so was our Lord's Diary. I gather it monologued to the git before Potter destroyed it. And in the process, Potter became a Secret Keeper and could share the news with anyone who was listening!"

Harry lifted his chin defiantly. "Of course, Potter's not the only Secret Keeper now, is he? I mean, I have no problems sharing the information with you, and you've almost slipped up and called the Dark Lord Tom several times."

Wilkes glared at Harry before finally bursting into laughter.

"My, my, such a clever lad! Purely the result of my genetic heritage, of course. You shouldn't attribute it to anything special about yourself. But still quite clever. You know, I think I'm rather glad you didn't unintentionally sacrifice yourself to the Ring, no matter what an honor to your House it would have been. Yes, I was one of the few privileged enough to call our Lord by his birth name. Just as I was one of the few privileged enough to become part of his Pantheon—his True Inner Circle—and made privy to the Goal."

"… The Goal?" Harry asked flatly after deciding to ignore "the Pantheon" as more Dark Lord egotism. "Can you be any more cryptic and unhelpful? I really don't have all day, you know. If I get caught in here, we're all in trouble! You mentioned the Dark Lord's 'Goal' last time I was here." He added sarcastic air-quotes around the word 'Goal.' "But what is it?!"

"Nope. Sorry, son. But the Goal is something I cannot share with you yet. Some oaths transcend death. You need to get the Ring to Narcissa. Tell her it contains a part of our Lord's soul and can be used to resurrect him. I'll wager she'll be able to find someone who can repair whatever's wrong with it."

"Does she know about the Goal?" Harry asked sarcastically. The Death Eater winced.

"I … don't know. She did not at the time of my death. I wanted to tell her, but the consensus in the Pantheon was that she was valuable but too young and unpredictable to be brought fully into the fold."

"Well now she's fifteen years older and even more unpredictable. So, I'm not taking the Ring to Narcissa Nott. Not unless you tell me how to get into our vault first."

"Harry …!" Wilkes began before pausing in distraction. "Wait, Narcissa Nott?"

"Narcissa divorced Lucius, taking most of his money. Then, she married Tiberius Nott, and now he's missing, presumed dead, with her now controlling all his money. I am a wealthy but underage boy whose legal guardian just rotted to death because something went wrong with the Dark Lord's Horcrux. And now, you tell me that you don't even know if she's privy to the Dark Lord's true agenda?! But she does have a pattern of getting her claws into Death Eaters and then getting their money?! No, thank you! I'm not going to see Narcissa about this unless I'm doing so from a position of strength!"

Meanwhile, Wilkes had narrowed his eyes at something Harry had said. "Horcrux, you say? And just how do you know that word?"

Harry scoffed. "From risking my neck spying on Albus Bloody Dumbledore, of course! Father, he knows that the Dark Lord has made at least one Horcrux! He knows that the Dark Lord still lives and that there are schemes at work to bring him back! And now, the Diary has been destroyed and the Ring is apparently flawed in some way. Your precious Goal is in jeopardy! But the only one who you suggest I go to for help is Narcissa Nott, and I don't trust her!"

Frustrated, Erasmus sat back down on the fainting couch and began to massage his temples. Meanwhile, Harry tried another approach.

"Alright, are there any other Horcruxes out there we can use? Do you know how many he made? I assume he wouldn't stop with two."

When Wilkes spoke again, he was oddly subdued compared to his usual terrifying intensity.

"The plan … the Horcrux plan, that is, not The Goal … called for a seven-part soul array. Six Horcruxes plus his own primary soul. The Diary and the Ring were his own personal possessions. He'd acquired two Founders' objects, Hufflepuff's Cup and Slytherin's Locket. He had not set up a hiding place for the Cup at the time of my death, but Tom, Boruslav, and the Selwyns handled the security for the Locket. If there are any Lestranges or Selwyns you think you can trust, they might have more information. Tom and I did the Ring. Tom had also made another Founder's artifact into a Horcrux sometime in the early 1950s, but that one he hid himself. Said it was in an impregnable location and that he had 'a special use'for it."

Wilkes suddenly giggled loudly. "He said he wouldn't tell me what or where it was until after we'd finally won. But he promised me it would be hilarious!"

"I've no doubt," Harry muttered dryly.

"Anyway, the final Horcrux had not been created yet at the time of my death. Tom had not found a magical object whose properties he thought valuable enough to waste one of his six Horcrux slots on, and he was worried about the Arithmancy of going with a bigger number, so he decided to stop with a seven-soul array."

Harry nodded at that. "You mentioned Lestranges and Selwyns. What about the Malfoys? Didn't the Dark Lord entrust one of them with the Diary?"

The Toymaker snorted. "Entrust is not the word I'd use. Abraxas Malfoy was never truly a member of the Pantheon, though he and his sons were all Marked as Inner Circle Death Eaters. Useful idiots, the lot of them, though Tom thought Lucius showed potential. Anyway, Tom gave the Diary to Abraxas after making him swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect it with his life and to value it more than any of his family, which the ponce was happy to do. But most of all, he had to vow that, if Lord Voldemort ever disappeared for over a month without contact, Abraxas was to open the Diary and start writing in it for instructions. The fool had no idea he was being asked to sacrifice his own soul for the cause. But then, old Abraxas managed to get himself killed—and in a most undignified manner, I should say!—in the Spring of '79. Tom said he had Abraxas's boy Lucius under his control, and I never inquired after that. Since the Diary later fell into the hands of Dumbledore himself, perhaps I should have."

The man looked thoughtful for a moment before turning back to his putative heir.

"If and when the opportunity presents itself, be sure and tell our Lord all of that. I'm sure you'll get a kick out of whatever he ends up doing to any surviving Malfoys after losing one of his Horcruxes."

"I'll remember. So, to recap, there are no living people who we can trust to help us. Are there any books I can read about Horcruxes that won't get me expelled or sent to Azkaban?"

Wilkes looked at Harry with an appraising expression. "Weeeelll, there is one."

He turned and moved over to an ornate desk at the edge of the painting, opened a drawer, and removed a book which he held up for Harry to read. It was old and thick, and for some reason, it had actual chains and padlocks wrapped around it to keep it from being opened. But Harry could still read the cover.

The Anathema Codex.

"Well, that sounds … menacing."

"Oh, quite, quite. I had some good times reading this when I was a kid before my grandfather caught me. Got some wonderful ideas about pranks. Sadly, the humorless old goat didn't approve, so he locked up our family's copy of the book that we've had since before Noah came out of the Ark."

"Locked … up? In a way that you couldn't get it opened?"

Wilkes nodded. "There are spells in here designed to let the current Lord either seal it against some or all of his family members or even destroy it outright. He couldn't bring himself to do the latter, but he did ensure that I would never be able to open it."

"Where was your father during all this?"

"What, Daddy? Oh, I killed him and Mummy when I was around twelve or so. They took some of my toys away, so I had to retaliate."

"Well, of course you did," Harry replied. "I'd have expected nothing less."

Deep beneath his blasé exterior, Harry was really ready for this conversation to be over. Portraying a convincing son to Erasmus Wilkes always made him want to take a hot shower and just scrub. "I assume you killed your grandfather as well?"

"Nah, at least not directly. No, he was the one I framed for murdering his own son and daughter-in-law. I squeezed some juice from a Tears of Madness berry into his after-dinner coffee. Instant murderous senility. He was old, and he didn't last long in Azkaban. I wonder if he still remembered me at the end."

"Okay, these tales of your pre-adolescent precociousness as a mad killer are fascinating, but as I said, I'm on the clock here. Can I assume that your Big Book of Evil that has all the Horcrux information is also in the missing vault?"

"Assume away!" Erasmus said almost jubilantly.

"Right. Where. Is. It?!"

"Ah, Harry, my dutiful son! That is not a question that can be answered so easily. For, as the old Muggle proverb goes—It's not about the destination, it's about the journey!"

"GAAAH!"

Meanwhile, up on the Second Floor, Jim was just finishing up the paperwork for his Animagus registration when a small paper airplane flew into the room and started orbiting Percy's head. Annoyed but not terribly surprised, Percy snatched the plane out of the air and unfolded it to read the message it contained. He grimaced.

"Bad news?" Jim asked.

"It's a message from the Romanian Ministry. They wish to send some sensitive documents pertaining to the Tournament in through the Transcontinental Floo in the DIMC office for Mr. Crouch. He'll be at the inquiry for hours yet, I reckon, and I'm the only other person in the building with the right security clearance to open up a Floo connection to Bucharest."

"So?"

"So, the process will take about twenty minutes. Do you mind waiting downstairs in the DIMC for me to do that or should I get someone else to escort you straight back to the inquiry?"

Jim gave Percy a sour look. "Or, and hear me out now, there's a third option: I could just take the elevator back down myself since I know exactly where to go and there aren't any security checkpoints between here and there."

Percy looked like he was about to argue when Jim spoke again.

"Percy, come on! We've established that you think I'm reckless and irresponsible. But what sort of mischief do you think I can get up to during a short elevator ride and then a walk down a few corridors?!"

"I don't know," said Percy grimly. "But that is cold comfort. Life with Fred and George taught me it is impossible to expect the unexpected long before I ever met you."

Despite that mild paranoia, Percy's conscientiousness towards his official duties overcame his misgivings about leaving the Boy-Who-Lived unattended for even a few minutes. Reluctantly, he took Jim down in the private elevator but exited on the Fifth Floor instead of the Wizengamot level. Then, he turned and pointed his finger firmly at Jim.

"Straight down to the Wizengamot and back to the Chamber. Straight past two junctions, then left, then right at the next junction. Got it?"

Annoyed, Jim responded with a military salute. "Aye-aye, sir!"

Percy shook his head in annoyance and then headed off for Crouch's office, grumbling the whole way while the elevator doors closed behind him.

In the descending elevator, Jim folded his arms over his chest and fumed. He'd had no idea that Percy felt that way about him. But his indignance was balanced against his awareness of the truth of some of Percy's complaints. He remembered that meeting with Ron at Potter Manor in the summer before their Second Year. He'd just learned the Prophecy and was having a minor breakdown over it, and Ron's support had been a godsend. But he also remembered warning Ron that continuing their friendship might someday endanger the other Gryffindor's life. He'd been so grateful for Ron's unwavering support that he'd nearly cried.

And then, two months later, Ron had been scribbling away in Tom Riddle's diary, occasionally right in front of Jim, and the Boy-Who-Lived saw nothing. In part because he was too engrossed in his own cursed book that was rapidly turning him psychotic. Jim's face suddenly flushed, and he felt embarrassed all over again for reasons he didn't fully understand.

"I am not reckless and irresponsible," he muttered to himself as the elevator doors opened onto the Wizengamot level. "Well … I mean … I try not to be, at least!"

As Jim stepped out into the corridor and looked around to get his bearings, he could almost believe what he was saying.

Back in the Wilkes Office, Harry was still trying to get the Toymaker to give him any useful information about the missing vault, but the deranged portrait was still maddeningly evasive.

"I'm sorry, my son," Erasmus exclaimed piously. "But this is something you'll just have to figure out on your own to prove your worthiness for the glory that is the Ancient and Noble House of Wilkes!"

As he said that last, the Toymaker put his hand over his heart and assumed a reverent expression.

"At the moment, Dad," Harry snarled angrily, "the Ancient and Noble House of Wilkes consists entirely of yours truly plus the infuriatingly unhelpful portrait of a dead man."

At that last remark, Erasmus's eyebrows shot up and he gave a high-pitched giggle.

"Harry! Harry, Harry, Harrikins!" The man leaned over and put his hands on his knees so that his head was level with the boy's. "If there's one thing you need to know about me, about House Wilkes, about the Pantheon, and about The Goal, it's this."

Wilkes tilted his head slightly, and his eyes lit up. Despite his Occlumency, Harry shuddered. Something in the man's eyes suddenly reminded him of Walburga Black's from their last horrifying conversation.

"Death, Harry, is not the end," the Toymaker said in a breathy whisper. "It's just the last enemy to be defeated!'

Harry took a step back, unable to conceal his shock at what clearly sounded like a reference to the Potter Prophecy. The one about the Dark God whose rise Harry's appointment as Prince heralded for the world.

"What?! What did you say?!"

But Wilkes ignored his reaction. Instead, the Death Eater produced his wand and gestured wildly. Behind him, an old-fashioned Victrola record player that had been painted into the scene sprang to life, and music began to fill the office.

"Or to put that another way, Harry, in the words of the Great Songbird of the Wizarding World…!"

Erasmus flicked his wand again, summoning into existence a flat straw hat resting atop his head and a wooden cane that he began to twirl. He started to warble along poorly but enthusiastically with the music, which appeared to be a song by a young Celestina Warbeck.

"It's not where you start, it's where you finish! It's not how you go; it's how you land! A hundred to one shot, they call him a klutz, can out-run the favorite, all he needs is the guts!"

By this point, Erasmus Wilkes was totally engrossed in his performance and was now dancing and singing along with the songstress like an old Vaudeville performer. Concluding that further information-gathering was futile, Harry turned and left the office, while the Toymaker's impromptu performance continued behind him.

"Your final return will not diminish! And you can be the cream of the crop! It's not where you start, it's where you finish! And you're gonna finish on toooopppp!"

Nearby, an embarrassed Jim realized that he must have taken a wrong turn at some point while distracted over the sting of Percy's accusations. The Wizengamot Office section wasn't terribly large, so the entrance to the Chamber had to be nearby. He had just decided to backtrack to the elevator when he heard a door opening somewhere down the next corridor. The Gryffindor stepped forward and looked around only to jerk back in surprise. It was Harry, coming out of what must have been the Wilkes Office, and for some reason, Jim's twin looked rather upset.

Jim peeked around the corner in Harry's direction. The Slytherin was stalking away, presumably towards the Chamber, and was angrily muttering something not quite loud enough for Jim to hear. Then, Harry stopped suddenly and whirled around as if he'd sensed someone observing him. Jim jerked back out of sight just in time, and after a few seconds of silence, Jim heard Harry's footsteps receding down the corridor away from him.

Then, Jim took a moment to think about his own actions.

"Why am I spying on Harry?" he thought suddenly before scoffing. "Pfft! Stupid question! It's because my dad put me under the Imperius and made me distrust him!"

But then, Jim thought some more.

"Though, to be fair, Harry skipping the Wizengamot session to hang out in the Wilkes Office is kind of sketchy. I wonder what he was doing in there."

Shaking off his indecisiveness, Jim headed down the corridor following Harry's path. As he passed by the door to the Wilkes Office, though, he couldn't help but stop and look at it. He'd been here once before, on the day Harry had expelled himself from House Potter and claimed the Wilkes Lordship. That was also the day that Sirius Black declared Enmity against House Potter. Jim frowned as he remembered the look on Harry's face while the Enmity took hold and all the hateful things he'd then said before Jim fled the office.

"It's probably nothing," Jim said to himself softly. "And I am not reckless and irresponsible."

He continued to stare at the door.

"But if it is something, something important, something that Mum, Dad, and even Dumbledore might need to know about … well, it would be irresponsible not to take a peek, wouldn't it?"

Jim took another look around the empty corridor before reaching out gingerly to try the doorknob. To his surprise, he felt a slight tingle of magic, and then the door opened easily.

"Ha!" Jim exclaimed. "Whatever's in here can't be too secret if Harry didn't even bother to lock the door."

But without taking his hand off the open door, Jim hesitated and took stock of his feelings. He was resolved not to be reckless and irresponsible. He was resolved not to be a slave to the Imperius he was under. But despite all that, Jim was surprised to find a third impulse that finally tipped the scales. This unexpected impulse came from that part of his mind that wanted to take to the skies on black wings. Now that the door was open to him, Jim was curious. And he was of the very strong feeling that if his sudden curiosity wasn't satisfied, it would itch.

Jim pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Once within the anteroom, the boy was surprised to hear soft music coming from the next room. Cautiously, he stepped forward and eased the door open.

"Hello?" he called out.

"Back so soon?" called a jovial voice from further in the main office. "I'll stop singing if you really think my voice is that unbearable. Though that's a horrible thing for a son to insinuate about his dear papa, I must say!"

Thoroughly confused, Jim stepped carefully into the main office. It was as spartan as it had been last time. An old desk with nothing on it. A few chairs. And a portrait of an insane Death Eater, which Harry had apparently woken up at some point.

"…Lord … Wilkes, I reckon?" Jim said with a slight hitch in his voice.

"Well, of course!" the man said bombastically. "Who were you expecting? The Trolley Lady from the Hogwarts Express?!"

Wilkes snorted. "Mind you, if you were, I can understand your caution. Why the rumors I could tell you about her would curl your …!"

Then, the man in the painting paused, tilted his head, and blinked repeatedly. His attention was suddenly and fully focused on Jim's appearance and clothing. And especially his Gryffindor tie.

"Hang on! You're … you're not Harry … are you?"

"Uh, no. I'm Harry's brother, Jim."

There was a long silence as the Toymaker stood perfectly still.

"Jim … Potter, per chance?"

"Yeeeeeaahh," Jim said slowly. "Has Harry mentioned me? I mean … to you?"

Erasmus face lit up in a broad grin, but something in his eyes made Jim want to take a step back.

"Oh, only in the broadest outlines, m'boy. You're Jim Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Slayer of the Dark Lord! A legend in your own time!"

The man gave Jim a speculative look. "And seeing you in the flesh, it's no wonder why your brother is so terribly jealous of you! Why, the awful things he said!"

Jim hesitated before he decided to keep talking with the madman's portrait. Maybe if he was clever enough, he could learn something about Voldemort's plans from this lunatic.

"Oh?" he asked. "What kind of things has he said about me?"

Meanwhile in the Wizengamot Chamber

Harry returned to his seat and immediately noticed the tension in the air. Down in the witness's chair sat Alexander McAvity, who bore a defiant expression as he responded to various baseless accusations.

"Now look," said McAvity, who was clearly growing annoyed with the insinuations about him from some of the more reactionary elements of the Wizengamot. "I have answered your questions, but I grow weary of these slanders disguised as an interrogation, so let me lay it out for you. My sole involvement with the Goblet of Fire consisted of reading a brief script—written for me by your Ministry—and then levitating the Goblet's parameters—again, drafted and provided to me by your Ministry—into the Goblet. Mr. Parkinson flatters me by proposing that I somehow managed to work a wandless, wordless Switching Spell on the Goblet parameters in front of Headmaster Dumbledore, dozens of Ministry officials, and scores of other wizards and witches without anyone noticing. But that ignores the fact that I didn't even know what role I would be playing in the Selection Ceremony prior to that morning! Even if I wanted to interfere with the Goblet and had the skill to do so, there simply wouldn't have been enough time."

He leaned back in his chair and sniffed. "And frankly, I resent these aspersions cast against me by this body simply because neither the Wizengamot nor the Ministry dares to look towards the obvious suspects."

There was a murmur among the assembly, and McMillan banged his gavel.

"Well please enlighten us, Mr. McAvity," said the Acting Chief Warlock. "Who are the obvious suspects we are overlooking?"

McAvity smirked. "Do I really need to say it plainly? From its arrival in this nation, the Goblet of Fire was under the complete control of the Ministry. It was on display at the Quidditch World Cup, which was the target of shocking violence perpetrated by individuals at least some of whom were dressed as Death Eaters. And in this latest incident, the Goblet, which had been sabotaged at some point while in Ministry care, selected the Boy-Who-Lived and his older brother, who is himself the Halfblood son of a Muggleborn but who nevertheless claimed the Wilkes Lordship, to participate a deadly tournament! So if you really want to know who's behind this, I suggest you take a closer look at anyone from the Ministry who had access to the Goblet and also has a funny little snake tattoo inside their left arms."

Immediately, McMillan began to loudly strike the gavel as the assembled Lords became irate at the suggestion of Death Eaters having infiltrated the Ministry.

"After all," McAvity continued while glancing up in the direction of the Malfoy, Parkinson, and Nott boxes, "even accepting their claims of innocence at face value, it's not like some people at the highest levels of your government haven't proven conclusively how hopelessly weak-willed they are in the face of the Imperius Curse!"

Harry looked around the room almost in amusement over the bomb McAvity had just thrown. Andrew Parkinson was up out of his chair yelling angry insults at McAvity, as were Goyle, Crabbe, and Yaxley, among others. (But not Lucius Malfoy, Harry noted, who was taking the opportunity to casually study the crowd and make note of who was reacting most vehemently to claims of Death Eater responsibility.) Even Uriah Travers had roused himself from drunken slumber long enough to start yelling obscenities at McAvity, who just sat back in his chair while bearing a smug expression.

But then, Harry's attention was diverted as he noticed Jim Potter enter the Chamber and quickly take a seat next to James. What drew Harry's attention was Jim's unusually shaken expression, as if something shocking had happened on the way back from registering his Animagus form.

"Hmm," Harry grumbled under his breath. He briefly wondered what new idiocy the Gryffindor had gotten into. "Oh well. Whatever it is this time, it's nothing to do with me."

Back in the Wilkes Office

Erasmus Lord Wilkes, aka Mr. Toymaker, stood in his portrait and leaned against the side of his frame giggling softly.

"He tricked me, hehehe," he whispered to himself with a painfully broad grin on his face. "The little shit lied to my face like a champ and tricked me, AH-HAHAHA!"

The Toymaker's belly laughs grew louder and louder before suddenly shifting into a scream of incoherent rage.

"HE TRICKED ME!" Then, he whipped out his wand and started firing off curses. Those which struck the edges of the portrait frame dissipated harmlessly, but those which struck furniture within the painting caused the fainting couch to smash against the back wall, set books on the bookshelf ablaze, and shattered the little writing desk that had sat off to the side.

"I AM THE TOYMAKER! I TRICK OTHER PEOPLE! NOBODY, NOBODY, TRICKS ME!"

Finally, the deranged Lord turned his wand towards the "front" of the portrait, the fourth wall that faced out into the Wilkes Office. With a scream, he fired off a curse that manifested as an intense and jagged beam of red light that struck the boundary between the painting and the world beyond it. As Wilkes's face twisted into a mask of psychotic fury, flecks of red energy dripped off the beam like droplets of molten steel popping out of a foundry forge, causing the rug on the floor to smoke wherever the drops landed. The surface of the portrait was suddenly tinted red, growing brighter and brighter until finally …

BOOM!

With a deafening crack and a wave of force, Erasmus Wilkes was flung backwards to crash on top of the furniture he'd just destroyed. Whatever spell he'd cast, however, had absolutely no effect on the exterior of the portrait, which had already lost its red sheen and returned to normal.

"GAAAH!" he screamed, and his face contorted into a mask of impotent fury. Then, he started slapping his hands against his temples, harder and harder.

"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!" After a few seconds, the man's self-harm slowed, and his screams lost their intensity until he was merely talking to himself almost reasonably.

"Stop it. Stop it. Just … stop, Razzie. This … this is simply not the proper time for a homicidal rampage."

Wilkes jumped to his feet and looked over to the ruins of the writing desk which he had just smashed to pieces with a curse. With a simple flick of his wand, the desk reassembled itself and now looked as good as new. He strode over to the desk, jerked the top drawer open, and began to rifle through it quickly. After a few seconds, he found what he was looking for and held it up to inspect it. It was a large piece of pale green chalk.

With another wand flick, the ornate rug on the floor flew back to land on the wreckage of the fainting couch, revealing a hardwood floor underneath. Wilkes fell to his knees and began to carefully draw a series of runes on the floor in green chalk.

"Now is the time for cunning and ingenuity, Razzie, old bean," he whispered as he drew.

Raido

Mannaz

Othala

Sowilo

… and Vohldo.

After completing the first runic sequence, Wilkes leaned back and carefully inspected the quality of his work. He snickered for a few seconds as he reached back down to start the next sequence in his array.

"The time for homicccidal rampage," he hissed in Parseltongue, a wild look blazing in his eyes, "will be here sssoon enough!"

Chapter Text

The Three Broomsticks Inn
4 November 1994
5:00 p.m.

Finally home (for some definitions of home, anyway) after an exhausting day at the Wizengamot, James Potter stepped into his room at the Three Broomsticks with his ill-fitting plum robes on a hanger slung over his shoulder. Fighting the urge to toss them onto the floor in frustration, Lord Potter instead hung them carefully in the closet in case another "emergency session" was called while he was still ensconced here. They were his father's robes, after all, and he still hoped that one day they would be Jim's. Then, he poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey, kicked off his shoes, and sat down on his little bed to brood over the day's events.

His son—both his sons—were in deadly danger from the Triwizard Tournament, and there was nothing the government could or would do about it. Indeed, he was quietly convinced that elements of that same government were somehow responsible for everything. To James, there was definitely some connection between the Quidditch World Cup attack from earlier that summer and the current funny business involving the Goblet of Fire. And the most obvious connection between the two was the still-missing-and-presumed-dead Bertha Jorkins. It was a point he'd raised during the Wizengamot session earlier that day, only to be roundly mocked by several of the other Lords for suggesting in passing that the true purpose of the Cup attack might have been a distraction used as a cover for the Goblet's sabotage.

Of course, in James's view, the fact that most of the people who'd mocked his suggestion were former Death Eaters was persuasive evidence (in his mind, at least) that his theory had merit. Unfortunately, one of those Death Eaters was both the DMLE Director and also James's boss, so that rendered the chances of any serious investigation nil.

With a loud sigh, James took another sip of whiskey and then set the glass on the side table before reaching underneath his mattress to retrieve the book he'd hidden there earlier. He'd only read a few pages, however, before there was a knock at his door. Quickly, James hid the book once more before opening the door to find two familiar yet unexpected figures on the other side: Barty Crouch Sr. and his personal assistant, Percy Weasley.

"Director Crouch!" James exclaimed in surprise. "What brings you here?"

Flummoxed, he stepped aside to allow the two wizards entry.

"Forgive the intrusion, Potter," Crouch said gruffly before gesturing towards the younger wizard. "I believe you know my assistant, Percival Weasley?"

"Indeed," said James. "His family and mine go way back."

James reached out to shake Percy's hands, and the younger man reciprocated before his attention was drawn to something else.

"Quite so, Lord Potter. Er, forgive me, but … is that my father's car?!" Percy exclaimed while pointing to a leather valise on the floor next to one of the windows.

"It is!" James answered with a grin. "Amazing bit of magic on your father's part! An enchanted car that folds down into an easy-to-carry satchel. Ingenious!"

Percy beamed at the compliment, but then a loud harumph from Crouch interrupted them.

"Sorry, Director Crouch," James apologized. "So … what can I do for you? Does Mr. Flamel need me for anything tonight?"

"No," Crouch replied. "In fact, effective immediately, you're off the Flamel assignment. Flamel is staying at Hogwarts, and Porpentina Goldstein and Julian Montmorency are with him pretty much at all times, so your presence is redundant."

"Oh," James said with visible disappointment. As fond as he was of Arthur Weasley, he had enjoyed his brief reassignment away from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.

"That said," Crouch continued, "you won't be going far. I've managed to bully Fudge into reassigning you to my department full-time as a second assistant. The pay and benefits are the same, but I think I can find a better use for your skills than sitting around waiting for a 600-year-old Frenchie to decide he wants to go for a drive."

James nodded. "So, I'll be working with Percy then?"

"Technically, you'll be working under Percy, who will liaise with you and convey to you my instructions as needed."

To his credit, James didn't wince, even though he was looking at a demotion from Arthur Weasley's underling to Arthur Weasley's son's underling.

"I'm always ready to serve in whatever capacity the Ministry requires, Director," he said, mostly sincere.

Crouch gave him a gimlet eye … followed by a sly grin. "You've matured, Potter. I doubt you'll appreciate the sentiment, but in your case, I think getting fired from the Auror Corps was actually good for you."

James fumed at that, but Crouch paid him no heed. Instead, the older wizard summoned a table and three chairs and gestured for the others to sit.

"As I said, you'll answer to Percy and will perform whatever tasks he requires. Mainly odd jobs and busy work, as he's the one with the diplomatic and administrative training. Your role is to take on all the grunt work to free him up for his more important obligations."

Then, Crouch gave James a more intense and cunning gaze. "Officially, at least."

"And … unofficially?" James asked slowly.

"Unofficially, your new appointment, while structured as a borderline insulting demotion to a menial position, will allow you to go wherever you need to and pursue whatever leads you can while investigating what happened with the Goblet of Fire. Starting with a renewed investigation into the Bertha Jorkins disappearance."

At that, James's eyes lit up in understanding.

"You will need to be discreet, of course," Crouch continued. "The DIMC is not a law enforcement branch, and it is quite beyond my authority to appoint anyone to investigate these affairs for evidence of illegal conduct. Any suspected criminal activities that come to my attention are supposed to be referred to Director Yaxley."

Crouch's contempt for the suspected Death Eater practically dripped off his words.

"Nevertheless," he continued, "the nature of the Triwizard Tournament and its connections to my department do allow for some investigative authority. A discreet investigation, though. If it got out that I had hired James Potter as an investigator as a way of circumventing Yaxley, we could both be in a lot of hot water. Consequently, as a condition of accepting this job, you will agree to a secrecy oath swearing that you will not reveal any fruits of your investigation to anyone other than Percy or myself, understood?"

"Yessir!" James said firmly, excited to finally have the chance to get back into the field.

Crouch nodded. "You were on the right track before the World Cup fiasco, James. If we'd paid more attention to your concerns, perhaps that could have been avoided. But we'll do what we can to set things right."

But then, Crouch looked hesitant. "There is one other issue I feel obligated to point out. If you accept this assignment, you will not be able to provide any assistance to your son in the Triwizard Tournament. It was unclear before whether you could anyway, since you were a Ministry employee, albeit one fully divorced from the Tournament. But if you are working directly for me, there will be no question about it. Help Jim in the Tournament, and you risk losing your magic, and me mine. And so, that will be part of your oath. Is that a deal-breaker?"

James hesitated. He wanted to be there for Jim. But at this point, tracking down the ones who had sabotaged the Goblet might be more important to helping the boy survive than any advice or training James could give him.

"No sir. I'm confident in Jim's abilities. I know he'll be able to do alright without my help."

The three men talked for several more minutes before Crouch swore James to a simple secrecy oath that he would not reveal anything he learned while investigating the Goblet of Fire, the World Cup attacks, and the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins to anyone other than Percy and Crouch himself. Then, Crouch wished James good hunting, and he and Percy departed.

Suddenly excited (and far more upbeat than he'd been before Crouch's arrival), James sat down with a quill and parchment and spent an hour brainstorming potential leads in his investigation. Once that was done, he returned to his earlier project. He locked the door and pulled the concealed book from its hiding place under the mattress: Animagery: The Deeper Mysteries.

It was the same book that Jim Potter had been using as an Animagery primer since the start of the previous summer, and which the boy had reluctantly turned over to his parents after his exposure as an (illegal) Animagus. And it was also a book which had clearly not come from Remus Lupin as Jim had believed. Based on the familiar handwriting, it had almost certainly been sent by Peter Pettigrew, who had somehow circumvented the protective mail wards at 4 Privet Drive!

James glared at the book's cover for several seconds, wondering why Peter had sent it. And also what it meant that the book had passed through wards set by Dumbledore, which should only have been possible if Peter had sent it with no harmful intent!

The stag Animagus shook his head and took another swig of whiskey to fortify himself. Then, he opened the book to where he'd last left off and resumed his own investigation into the "deeper mysteries" of what it meant to be an Animagus.

Meanwhile (in Ron Weasley's Room)

There was a soft knock at the door, and a second later, Jim entered Ron's room bearing a pensive expression, which the other boy immediately noted.

"What's up?" Ron asked.

Jim sat down in a chair while Ron sat on the bed.

"A couple of things," Jim replied. "I'm just trying to prioritize them."

"Uh-oh," Ron said. "That bad, huh. Well, how about you rip the band-aid off and start with whatever the worst thing is. That way, maybe we can end on a high note."

"Well, that's the thing. What's worrying me most may not actually be bad. On the other hand … it might be very bad. I'm worried that I might have impulsively done something … dumb today."

Ron remained tactfully quiet. Based on Jim's past history, there were a lot of ways he could respond to the possibility of Jim doing something impulsive and dumb, but most of his responses would be unhelpful. It was something Ron had lots of experience with by this point.

"Go on," he finally said cautiously.

"During the Wizengamot session today, I took a wrong turn and got lost for a bit. And then, I … well, I sortabrokeintoHarry'soffice."

Ron crooked an eyebrow. "Come again, a little slower this time?"

The other boy exhaled in frustration. "I broke into Harry's office to look around a bit."

"Harry's Office? You mean, Lord Wilkes's private Wizengamot office? Isn't that, like, a felony or something? Why would you do that?!"

Jim fumed. "It's like I said! I just got lost heading back to the hearing, and then I came across him leaving his office, but he didn't spot me. Which (a) he was supposed to be in the Chamber himself, not goofing off alone in his office, and (b) he looked like he was up to something!"

"Up to something," Ron repeated. "You say your brother, who you have literally been cursed to irrationally distrust, looked like he was up to something. So, you then decided to break into his office?!"

Jim took umbrage at that. "You make it sound like I kicked the door in! It wasn't even locked!"

"Jim!"

The other boy winced at his friend's ire. "Sorry, sorry! I know, it was stupid, and it was my curse acting up. And I kinda knew that at the time. It's just …" For a few seconds, Jim struggled to articulate his feelings. "It was like … I was right there in front of a door, and I was curious about what was on the other side. And all of the sudden, I just … had to know!"

Ron rubbed his hands over his face. Not for the first time, Ron really wished that Jim had gone back to Shamballa for mental healing the year before as they'd planned. Between being under the Imperius, having a preexisting "fire soul imbalance" (as Healer Bhaskar had diagnosed him in the summer of 1993), and suffering whatever side effects being a raven Animagus brought to the table, Jim's impulsiveness seemed to be growing worse. Not that there was anything Ron could do at this point except mitigate the damage.

"Okay, let's move past the illegal break-in for now. We haven't even gotten to the horrible part yet. What did you discover in Harry's office that has you so bothered?"

"Not what, but who! Harry activated the portrait of Lord Erasmus Wilkes. You know, the Death Eater known as the Toymaker?"

"I know who the Toymaker was, Jim," Ron deadpanned. "You might recall that I spent several hours last summer curing five people of his Permanent Laughter Curse."

Jim winced again. He'd forgotten about Ron's role in that bit of legendary healing … for which the Daily Prophet had given the Boy-Who-Lived all the credit even though he'd been totally uninvolved.

"Sorry, sorry. But anyway, the Toymaker didn't know who I was at first, but I … well, I let it slip that I was Harry's brother, and apparently, Harry had told him all about me. About how I was the Boy-Who-Lived and the one who defeated Voldemort! And then, he started talking about how jealous Harry was of me and stuff like that."

"Jim!" Ron snapped, suddenly angry. "Please tell me that you were not taken in by a load of rubbish spouted off by a dead mass-murdering Death Eater just because it confirmed your unnatural distrust for Harry!"

Jim shook his head. "No, no. It's not that! Of course, I'm not going to believe anything that nutter said! But … from the things he did say, I kind of think that he was fishing for information about Harry. I think Harry may have been misleading the Toymaker about things. I dunno for sure, but I think Harry might have been trying to trick him into giving up information, though I don't know what about. Anyway, I was there for less than a minute before I got the heck out."

"So what's the problem then?"

"Well, if Harry was trying to trick the Toymaker for some reason, I think I might have messed it all up. Do you think I should let Harry know what happened?"

Ron stared at his friend in mild consternation. "Do I think that you should tell your estranged ex-brother—the one who is under an Oath of Enmity towards you that's just like the one that made me and Draco Malfoy hate each other on sight—that you illegally entered into his private office to strike up a conversation with the magical portrait of a Death Eater that he's trying to manipulate for some reason and that you probably ruined his scheme, whatever it was? Is that what you're asking me?"

Jim flushed. "Well, when you put it like that, you make it sound like a dumb idea!"

The redhead closed his eyes and counted down from ten. Then, he did it again in Parseltongue.

"No, do not say a bloody word to Harry about this. You're both cursed against each other in different ways. You'll just end up shouting at each other, and it'll all end in tears. Let me think about it. Maybe I can talk to Ginny and find out if she knows anything about it. Even if she doesn't, maybe I can talk to Harry through her. Maybe two degrees of separation is enough to keep you two from killing each other."

Jim exhaled loudly. "Thanks, mate. I owe you."

Despite himself, Ron grinned at Jim's expression of relief. He leaned back against the headboard. "No problem. Now, what else is on your mind that's a bloody disaster waiting to happen?"

"Well, that's the only potential disaster, so far as I know," Jim said. "But since I'm here—what are your plans for this Saturday? Are you going to the Imperius thingy?"

The "Imperius thingy" referred to the DADA seminar that Professor Moody had scheduled for Saturday morning, one to be given by a visiting Auror and dedicated to the Imperius Curse. And somewhat annoyingly, a seminar which had been scheduled for the morning of the first Hogsmeade weekend. The actual seminar was scheduled for 9:00 a.m., but afterwards, all the students would have the opportunity to be placed under the Imperius, so that they could experience the Unforgivable in controlled circumstances and hopefully learn how to throw it off.

"Well, of course I'm going to the seminar," Ron replied, "but I was planning on going to Hogsmeade in the afternoon. Hermione is having dinner with Healer Dagworth-Granger at the Three Broomsticks, and she asked me to come along for moral support."

Then, he hesitated. "Unless you need me to hang about for some reason. What is it, more research for the Tournament?"

Jim's face went sour for a moment. Part of his punishment for entering his name without his parents' permission was the loss of Hogsmeade privileges for the entire school year. And while he'd been spending most of his free time with Ron in the library looking for spells to help with the Tournament, Jim felt he was at an impasse since he still had no idea what the first challenge was going to be.

"No, no, that's fine. It's just … well, Padma's not a fan of Hogsmeade, and since I can't go anyway, I was thinking of inviting her to a picnic down by the lake. I'll go down to the kitchens and ask the house elves to pack us a basket."

"So … you're asking Padma out on a date?" Ron asked slowly, as if he were unsure about the concept of "dates."

"Well … yeah, I guess," Jim replied hesitantly. "I haven't really thought of it in those terms really. But yeah, I guess this will count as our first date."

"And you want to make sure I'm out of the way, I reckon."

"Not necessarily," Jim said, albeit with some reluctance. "I mean, you could always ask Parvati out and we could make it a double date. She likes you, doesn't she? Actually, from the way Padma talks about it, Parvati may have a bit of a crush on you."

Ron blanched slightly at that. "I don't know about that. But I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be asking someone out on a date who's still engaged to Indian Draco."

Jim smirked at the nickname he and Ron had come up with for Parvati's snobbish and arrogant fiancé. Though Ron did not share his friend's amusement.

"Okay, if you don't want to ask Parvati out, is there someone else you're interested in? Lavender, maybe?"

The other boy made a face. "No, no. It's … okay. I don't want to horn in on your … first date or whatever you're calling it. I'll just spend the day at Hogsmeade. That or I'll find something else to do. You two have a good time. But Sunday, we're back in the library, okay? I mean, the first challenge is coming up soon."

Jim snorted. "Don't I know it! That's part of why I want to go on at least one date with Padma! It might well be my only chance!"

Ron paled at that bit of gallows humor. "Please don't say things like that, Jim," he said quietly. "You're gonna survive the Tournament. No, you're gonna win the Tournament. I know you can!"

The Boy-Who-Lived smiled wanly at that. "Thanks, Ron. For everything." He rose from his chair. "Say, wanna come down to the Common Room? Maybe we can drag Seamus and Dean into a few hands of Exploding Snap!"

The redhead hesitated before shaking his head no. "Not tonight, if it's okay with you. I'm feeling kinda tired. And I still need to finish my Potions essay for tomorrow."

"Okay, I'll let you get to it." Jim rose and headed for the door. "See you tomorrow, mate."

Ron just waved jauntily, and then Jim left the room. Once the door closed, Ron gave out a long-suffering sigh before dragging his pillow up and over his face as if half-heartedly trying to smother himself.

"I hate my life," he said to no one in particular.

7 November 1994
The Great Hall
9:30 a.m.

"The Imperius Curse!" exclaimed John Dawlish with grave authority. "The most insidious and versatile of the Unforgivables. And perhaps the most dangerous."

The Auror's voice echoed through the Great Hall, which had been chosen as the location for this seminar. The tables had been removed just after breakfast and the benches and chairs rearranged so that they all faced the raised platform from which Dawlish spoke. Sitting behind him on the platform were Professor Moody, all three Headmasters, Director Crouch, and Chief Auror Bones. The Great Hall was packed, with all the Hogwarts students plus all the visiting students and their respective faculties in attendance. Snape stood in the back next to the door, a dour expression on his face.

From his lectern, Dawlish continued.

"The Killing Curse and the Cruciatus are often thought more terrible than the Imperius because one brings instant death and the other unimaginable pain, neither of which is a property of the Imperius. Nevertheless, I would submit that the Imperius is the most dangerous Unforgivable because the other two can only harm or kill a single person at a time. Ensnare someone with the Imperius and give them the right instructions, however, and that victim might go forth to kill or torture dozens of others before they can be brought down, while the anonymous caster who ensnared them hides safely in the shadows. And what's worse—if the caster is skilled enough at the Imperius, they can compel their victim to use the Imperius on others, all of whom will remain enslaved until the original caster's control is broken. When You-Know-Who fell, it caused a cascade failure in the web of Imperius victims he had under his control, with scores of highly placed government officials who had Imperiused each other instantly breaking free.

"Like the other two curses, the Imperius is referred to as Unforgivable because of the psychological effect its usage has on the caster. More than any other form of dark magic, the Unforgivables are considered evil spells, not simply because of their effects, but because casters who use them repeatedly come to accept the idea that they themselves are evil for having done so. In fact, this psychic impression of evilness, of unforgivability, is the reason why most wizards and witches prove incapable of casting them at all—the average person's mind simply recoils at the emotions the Unforgivables instill, thus preventing the curse's completion. But that resistance can be overcome with will and experience, and the more readily you accept the suggestion that you are an evil person, the more able and less reluctant you will be to use the Unforgivables without restraint. This is especially true for the Imperius. Other than out of sheer cruelty for its own sake, even the most ruthless criminals seldom have the opportunity or need for the Killing Curse or the Cruciatus. But there is literally no end to the possible commands that a caster can give to an Imperius victim.

"Indeed, a sufficiently skilled caster can compel his victim to use spells that the victim doesn't even know so long as they're in the caster's repertoire, or even make use of physical skills in which the victim has no training. An Imperius victim can be made to perform gymnastic feats with ease or to travel to a location they've never seen before as long as the caster has been there. Worst of all, they can be ordered to attack, curse, and even kill people on sight who they've never met before so long as the caster has a clear mental image of that target. After all, why go to the time and effort to break into a wizarding home and kill an entire family that had gained You-Know-Who's ire when you could Imperius a wizarding child who'd just finished her first year at Hogwarts and have her murder her whole family in their sleep?!"

Most of the audience shifted uneasily at that last remark, and even Dawlish himself seemed to falter a bit.

"Forgive me … that was a reminder of my very first case as an Auror."

The Auror swallowed and steeled himself to continue.

"But more than versatility, the Imperius is the most commonly-used Unforgivable—and the one that most often leads to life sentences in Azkaban—because of the most insidious aspect of the curse: To put it plainly, it feels good. The Imperius Curse is intensely pleasurable, both for the victim, who is trapped mentally in a dream-state that makes it hard to resist, but also for the caster, who experiences an almost-narcotic rush of power from the experience of enslaving another's will. The Imperius is, in a very real sense, addictive. The more you use it, the more you want to use it. And the more it's used upon you, the more ready you are to continue your submission. During the last war, most dark wizards arrested and imprisoned for using Unforgivables were not the murderers or torturers, but rather the ones who used the Imperius to enslave others to You-Know-Who's cause. And having used the Imperius once, many of them felt compelled to use it again and again and again, often for the most frivolous of purposes. Indeed, often for no purpose at all save for the pleasure of humiliating their victims until they were inevitably discovered.

"You are here today to learn about and even experience the Imperius Curse because most of the dark wizards prosecuted for its use were not found out because they were caught in the act. Rather, it was because they pushed their victims too far, so that the victim's mind finally rebelled against some unacceptable order and broke free of the curse. In the next phase of this seminar, you will be subjected to the Imperius first-hand under controlled circumstances. So that you can recognize what it feels like. So that you can learn to be on guard against the seductive feeling that nothing matters so you might as well just obey. And hopefully, so you can learn to throw it off before you're made to do something you will regret for the rest of your life."

Dawlish paused and looked out over the crowd. "Any questions so far?"

Several hands went up, one of which belonged to Harry Black. And after Dawlish had answered a few other queries, he finally called upon Harry.

"In his lectures on the other two Unforgivables," Harry began, "Professor Moody explained that they both had esoteric components that required a degree of hatred for a particular person that would be beyond the capacity of most people to maintain. What are the esoteric requirements for the Imperius, and are they also too demanding for the average wizard? Or are they something that we should be concerned about from potentially anyone?"

"Well, to answer the last question first: Yes, you should be concerned about potentially anyone since, as I mentioned earlier, an experienced caster can essentially cast the Imperius through someone already under the curse against a third person, even if the second person could not ordinarily cast the Imperius on their own. But to answer what is probably your real question: The Imperius does not require hatred so much as contempt. You must be able to maintain in your mind the idea that your intended victim is absolutely your inferior and that their basic humanity is less important than whatever temporary needs you have that you want the victim to fulfill. In other words, a firm belief that the victim simply doesn't matter. And unlike the Killing Curse and the Cruciatus—each of which requires monomaniacal hatred for someone but not necessarily the current target—the Imperius requires you to believe in the inferiority of whoever you use it on. In other words, the curse might succeed against one person but fail against another according to the subjective beliefs of the caster about the intended victim, even before the victim's ability to resist comes into play."

Harry nodded at that answer, but then, he noticed that, a few seats away, Hermione Granger suddenly thrust her arm up. Instantly, the Slytherin felt a sudden frisson of concern that was justified a few seconds later when Dawlish called on the Muggleborn girl.

"So, if the Imperius Curse is actually easier to use against people one considers to be inferior in some way, to the point of being worthy of contempt, would you agree that societal and institutional bigotry based on blood status would have the effect of making it easier for Purebloods to use the Imperius against Muggleborns and Halfbloods rather than the other way around?"

The question seemed to catch Dawlish by surprise, as did the sudden wave of murmuring that washed across the hall.

"Well … I'm not aware of any studies or anything supporting that conclusion. But I can see your point. Given how Death Eater ideology focused on blood purism to an intense degree, it probably made it easier for You-Know-Who's adherents to employ the Imperius against their enemies, especially since that ideology would have allowed them to view even fellow Purebloods who could be characterized as blood traitors as being viable targets for the curse…"

Dawlish's response was cut short by a loud cough from the Chief Auror sitting behind him. He blushed slightly and quickly changed topics away from the fraught issue of blood purism in Ministry politics.

"But I reckon that's enough questions for now. Let's move on to the next topic: how to tell if a friend or loved one might be under the Imperius."

Dawlish's lecture continued for another half hour followed by a short break, during which Dawlish, Moody, Crouch, Chief Auror Bones, and Dumbledore exited into a nearby waiting room. The Chief Auror looked around at the others with a hesitant expression before finally pulling out her wand.

"I still can't believe I'm doing this," she said irritably. "Particularly with two known Death Eaters on the premises."

"Professor Snape has my complete trust, Amelia," said Dumbledore. "But if it will put your mind at ease, I have arranged for Headmasters Karkaroff and Maxime to provide a tour of the Durmstrang ship and the Beauxbatons carriage for myself and a few other faculty members, including Severus. Afterwards, we will lunch together in Hogsmeade. And so, I can assure you that those two individuals will be under my observation for the entire length of this exercise."

"And the rest of the Durmstrang visitors?" asked Moody.

"I quietly but thoroughly investigated all of their backgrounds when they were chosen to attend," Dumbledore explained patiently. "None of them were ever associated in any way with the Death Eaters nor had any history of criminality or even unusual proficiency with the Dark Arts. Granted, in addition to Karkaroff, both Sandor Farkas and Luminita Zedescu were heavily involved with the Balkan Liberation Movement, but the latter two were never connected to the faction that worked with Voldemort."

Dawlish and Bones visibly flinched at the Dark Lord's name. The others took it in stride, though Crouch frowned at Dumbledore's casual use of the taboo name.

"What about students?" he asked aloud. "Did you do any background checks on the older Durmstrang brats, most of whom have probably had Dark Arts training and two of whom are the spawn of a Death Eater?"

"Crouch …!" Amelia began warningly, but Albus interrupted her objection.

"Barty, I know your concerns about our current head of the DMLE. But I find it unlikely that, even if our fears about Corban Yaxley are justified, he taught his sons to cast the Imperius Curse before the age of seventeen."

"Indulge my paranoia, Albus. Can't you have a house elf shadow them invisibly for the next few hours?"

"The Hogwarts Headmaster is forbidden to use house elves to invade the privacy of students," the older man said flatly.

Crouch gave a rueful expression that then grew thoughtful.

"Very well. But speaking of house elves, Albus, that reminds me: I have a small favor to ask. For the duration of my stay at the castle, would you mind assigning Winky to me for my personal use? I miss the dear thing greatly, and I'm sure she feels the same. It would ease both my time here and perhaps help her efforts to integrate with the other Hogwarts elves."

"I don't see any problem with …" Dumbledore stopped suddenly, and his eyes narrowed. "Barty, are you going to use Winky to spy on the Yaxley boys?"

"I understand what you just said about respecting the privacy of Hogwarts students and agree with you completely," Crouch said in a monotone voice.

The others stared at him with varying degrees of consternation at what Crouch said and what he hadn't said. Then, Dumbledore sighed.

"Very well. I'll trust you not to abuse this privilege, Barty," he said warningly. Then, Dumbledore summoned Winky to the chamber and ordered her to obey her former master's instructions for the remainder of his time at Hogwarts. The tiny thing burst into tears and raced to hug Crouch's legs. He smiled warmly and patted his former elf on the head.

"There, there, Winky. Now pop off to my quarters and wait for me there. I'll be along momentarily to discuss your duties for the duration of my stay."

With a loud sniffle, the elf disappeared.

"Is, um, that everything?" Dawlish asked hesitantly. "The Seventh Years should be waiting for me in the classroom, and I'd like a few minutes to meditate before I start … you know."

"I understand, Dawlish," said Bones. "And I appreciate the nature of the burden you're shouldering today."

Then, she pulled out her wand and summoned her Patronus, a stern-looking eagle.

"Go to Senior Auror Thicknesse at Auror Command and convey this message: This is Amelia Bones, passcode Babel-Ossuary-Newton-Etherial-Sigma. I hereby direct you to initiate the Auror Corps Directive 7-11-94-Gamma. Duration: 5 hours."

The eagle disappeared in a flash of light.

"Right," she said to Dawlish. "Give it a few minutes. And then, the alarm at the Ministry which alerts the Aurors to the use of an Unforgivable at Hogwarts will be silenced for the next five hours. You're sure you can get through the whole Hogwarts student body in that time?"

Dawlish looked at her with a slightly ashen expression. "I can do it, Chief Auror. I just … won't enjoy it."

The other four nodded solemnly, even though they all understood that his last statement was a lie. The true danger for John Dawlish was that he would enjoy it all too much.

Later …

The current NEWT-level years were a bit smallish, and so Dawlish and Moody had elected to combine all of the Seventh-Year Hogwarts students and their counterparts from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang into a single class, and then do the same for the Sixth Years. The DADA classroom had been magically expanded to accommodate them all. To Dawlish's surprise, out of a room of over fifty students, a full dozen were able to at least struggle against his Imperius. Indeed, four of them—the Beauxbatons Champion and three of the Durmstrang Seventh Years—were able to throw it off completely by their second try, though Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang Champion, showed no signs of resistance. Dawlish reckoned that, with additional training, the other eight gifted students could probably develop complete resistance as well, at least to an Imperius cast by someone of his skill level. Of course, any actual dark wizard would probably perform the spell well above his level, a point he made clear to the students. This was because John Dawlish (unlike, say, the typical Death Eater) was trying not to become a sadistic monster, a mental state that would naturally make an Imperius cast by said monster far more potent.

The Sixth Years, by comparison, included only three students who could resist the Imperius to any degree, at least on their own, all from Durmstrang. Notably, Cedric Diggory, like Viktor Krum, showed no sign of resistance. But the class did include one surprising anomaly. Dawlish placed one of Arthur Weasley's boys (Fred, to be specific) under the curse without difficulty. Oddly, however, George Weasley very quickly became distressed at the sight of his twin succumbing and yelled out Fred's name. And that immediately gave Fred the proper encouragement to throw off the Imperius completely! Intrigued, Dawlish (with Moody's permission) put Fred under the curse a few more times with the same results: Fred had no resistance to the Imperius on his own until his twin brother George yelled at him to snap out of it, at which point he did so easily. And the same was true in reverse when Dawlish placed George under the curse. Moreover, each twin seemed able to recognize instantly when his sibling had fallen under the spell even when the effects were not obvious, and both of them seemed to feel unusually affected by the mere sight of the other being put under the spell.

Now quite curious about this hitherto unknown aspect of the Imperius, the Auror directed George to step out of the room, count to twenty, and return. When George came back in, he saw that Fred was wearing a vacant expression and pointing a wand straight at him. After about two seconds of hesitation and confusion, George let out a snort.

"Right," he said cheekily. "Now you're just faking it!"

Fred, who Dawlish had not cursed that time, burst into laughter. Dawlish simply looked back and forth between the Weasley Twins, his Ravenclaw eyes lighting up in academic curiosity.

"But this is just fascinating!" he exclaimed delightedly. "I really want to run some experiments now on how the Twin Bond reacts with the Imperius Curse …"

"Dawlish!" Barty Crouch barked out warningly, causing the Auror to flush quickly and then pause to clear his throat before resuming.

"… but, of course, that would be very wrong!"

After a few more minutes, Dawlish wrapped up with the Sixth-Year students, who swiftly exited the classroom. Some were excited about the day's lesson while others were still uncomfortable or even upset over being Imperiused.

Next came the Fifth Years who, to Dawlish's disappointment, did not contain any students able to show more than token resistance. After that session ended, the Auror exhaled as the last student departed and then rubbed his hands over his face furiously.

"You okay, Johnny?" asked Moody.

"I'm fine," Dawlish muttered stoically. "Let's just get through the next group and then maybe we can take a break for a bit."

By that point, more students had entered. The Fourth Years were a much larger class than their older peers, and so were split into two sessions. The first group included the Slytherins and the Gryffindors, plus Draco Malfoy, the only Fourth Year visitor to attend the Tournament. Crouch stepped forward and clapped the Auror on the shoulder.

"You and Professor Moody seem to have things in hand," he said. "Unless you feel I'm needed here, I should like to step out now. I need to talk with Winky and take care of some paperwork, and I'll also be joining Albus and the others for the faculty luncheon at the Three Broomsticks."

He favored the Auror with a smile. "You should come along, Dawlish, whenever you're finished for the day. After all, I suppose this makes you an honorary DADA professor, doesn't it?"

The other man paled at Crouch's humorous suggestion that he had anything to do with the notoriously cursed DADA professorship.

"I'll … try to stop by, sir, time permitting. I'm actually going to the Three Broomsticks anyway to meet up with my partner."

"Oh? I didn't think you were assigned a partner while on this assignment."

"My … domestic partner, Director Crouch."

Crouch's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Ooooh, I see. Well, feel free to bring him along as well if you want. I should like to meet him."

The Auror nodded noncommittally, and then, after shaking hands with Moody, Crouch departed the room, passing by several Fourth Years along the way. He paused to nod respectfully at both Jim and Harry, the two underage Champions whose lives had been put into jeopardy by the Tournament he'd brought to Hogwarts. He also scowled at the sight of Draco Malfoy in his Durmstrang robes.

Meanwhile, the guest lecturer braced himself and regarded the incoming students. He also focused his Occlumency on blocking out his awareness of the seductive afterglow that came from using the Imperius Curse repeatedly, not to mention blocking out any thoughts of how much he might enjoy using that curse in ways more entertaining and provocative than were called for in his carefully drafted and intentionally boring lesson plans.

Moody stood off to the side and regarded the Senior Auror in silence save for the soft whirring of his magic eye.

About ten minutes later, Dawlish completed his introductory remarks and began the practical portion of his lecture. The first person he called up was Gregory Goyle of Slytherin.

"Now, Mr. Goyle," Dawlish began. "Would you describe yourself as athletic or graceful?"

Greg nearly laughed at that. While stocky and muscular for his age, the Slytherin still had a reputation for clumsiness.

"Not really, sir," he answered somewhat nervously.

Dawlish nodded and then swiftly raised his wand. "IMPERIO."

Almost instantly, Greg's eyes glazed over. Dawlish took a moment to point out some of the tell-tale signs of Imperius control, most notably the boy's vacant expression and the milky-white sheen of his eyes. The Auror also made sure to note that a victim who had been given standing post-Imperius orders and then released from the spell would typically not show most of those symptoms if the spell had been cast carefully and subtly by an experienced dark wizard. Instead, the victim might appear completely normal after being released from direct control until the time came for him to act on his instructions. At that, Harry and Jim couldn't help but look in each other's direction for just a moment while Ron, standing next to Jim, merely winced.

Dawlish turned back to Goyle and spoke in an unnervingly firm voice.

"Do a handstand. And then walk around at my direction on your hands."

Immediately, Greg raised his arms up over his head before bending down sharply to put his hands on the floor while kicking his legs up—a perfect handstand. And without the slightest bit of difficulty, the boy began walking back and forth in front of the class on his hands as if he were a skilled acrobat. A few students laughed nervously, but for the most part, there was a frightened silence at the display. Then, Dawlish directed the boy back to where he'd begun.

"When I release you from the spell, you will remember everything you did."

Then, he lowered his wand, which had been pointing at the boy continuously as he moved around the room. Immediately, Goyle shook his head and his eyes returned to normal. After a second to think, the Slytherin visibly shuddered at the memory of his loss of control.

"So, Mr. Goyle," Dawlish asked. "What do you remember?"

Greg licked his lips as he tried to articulate his thoughts. "I remember you pointing your wand at me and casting the spell. And then, everything was just … nice. A strange sort of floaty feeling. I just felt … happy."

And from his expression, it was clear he now understood what Dawlish had meant about the Imperius Curse's addictive qualities.

"And do you remember walking around on your hands?"

"Yes sir," the boy answered. "But I have no idea how I did it!"

"Would you please try to do a handstand now?

Goyle gave the Auror a dubious expression before dutifully trying to perform even a simple handstand, but he was completely unable to maintain his balance and instantly fell to the floor.

"Good effort, lad," said Dawlish as he helped the Slytherin back up before turning back to the audience. "Now, consider what just happened. Mr. Goyle performed physical actions under the Imperius that he was incapable of performing when not under the curse. And to be perfectly honest, I could not have walked around on my hands either, so it's not like any physical skills were transferred by the spell. Rather, when it comes to purely physical activities that require agility or coordination but no special training, I just need to be able to visualize what I wanted Mr. Goyle to do with his body, and the curse does the rest. Of course, I couldn't order him to do physically impossible things like fly under his own power or jump from the top of the Astronomy Tower and land safely."

Then, Dawlish frowned and corrected himself. "It goes without saying that I could have easily ordered him to jump from the top of the Astronomy Tower if his safety or even survival was not a concern. Under the control of a true dark wizard, a victim can easily be compelled to torture himself, and he will do so without regard to things like pain, fear, and even blood loss!"

Much of the audience grew squeamish at that, but Dawlish persevered. "Only the most powerful casters can instill such orders without maintaining constant direct control. I could not have ordered Mr. Goyle to walk back to his dormitory on his hands without me following after him to maintain the curse. But someone like, say, Augustus Rookwood could easily give such an order and have it be obeyed for quite a while. Indeed, Rookwood could probably give someone a compulsion to walk everywhere on their hands, and it would last for some time before wearing off. It might be a permanent compulsion absent intervention from a Mind Healer or the death of the caster. Of course, that would be a rather frivolous use of the Imperius for a man like Rookwood, but he could certainly give very complex instructions regarding physical actions, including actions beyond the victim's normal capabilities, that would last indefinitely.

"I should also note one limitation of the Imperius. Regularly at the Auror Academy, well-meaning trainees ask whether it might be acceptable to use the Imperius for some life-saving purpose. One hypothetical presented was putting someone trapped in a burning building under the Imperius to give them the physical dexterity and agility to climb out a window and down a drainpipe or trellis to safety. That would not work, however. As I mentioned this morning, the spell's esoteric elements require a desire to dominate the target, who must be someone who the caster considers to be an inferior and generally someone towards whom the caster feels an impulse towards cruelty. I can imagine far-fetched scenarios in which someone put under the Imperius might benefit in some way from the experience, but as a practical matter, the Imperius Curse cannot be cast without malicious intent."

Immediately, Harry Black raised his hand with a question.

"Could you expand on what you mean by the caster considering the victim to be inferior. Is it enough for one person to be in a position of authority over the other? For example: could a parent use the Imperius against one of their children simply because of the parent-child relationship?"

At that, Jim's head snapped in Harry's direction angrily, but before he could say or do anything, Ron leaned over and elbowed him sharply. Meanwhile, Dawlish considered the idea seriously.

"Hmm, well, I'm pretty sure if you can cast the Imperius on your own child, you probably don't love them very much. I would say that in a healthy parental relationship, even a stern parent still has a fundamental level of respect for the humanity of their own offspring. There have been dark wizards who went to Azkaban for using the Imperius on their children, but they were all abusive even outside the use of the Unforgivable."

At that, Jim's anger at Harry was forgotten, as he looked suddenly stricken at Dawlish's words.

"Now then, let's move on to a related aspect of the spell: giving orders that require knowledge the victim does not actually possess."

Dawlish sent Goyle back to his own seat while he looked around the room for a second.

"Raise your hand if you're a Muggleborn, please."

Only two Gryffindors raised their hands. Hermione Granger did so almost defiantly, but Dean Thomas was more cautious. Dawlish glanced at Hermione but after their exchange earlier, he decided to call Dean up to the front instead.

"Mr. Thomas, are you familiar with a singer by the name of Celestina Warbeck?"

"Well, I've heard of her," the boy said hesitantly, "but I'm not much of a fan, to be honest. I don't think I know any of her songs or anything. I think she's more popular with older witches and wizards."

Dawlish gave a sour expression at that dig against his favorite singer. Out in the audience, Harry stiffened slightly, as he noticed that the Auror had suddenly grown more excited about what was coming next. With a quick wand motion, Dawlish barked out "IMPERIO" and Dean was under the spell, his eyes glazing over and becoming milky white, just like Goyle's had. Dawlish turned his head towards the audience while keeping his wand trained on the boy.

"Now, let's do something a bit more complicated. Every time I snap my fingers, you will begin to sing 'Cauldron of Hot Strong Love' in your best Celestina Warbeck imitation, including choreography, until I tell you to stop. You will continue to do this every time I snap my fingers until after you have left the room, at which point the compulsion will end. You will not remember that I have used the Imperius curse on you, nor anything that happened while you were under the curse, though you will still obey the commands you have been given. You will also forget about performing the song as instructed after I tell you to stop. Your memories will return once I tell you to remember."

Dawlish snapped his wand down, and Dean's eyes returned to normal. He blinked a few times and then looked up at the Auror expectantly.

"How do you feel, lad?" Dawlish asked.

"Um, a little nervous, but I think I'm ready for you to try the curse against me."

"Oh? And how do you know you're not already under the effects of the Imperius?"

Dean laughed uneasily. "Well, I think I'd remember that sir."

Dawlish nodded sharply and then raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Immediately, Dean threw his arms out dramatically and started to belt out Celestina Warbeck's signature tune with aplomb. As he continued to sing and even swing his hips in time with the music, the auror addressed the students who all watched the performance in horrified fascination.

"Now ignore Mr. Thomas's lovely singing voice for a second and consider the ramifications of what he's doing. First of all, observe that I am not actively maintaining the curse now. I have given Mr. Thomas his instructions, and he is fulfilling them. It is no longer necessary for me to keep pointing my wand at him as it was when I compelled Mr. Goyle to continuously perform complex physical actions. But more importantly, Mr. Thomas is singing a song he doesn't know. His knowledge of the lyrics and tune and even the choreography he is performing were drawn from my own memories of having seen Celestina Warbeck in concert and implanted within him as part of the command by the spell itself. In other words, when a dark wizard or witch gives the victim a command through the Imperius, they also give that victim all the empirical knowledge needed to fulfill it provided the caster has that knowledge to impart."

By that point, the Auror had needed to raise his voice to be heard over the crescendo of Thomas's singing. Dawlish smirked almost arrogantly.

"I guess that makes me one of those older wizards that Mr. Thomas spoke so disparagingly about."

Then, he gestured with his hand towards Dean's face. "Finally, and perhaps most importantly, you will note that he now shows none of the signs of Imperius control that I described earlier. He is obviously acting out of character, but if I'd given him more subtle instructions—like wait quietly and patiently until Professor Moody here is looking the other way and then strike him from behind with the Killing Curse—only someone truly experienced at detecting mind control would notice anything out of the ordinary until it was too late."

Several students gasped at Dawlish's casual reference to enslaving a student to use as an assassin, and all of them looked shaken. Dawlish, however, ignored the reaction and turned back to the spellbound singer, smiling and nodding his head along with the music. But after another full verse of the song (well-performed, it must be said), Moody quietly called out the Auror's name. That seemed to break Dawlish out of his own spell, and he quickly told Dean to stop singing. Dean stopped instantly and looked around in mild confusion.

"You okay, Thomas?" Dawlish asked innocently.

"Um, a little nervous, but I think I'm ready for you to try the curse against me."

Out in the crowd, Harry and several others shuddered as they noticed that Dean had repeated the exact same answer as before and with the exact same inflections. Dawlish smiled condescendingly.

"That's quite alright, Mr. Thomas. On second thought, just go back to your seat for now."

Dean shrugged and headed back towards his waiting seat. But halfway there, Dawlish snapped his fingers again, and instantly the Gryffindor resumed his Warbeck imitation.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," Dawlish said with what Harry thought was the beginning of a cruel expression. "The boy really does do a spot-on Warbeck impersonation! I mean, not only is he pitch perfect, but he is nailing Celestina's style!"

Dawlish laughed at his own comments while the Gryffindor continued to sing and dance. No one else laughed. After a few more seconds, Moody again called out the Auror's name a bit more forcefully, causing Dawlish to once again regain control of himself. He ordered Dean to stop, and the boy once again looked around the room in confusion, particularly since everyone else in the room was staring at him aghast.

"Mr. Thomas," Dawlish said with authority. "Remember."

Dean froze and blinked a few times before he practically fell into his chair while looking as if he were about to throw up. Dawlish turned back to the crowd with a stern expression.

"I should also note that, had I not given Mr. Thomas a command that would allow him to remember what happened, he would never even know that he'd been Imperiused nor recall what all he did while Imperiused absent high-level psychic healing or my death, the latter of which would completely end any lingering compulsions on anyone I'd ever used the Imperius against. And while the compulsion I gave him to perform that song will end as soon as he leaves the room, had I not included a trigger to end the compulsion, it might have lasted for days or even weeks. A more subtle compulsion might well last for the rest of Mr. Thomas's life. So too might the obvious compulsion to perform that Warbeck song whenever he heard someone snap their fingers if the caster was a true master of the curse!"

Dawlish turned back to Dean, now with a somewhat more compassionate expression.

"Mr. Thomas, if you wish to leave the room for a few minutes to compose yourself and perhaps go to the loo and splash some water on your face, you are free to do so. All the commands will be neutralized upon your return."

Dean nodded and slowly rose from his chair. At Dawlish's direction, Seamus Finnegan accompanied Dean out of the classroom. Harry noticed that the Gryffindor was avoiding eye contact with the other students, but he seemed quite humiliated, if not traumatized, by the experience.

"And just imagine," though Harry, "how much worse it would be for someone compelled to actually hurt or kill people while under the Imperius!"

"Right, then," Dawlish said to the class. "Everyone form a line. Now that you understand what this curse does and what to look for, I'll test each of you. Nothing as elaborate as what I did to Mr. Goyle and Mr. Thomas. Just a quick and instant command so that you can feel the curse's effects and, with luck, find some way to resist it."

As Harry watched carefully, Dawlish placed one of his classmates after another under the curse. Theo hopped around the room on one leg. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of very impressive cartwheels. Blaise was forced to only speak in rhyming couplets. Ron was compelled to skip around the room like a little girl.

Then, it was Hermione's turn, and Harry suddenly (and unaccountably) gritted his teeth at the thought of her being subjected to the Imperius and made to act against her will. But then, to his and everyone else's surprise, the bushy-haired witch showed signs of resistance! The command had been to sing the Muggle national anthem. But while she initially showed signs of being Imperiused and sang the first few words, Hermione suddenly stopped, and her face contorted into a mask of concentration. She continued with the words to "God Save The Queen," but she wasn't really singing them. Rather, it was more like each word was being dragged out of her mouth. Dawlish actually released her from the curse before she reached the end.

"Well done, Miss Granger!" he exclaimed with a grin. "The first Fourth Year to show any resistance! I'll wager with a bit more practice you can throw it completely."

"Thank you, Auror Dawlish," she replied in a shaky voice. She stepped away … and Jim took her place.

Dawlish cast the Unforgivable on the Boy-Who-Lived, and his eyes did go glazed and milky. Then, the Auror ordered Jim to jump onto the nearby desk, but Jim didn't move at all. Surprised, Dawlish repeated the order more forcefully. Rather than comply, however, Jim just blinked his eyes a few times.

"No," he said slowly. "I don't think I will, thanks."

Dawlish's eyes widened in surprise. "Well done, Potter! Everyone! Look at that, you lot … Potter beat it on his first go! I think that's the best anyone's done the whole day except for a few Seventh Years! Good job!"

Moody spoke up, then, for the first time in the whole class. "Yes, Potter. Very good job indeed! If you don't mind me inquiring, though … have you ever been targeted with the Imperius before?"

"… no sir," Jim said firmly but while studiously avoiding eye contact with either Moody or Dawlish. Nearby, several of Jim's friends who knew perfectly well that he'd been Imperiused (if not by whom) looked at one another in surprise at the lie.

"Hmm. All the more impressive for it then. Perhaps some more of your Boy-Who-Lived weirdness."

Jim nodded, though his jaw was clenched. "Probably so."

Then, Jim stepped aside to join the others who'd been through the curse. Along the way, he and Harry made eye contact. Neither said anything, though Harry did crook an eyebrow sardonically.

A moment later, it was Harry's turn. "IMPERIO!" It was the most wonderful feeling the boy had ever experienced. Harry felt a floating sensation as though every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. In other words, it was such a wholly unnatural feeling for Harry Black that he instantly identified it as a foreign mental influence. Then, through the haze of unnatural happiness, he heard Dawlish's voice echoing inside his brain. Jump on to the desk … jump onto the desk. It was at that point that several thoughts raced through Harry's mind so quickly that he almost felt like he was dilating.

One: I am under the Imperius Curse. But I know I am, and I can therefore recognize the order to jump on the desk as unnatural.

Two: Because I know the order is unnatural, I am not compelled to obey it.

Three: But, do I want to reveal at this point that I can resist the Imperius? Or do I want to keep that talent in reserve in case someone tries to Imperius me for real later?

Four: On the other hand, do I mentally have it in me to pretend to be vulnerable to the Imperius right after Jim shrugged it off like it was nothing? Even if it's the tactically wise thing to do?

Five: Would I fool anyone even if I did pretend to be vulnereable? Presumably Dawlish as the caster knows whether someone he Imperios … Imperiuses? ... is under control or not.

Six: What is the verb form of "to place someone under the Imperius" anyway?

Unfortunately for Harry, while all of those contradictory thoughts raced through his head, they did not do so fast enough for him to resolve the conundrum in time. His desire to resist the curse warred with his desire to pretend to submit to it (with a momentary flash of confusion over the Unforgivable's proper grammar), resulting in him doing neither. Instead of either jumping onto the desk or preventing himself from doing so, he smashed into the desk with enough force to knock it over. Then, he fell to the floor with a yell of pain.

"OOOWWW!"

"And good job to you too, Black!" Dawlish exclaimed, oblivious to the boy's injury. "Not as good as your brother's effort, but you nearly threw it off as well!"

Harry bit down on his urge to snarl something sarcastic at the Auror. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused his Occlumency on suppressing his pain receptors so that he could ignore his two broken kneecaps.

"Say, do you want to go again?" the man asked gamely. "Another two or three tries, and I'm sure you could resist the curse!"

Harry glared at Dawlish. "Perhaps it would be best, sir, if you proceed with the other students while I receive some medical attention!"

"Dawlish," Moody drawled in annoyance. "Stop nattering and heal the boy's kneecaps."

"Huh? Oh! Blimey!" Dawlish rushed forward and knelt to cast healing magic. "Sorry about that Mr. Black. Got caught up in the moment."

"Uh-huh." Harry grimaced at the itchy sensation of his kneecaps knitting themselves back together, but then, he relaxed as the pain subsided naturally. Dawlish helped him to his feet, and the boy walked over to his Slytherin friends somewhat stiffly while Moody restored the desk with a flick of his wand.

After another few minutes or so, the Gryffindor-Slytherin class wrapped up nearly fifteen minutes early, and Moody released the students, all of whom quickly left the classroom in hopes of enjoying the remainder of their Hogsmeade weekend. Once they were gone, Dawlish sighed loudly and then slumped against the desk.

"So," Dawlish asked Moody somewhat acerbically. "Am I getting … weird?"

"Maybe a little. Good thing you've got a boyfriend who's qualified to check you out later for any developing pathologies. We only have one class left. For today, at least."

Dawlish nodded ruefully. This assignment was not just for one day. Rather, he would be returning to the castle intermittently over the term to provide Imperius resistance training for any students who wanted it.

"Do we have time for me to take a break? I need to meditate and reinforce my architecture."

Moody pulled out a pocket watch and checked it. "We're running about 15 minutes early. Tell you what. Take half an hour. The faculty lounge is near here, and it's got a private toilet in it. Go freshen up and do whatever psychic mumbo-jumbo you need to do. I'll send word that the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw section will start 15 minutes late. That work for you?"

Dawlish nodded gratefully. Moody gave him directions to the faculty lounge, and the two men exited the DADA classroom, each heading off in opposite directions.

Somewhere else in the castle, at some point during the thirty-minute break …

There was a sharp knock at the door.

"Just a minute," came a voice from inside.

The door opened.

"Oh, it's you. What can I … wait, what are you …?!"

"IMPERIO!"

Next: Encounters in Hogsmeade. The Weighing of the Wands. And Rita Skeeter drops by for a chat.

AN2: What the Sinister Man is reading:

Professor Dawlish by Ambracian. (A03. Complete.) Because of chicanery by Griselda Marchbanks, Umbridge is blocked from serving as DADA instructor at the start of Fifth Year, and Auror John Dawlish (to his great chagrin) is sent instead. And unfortunately for Umbridge, he's a conscientious Hufflepuff.

anglerfish by DragonflyxParodies. (A03. Incomplete.) Lily Potter has had enough of Dumbledore's "cult" and James's devotion to it. So, she's making plans to file for divorce before James realizes that Harry is a Parselmouth. And so is she.

AN3: Special thanks to my Discord editors: Nemo's Flower Song, Farsight, Rorschach's Blot- not the author, Daniel?, Sandyna (Melanie), BlueWater5, EssayOfThoughts | Aich, Earwing, Farsight, StillPossible (they/them), Idefix, and Sakkiko. Thanks guys!

AN4: Vital Statistics: Reviews: 19,098. Followers: 21,113. Favorites: 19,417. Communities: 255 Discord followers: 5,630! Go Team POS!

Chapter Text

7 November 1994
The Three Broomsticks
Hogsmeade
4:30 p.m.

The better of the two Hogsmeade pubs was quite crowded, as one might expect on a Hogsmeade weekend, even though the students had been prevented from coming to town until the afternoon. Presently, the Silver Trio (Blaise was still working on the t-shirts) sat a table in a corner booth, which they jealously guarded while waiting for some more friends. The bell over the door rang as it opened, and Harry waved to the new arrivals: Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum. The two made their way over and joined the three Slytherins in the booth.

“Good afternoon, Harry Black and friends of Harry Black!” Viktor said gregariously as he pulled out a chair for Hermione. “Viktor has found Hogsmeade most charmful. Very impressed with quality of Quidditch supplies at …” He turned to Hermione. “Vat was name of store?”

“Quality Quidditch Supplies,” she replied.

Viktor nodded. “Logical.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve enjoyed our Hermione showing you the sights of Hogsmeade, such as they are,” said Harry. “But have you by any chance seen Draco? I haven’t seen him since the Imperius lecture. I am supposed to be his chaperone, after all.”

The Bulgarian assumed a disgruntled look. “Viktor thinks that Dragon is off with his … Dragon friends.”

The three boys looked confused at that cryptic remark and turned to Hermione.

“At Durmstrang,” she explained, “the term Dragon usually refers to a member of House Zmeyevich, whose members are traditional rivals to the Bogatyrs. House Bogatyr is very honorable and martial, while Zmeyevich is more … chaotic. My impression is that if the Weasley Twins had gone to Durmstrang, they’d have been Sorted into Zmeyevich. Anyway, Viktor is suggesting that Draco is running with a bad crowd.”

“Well,” said Harry, “it’s not like it’s the first time for him. But he’d better get here soon. His father is coming tonight, along with my godfather. We’ll be having dinner in a private room upstairs.”

“Really?” said Hermione mildly. “Small world. I’ll be having a private dinner upstairs as well. One of the Dagworth-Grangers invited me to meet with him.”

“Oh?” inquired Blaise. “I thought we hated the Dagworth-Grangers for being blood-purist scum or something. Has that changed?”

The witch shrugged. “We’ll see. The Dagworth-Granger Heir seemed mortified when I told him what his Aunt Cressida wrote to me a few years ago.”

“Does … blood purism make life difficult for … Granger?” asked Viktor hesitantly. Harry noted that the Bulgarian had apparently abandoned all hope of pronouncing Hermione’s given name, at least while they were in public.

“Well, yes,” answered Hermione who obviously thought it a silly question. “There is entrenched bigotry in Wizarding Britain, with our Pureblood overlords permitted if not encouraged to look down on Muggleborns. And in the case of the Dagworth-Grangers, even Muggleborns who can prove their descent from old Pureblood families!”

“Viktor understands this,” he replied placatingly. “Is terrible how British Purebloods ignore their obligations to their kin born of Muggles!”

Harry winced, immediately realizing that SPAM-founder Hermione would take that poorly.

“I hope, Viktor,” she said coldly, “that you are not suggesting I should have been stolen away from my mother and father to be adopted into some Pureblood family. I love my parents, and they love me! I wouldn’t trade them for anything, and certainly not for the chance to be fostered by a Pureblood family so that I could spend my life pretending to be something I’m not.”

Viktor suddenly looked stricken at that. But then, Theo spoke up.

“Oh look!” he said with exaggerated excitement. “Madame Rosmerta is here to take our orders! How about a round of butterbeers, everyone? On Harry, of course, since he’s the rich one!”

Harry grimaced at that but then gamely ordered five butterbeers for the table. Rosmerta took that down and then asked if everyone was ready to order. Viktor, eager to change the subject away from whatever minefield he’d just discovered, studied the menu intently and then asked which dish was the most “quintessentially British,” though it took several tries for the word “quintessentially” to come across.

“Fish and chips,” Blaise said without hesitation.

“Not Shepherd’s Pie?” Theo asked in surprise. The Italian boy shook his head authoritatively.

“Every nation in Europe has something comparable to Shepherd’s Pie, though I’ll wager the Bulgarian equivalent is a lot spicier than the British kind. But I’m guessing Viktor has probably never tried beer-battered cod dipped in malt vinegar with a side of fried chips.”

“Ve have cheeps in Bulgaria,” Viktor said defensively. “Not fried, though. Baked. Kartofi sus sirene is called.”

He paused. “Do cheeps have sirene on top?”

“The British equivalent to sirene is Feta cheese,” Harry explained for the benefit of the less culinarily adventurous. “But we generally don’t serve it on chips. Have you ever tried tartar sauce?”

“Not to interrupt this scintillating discussion about condiments,” Hermione said, even though that was exactly what she was doing, “but … I apologize, Viktor, for my earlier rudeness. It’s been a stressful … few months. Also, I should mention that neither I nor Harry will be eating with you this evening on account of our engagements. And I probably won’t be able to continue showing you around Hogsmeade today. Perhaps Blaise or Theo might be free to do so?”

“It would be a pleasure,” Blaise said, perking up at the thought of escorting the handsome Quidditch star around.

“Blaise Zabini is much kind,” the Bulgarian demurred. “But after eating the fish and the cheeps, Viktor will be returning to ship.”

He took a quick glance around the pub and saw Alexander Nott on the far side of the room, resolutely pretending to not be paying any attention to him. He turned back to Blaise with a smile.

“Viktor is sure to find something to do.”

Thirty minutes later …

Draco did indeed show up on time, albeit in the company of a quartet of boisterous Zmeyevich students, one of whom was a Sixth-Year girl named Natalya who flirted quite shamelessly with the Malfoy heir. Then, he noticed Harry regarding him with amusement and nodding toward the stairs. Draco blushed slightly before saying his goodbyes to the Dragons and heading in that direction, trying to pat his hair back into place as he followed Harry’s lead and ascended the stairs.

All the rooms on the second floor of the Three Broomsticks doubled as meeting/private dining rooms and as bedrooms, as magic made it a simple matter to transfigure the furniture into whatever was required. Dinner guests could order off Madame Rosmerta’s fixed menu or bring their own food, whether via house elf or other means.

For example, Room 5 presently contained an intimate table for four with a simple but well-cooked meal prepared by Rosmerta’s cook. Room 9, on the other hand, featured a table for eight with a five-course meal provided by Lemmy (Lucius Malfoy’s kitchen elf) that began with Lobster Bisque served in fine China bowls and only got more extravagant from there.

Of course, aside from the quality of the décor and the cuisine, the biggest difference between Room 5 and Room 9 was that the latter was presently shielded by no less than nine privacy wards, plus an unusually powerful insect repellant ward for “our beetle friend.”

Room 5

“Okay,” said Leonard Dagworth-Granger. “Stop stalling. Come over here and look into my eyes.”

“Now?!?” exclaimed the Auror, as he stepped out of the attached bathroom. “The kids will be here any minute, and I need to get dressed!”

Dawlish’s concern arose from the fact that he’d barely had time for a nice hot shower after spending the morning and early afternoon repeatedly casting the Imperius Curse and then a full two hours meditating over the resulting effects on his psyche. As a result, he was presently attired in nothing but a damp towel and an annoyed expression.

“I may not have time to do a full scan,” Leonard said impatiently, “but I insist on double-checking to make sure the Other Guy is locked away safe and sound.”

“Lenny!”

“Believe it or not, John,” said the Healer testily as he approached his scantily clad lover with his wand already out. “I am far less concerned about our guests catching you naked than I am about them catching you during a psychotic break!”

John rolled his eyes but then complied with Leonard’s demand.

“You’re lucky I find your medical professionalism sexy.”

“Says the fit guy wearing nothing but a sagging wet towel. Now open your mind and say ‘Ah.’ LEGILIMENS.”

Leonard gazed into his partner’s mind for nearly a minute, searching for any sign of someone who was also John Dawlish and yet not his John Dawlish. Then, he was distracted and forced to withdraw when there was a knock at the door.

“Shit,” John muttered, as he snatched his clothes up off the nearby dresser with one hand while struggling to keep his towel in place with the other. As he darted into the bathroom to get dressed, Leonard went over to admit their dinner guests.

“Hermione! Ron! Thank you for coming! Do come in!”

Room 9

Further down the corridor, Harry, Draco, and Theo entered the private room to find a sizeable percentage of the Azkabal waiting for them: Sirius Black, “Archie Goodwin,” Lucius Malfoy, Augusta Longbottom, and Neville Longbottom. Harry sniffed at the scent of Lemmy’s Lobster Bisque and smiled. Except for his own kitchen elf, Buttercup, Lemmy was the best house elf chef he’d ever encountered, and the boy’s standards for cooking were quite high.

Over the soup and salad courses, the conspiracy reviewed the progress of their many enterprises: the search for Voldemort’s remaining Horcruxes; the inquiry into whether it was possible for anyone other than Jim Potter to kill the Dark Lord regardless of the status of said Horcruxes; and the current location of Pettigrew, Rookwood, and Voldemort (whatever form he was in). Unfortunately, their progress on all three objectives had been limited.

“As much as it pains me to say it,” said Lucius, “we must proceed for now with our worst-case scenario: Jim Potter is the one chosen by a True Prophecy to vanquish the Dark Lord, he is the only one who can do so, and even he cannot do so permanently until all the Horcruxes are destroyed. Any effort to fully defeat the Dark Lord initiated by anyone else is thus doomed to failure. As is any effort by Jim Potter to do so while a single Horcrux remains. And so, despite any personal issues with and opinion of the Boy-Who-Lived, we must apply ourselves to keeping him alive despite his own Gryffindor tendencies towards self-immolation on a bonfire of his own egotism.”

“Hey!” objected Sirius and Neville, who felt equally insulted by Malfoy’s slander against their House. Harry had a different objection.

“Well, I’m already fighting through the Oath of Enmity to help the Git as much as I can in the Triwizard Tournament. Perhaps we should move on to that?”

“Momentarily, Harry,” said Lucius before biting into a forkful of salade de poulpe. Neville shuddered slightly. While raised as a Pureblood, the Longbottom Heir was not as adventurous an eater as most of the others. Boiled octopus was not to his taste.

“I have a lengthy report on what we know so far about the Triwizard Tournament,” Lucius added. “But I am saving it for later during our discussions.”

“Yes,” added Regulus drolly. “And you can’t expect Lucius to deviate in any way from his set agenda. We won’t be getting to the Tournament until well after the appetizer course.”

“Your facetiousness is noted, Regulus,” drawled Malfoy. “And ignored as per usual. If I may return to the matter at hand, I was going to point out that an opportunity to perhaps gain valuable intelligence may become available in the coming year. Horace Slughorn will be returning to Hogwarts in January.”

“He’s coming earlier than that, isn’t he?” asked Harry. “He’s a Tournament judge, so I assume he’ll be on hand for the First Challenge.”

Lucius shook his head. “He will come in for the First Challenge but only for a day. However, I have learned that he will be taking up rooms at the school in January to deliver a series of lectures on various obscure aspects of Potionmaking on behalf of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, of which he is the current president. He will also be overseeing a potion-brewing competition next year for the three schools, with a significant prize awaiting the winning team. And, of course, I’ve no doubt he will take the opportunity to hold court over his … Slug Club.”

Lucius sneered at the name of Slughorn’s infamous social club, which the elderly Slytherin had once used to groom favored students for future post-graduate success. And with those successes naturally rendering those students eager to provide favors for the “beloved teacher” who had done so much for them. Malfoy focused his attention on Harry.

“Given your outlandish status in our society, Harry, you will be a prime target for recruitment into his network of sycophants. I suggest you play along, get close to him, and find out what he knows about the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes.”

“Didn’t you already try that?” asked Sirius. “And all you got for your troubles was a false memory?”

“True, but he was naturally suspicious of my inquiries on account of my Death Eater status, no matter what steps I’ve taken to repudiate it in recent years. More importantly, I lack Harry’s Legilimency-inspired deductive genius, as well as his subtle but potent mind-control powers.”

Harry grimaced. “I wouldn’t quit call it a mind-control power. And I’m a little leery of using them as blatantly as you would have me.”

“We are seeking information about the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes, Harry. Slughorn has knowledge we need. You have the skills to obtain it. I suggest you let go of your squeamishness and make use of the talents with which Magic has blessed you.”

Harry made a face at that, but then nodded in acceptance of Malfoy’s argument.

Room 5

“Alright, then,” said Leonard after taking a swig of beer to wash down a mouthful of Welsh rarebit. “The first thing I need to know, Hermione, is: What do you know about Houses under British Wizarding law?”

Hermione considered the question. She knew quite a bit, both from her own research and from her association with several scions of Wizengamot families.

“I know they mostly run the whole country. Seventeen Ancient and Nobles families formed the old Wizard’s Council. Then, twenty-nine Noble families joined with them to form the Wizengamot, which is where true political power resides to this day.”

John chuckled at that. “Yes, well, I do think you underestimate the Ministry and the power of a large, entrenched, and byzantine bureaucracy when it comes to running the country.”

“Leaving that aside,” Leonard interjected, “That basically sums up the Wizengamot families, although you leave out the at-large seats that are not officially tied to any Houses. Though most of them do end up going to people with Family connections, I freely admit. But I assume you also know that not all those seats are occupied right now. In fact, a few Family seats have been vacant for decades and two or three for well over a hundred years. Same with the Order of Merlin seats, since granting an Order of Merlin typically requires a Wizengamot vote in favor, and they can’t always agree on who should get one.”

“But what does all that have to do with your Aunt Cressida’s attitude towards me?” Hermione asked.

“Let me answer your question with another of my own: What do you know about Common Families?”

Hermione blinked at that. She’d heard of the term, but never with any context. Instead, it was Ron who answered.

“They’re Houses that meet the requirements to become Noble, but haven’t been invited to join, right? I think the Diggorys and the McLaggans are Common Houses.”

“There are a lot of Common Houses in Britain,” said Leonard. “Of which Dagworth-Granger is one. And you’re mostly right: To ascend to a vacant Ancient and Noble seat, your family must first be a Noble House. And to ascend to a vacant Noble seat, your family must first be a Common House.”

“Which isn’t that big a deal,” added John. “The requirements to be named as a Common House aren’t stringent at all. In fact, Hermione, even as a Muggleborn, you could potentially found a Common House of Granger, one that’s independent of the Dagworth-Grangers, if you set your mind to it and none of the romantic entanglements and child-birthing issues get snarled up.”

“Romantic … entanglements?” she asked in confusion.

“And child-birthing issues,” John repeated with a smirk. “By which I mean nobody marries wrong and nobody has any Squibs.”

“You see, Hermione,” Leonard took over, “the requirements to form a Common House are straightforward. In your case, if you wanted to establish your own House of Granger, you would first have to marry a wizard, specifically one who was willing to take your surname. Next, you need to have at least three children, all of whom showed magic. Then, each of your three children would eventually have to marry a wizard or witch who also had two wizarding parents. Oh, and any wizards who married into the family would also have to take Granger as a surname. Finally, each of your three children would each have to have at least one wizarding child of their own. And that’s it! You’ve got three straight generations of magicals, all carrying the surname Granger. After that point, all you need to do to form the Common House of Granger is to draft a family charter and file it with the Wizengamot.”

“Hang on,” Ron interrupted. “If it’s that easy to form a Common House, why are there so many vacancies in the Wizengamot?”

“Simple,” said John. “Because forming a Common House is the easy part! Before a Common House can be raised up to become a Noble Family, it must be approved by an Ascension Vote in the Wizengamot.”

Then, the former Ravenclaw paused thoughtfully. “Actually, to be really pedantic about it, you need an Act of the Wizengamot that doesn’t disapprove, since the Ascension Vote is framed as a denial of the request for obscure parliamentary reasons. I’m pretty sure the Crabbes only got in back in the 14^th century because somebody screwed up and didn’t properly schedule the Ascension vote until after the deadline to object had passed. But regardless, you can’t get to the point of a vote for or against without sponsorship from an Ancient and Noble House to get that far.”

“Not necessarily sponsorship,” Leonard corrected. “Any Common Family can petition for an open Noble seat just by writing a letter to the Chief Warlock and requesting it. But, by law, that process takes at least a year and a day before a vote can be held. And sometimes much longer, since the Ancient and Noble families can basically ask for unlimited extensions of time for further consideration. It took the Abbotts eight years to finally get an Ascension Vote, to give a recent example. On the other hand, an Ancient and Noble House can also move for a waiver of waiting period, and that could potentially allow the Ascension Vote to take place the same day the petition is filed! That’s a complicated and seldom-used parliamentary process, however. And it requires even more votes to suspend the rules for your benefit than the final vote for elevation! But to make a long lecture short, a Common House applicant that doesn’t have the patronage of an established House (and, ideally, support from most voting Houses before they even apply) probably can’t get elevated anyway.”

“Oh, and don’t forget the best part, Lenny,” added John. “If your House gets to the point of an Ascension Vote and your petition is rejected, your House is ineligible for reconsideration so long as any member of the House who was around when the vote was taken is still alive. And since wizards and witches live a long time, and Leonard’s younger sister Camelia just had a baby …”

Hermione was confused. “So, I assume Cressida aspires to raise your House to Noble status. What does that have to do with her responding to my letter by angrily calling me a Mudblood?”

Leonard winced at the girl’s bluntness. “Well, as I said, if you try to form a Common House, you need three generations of wizards and witches in the same family line with no Squibs. But also … you have to keep it up. If you have any Squibs born into the family tree between the time the Common House is formed and the time it comes up for an Ascension Vote, it can make it nearly impossible to get approved as a Noble family.”

He grimaced in distaste. “Or, I should say, if your family is known to have any Squibs born into it, as opposed to children who just vanish from the family tree sometime around their eleventh birthday and everyone in the Wizengamot politely pretends they never existed. But that’s a whole separate issue.”

“Hang on!” Ron exclaimed. “Our friend, Justin Finch-Fletchley just became the Heir to a Noble House, and he’s a Muggleborn! And Harry Black is a Half-Blood, and he became Lord of an Ancient and Noble House!”

“True,” said John. “But those Houses were already members of the Wizengamot, and the Wizengamot, believe it or not, is very open-minded when it comes to keeping a member House alive and active.”

“Indeed,” added Leonard. “A Healer of my acquaintance named Andromeda Tonks was a Black before she married a Muggleborn. The Black Family expelled her from their House, and the Wizengamot now legally recognizes her as no longer being a Black and being permanently ineligible to be reinstated. Because that way, if she’d had any Squib children, they wouldn’t be counted against House Black’s potential fitness as a Wizengamot House.”

“But,” John continued, “while they’ll cut corners and bend the law to help an established family stay in the Wizengamot, they’re very strict about what new families they let into their little club. There are, after all, Houses who have held seats continuously for as long as the Wizengamot has existed. And for whatever reason, they are very put out at the thought of elevating a new House only for it to suffer line extinction before the first century is up. It was a big deal when House Abbott was elevated to Noble last summer despite its loudly progressive attitudes towards their own Squibs. And it took a lot of behind-the-scenes political maneuvering to make it happen.”

Hermione nodded slowly. From her conversations with Harry, she was aware of those “political maneuverings,” some of which involved a deal with House Selwyn who (thanks to her time-traveling escapade), the Gryffindor knew to be a powerful and horribly bigoted Death Eater family.

“And so, Cressida does not wish to acknowledge me or any other Muggleborns descended from Dagworth-Granger Squibs because she’s afraid doing so might prevent your House from someday joining the Wizengamot.”

“Yes,” said Leonard.

“No,” countered John. “I still stand by my theory that she’s just a greedy old bitch.”

“John!” the Healer practically whined. But the Auror was not deterred.

“Tell them about the Charter, Lenny,” John said coolly. Leonard sighed and then turned back to Hermione.

“The Dagworth-Granger charter dates back to the days of Hector Dagworth-Granger, who was the most illustrious member of our family and also a member of the first generation to meet the three generations Pure requirement. When he became Head of House, he oversaw the drafting and filing of the Dagworth-Granger charter. But unfortunately, while Hector was a brilliant potioneer, he was less skilled at legal writing, and the charter was poorly drafted. Among other things, it has a surprisingly modern and humane requirement that the Head of House provide financial assistance to any acknowledged members of the extended family who branched off from Squib lines. But it leaves the definition of ‘acknowledged members’ totally up to the Head’s discretion. By refusing to acknowledge your documented biological relationship to Great-Uncle Hector, Cressida can get out of paying not just a stipend to you but also back payments to your family going back three generations.”

“You mean she brushed off Hermione just to avoid paying out some money?” Ron exclaimed in outrage.

“Yep,” said John. “Or to repeat myself: Greedy Old Bitch. The most charitable explanation is that Cressida doesn’t want to acknowledge you because she might have to pay out a big stack of galleons that will put a dent in her rather extravagant lifestyle.”

He paused to take a sip of his beer. “The least charitable explanation is that her rather extravagant lifestyle has already squandered the bulk of the family fortune, and she’s trying to keep it hushed up. At least until she kicks it due to too much Firewhiskey or too many rich desserts. She’s refused to provide copies of the audits on the family account for as long as Lenny’s been alive, after all. I’m convinced she’s been cooking the books.”

He turned to his partner. “Which, I maintain, is why you ended up having to pay for your own Mastery out of your Heir’s stipend, even though the charter says education expenses should come out of the general fund!”

“John, enough,” Leonard replied before turning back to the two students. “Hermione, Ron, I am sorry to have dumped all this family drama on you. But I wanted you to understand that, while Cressida’s conduct was appalling, it should not reflect on our family as a whole, and certainly not on me. And if you decide that you wish to be included in House Dagworth-Granger, as the Heir, I am not without influence and am willing to do what I can to integrate you into the family.”

“Besides,” Dawlish joked. “You’re a very bright young witch. And if Cressida really has impoverished the family, they might need you to help keep a roof over their heads!”

Leonard punched John in the arm in annoyance. Then, Hermione responded slowly.

“Leonard, I … I’m grateful for what you’ve told me. But … at this time, I think it best I decline. I don’t think this is the right time to …”

“Buy a ticket for the Crazy Cressida Express?” John quipped. “I don’t blame you one bit. It’s why I’ve been on this idiot to wash his hands of the whole thing.”

The Auror smirked at his lover and then gave the two students a wink.

“Personally, I quite like the sound of Leonard Dawlish, don’t you?”

Room 9

Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance, now suddenly regretting that he’d asked for a discussion about the Triwizard Tournament. Particularly since the discussion had somehow evolved into a critique of his training regimen coupled with stern admonishments from the adults to “take things seriously.” And Harry supposed that it was serious, so much so that Sirius Black didn’t even bother to make his usual pun.

“Cockatrice?” Sirius asked while making his way through the list of XXXXX monsters the group had compiled.

“A Bubble-Head Charm on myself followed by one on the Cockatrice itself to asphyxiate it,” Harry replied blandly. “Also, transfigure nearby objects into mirrors to ward it off.”

“Chimeras?” asked Regulus.

“Confundus Charm to the middle head, causing it to attack the other two.”

“Dementors?”

“Patronus.”

“Lethifolds?”

“Same.”

“Acromantulas?”

“Kill it with fire.”

“Basilisk?”

“Transfigure a rooster. Or if that doesn’t work, just take the hit to my reputation and use Parseltongue on it.” Then, he frowned. “Could they even use a Basilisk if they have an audience on hand to watch the fight? For that matter, I wonder if a Basilisk’s gaze works through an Eye-Spy.”

“Focus, Harry!” Sirus snapped. “Now then—Quintapeds?”

“Kill it with fire.”

“Werewolves? Vampires?”

“It will be the middle of the day, Sirius! Also, Patronus, Sectumsempra, or kill it with fire.”

“Wampus Cats?”

“Kill it with fire. Then, send a letter of apology to Ilvermony for killing one of their school mascots.”

“Nundu?”

“Bubble-head Charm. Then, send a Patronus message to the Wizarding Africa Embassy to let them know that Wizarding Britain has somehow stolen a creature that is integral to their national defense.”

“Harry,” Regulus said sternly. “Please stop treating this as a joke. This Tournament has the potential to be deadly!”

The boy gave the adults a bemused look.

“Regulus, people and things have been trying to kill me on a regular basis for as long as I’ve been a Hogwarts student! Honestly, my main feeling at the moment is relief because for the first time, I know what day an attempt on my life is going to be made!”

The adults all went quiet at that, and Sirius looked especially stricken, which only made Harry feel guilty for his flippancy. He turned back to Lucius.

“So, is that all the XXXXX monsters on your list?”

Lucius looked down at the file in front of him. “That is everything. Well, except for dragons, of course.”

That comment sent the other adults into a spasm of outrage. Lucius merely shrugged and tapped his wand against his knife and fork, causing them to start slicing into his steak au poivre as he spoke.

“Honestly, all of you, I saved the dragons for last because I consider them the least probable option for an XXXXX level creature. Aside from the insanity of thinking the Ministry could fashion wards capable of restraining a dragon for some insipid blood sport before it broke free and killed everyone, I have spies on my payroll at both the British dragon sanctuaries and in the DRCMC. There have been no indications whatsoever about any dragons being prepped for transportation. For any dragons larger than an infant, it would be impossible to make such preparations in secrecy.”

Harry chuckled. “And I could only wish that the Challenge involved the care and feeding of a baby dragon! After all those weeks in detention as a First Year looking after Norberta, I’m probably the only Champion qualified to look after a newborn dragon!”

“I wish I could have gotten to work with the baby dragon,” Draco said wistfully.

“Well, it’s your own fault,” Harry said smugly. “You should have gotten more detentions!”

Room 5

After answering Hermione’s remaining questions about Common Houses (other than minor legal advantages, a few tax benefits, and a hypothetical chance of someday becoming a Noble House, there appeared to be no tangible benefit to the status), she and the three wizards returned to their simple meal of roast chicken and vegetables. The conversation drifted to Ron’s studies with Ted Tonks. It was a surprise to Hermione; she’d known of Ron’s desire to be a Healer but not that he’d begun meeting with Ted in private for introductory lessons in healing magic. The boy had even taken the first Healer’s Vow, the one that formal apprentices took at the beginning of their apprenticeships.

“That’s wonderful news, Ron!” said Leonard. “And most uncommon for someone to have begun even an informal apprenticeship so young! Though I imagine it helps that Ted is the first actual Healer to work at Hogwarts in ages, if ever, as opposed to a Mediwitch like Madam Pomfrey.”

“I’ve often wondered,” Hermione inquired. “What is the difference between a Healer and a Mediwitch? Or Mediwizard, I suppose?”

“Mainly, whether you’re specialized and trained well-enough to teach other future Healers and Mediwitches. If you want to go into healing, the first step is to get into the Medical Wizardry program at St. Mungo’s. That’s a three-year program. Basically an apprenticeship except that it’s not one-on-one like most Mastery programs. In a given year, only five or six Hogwarts graduates get into the program because of the stringent NEWT requirements. Everyone who satisfactorily completes the program gets certified as a Mediwitch or Mediwizard. And for most purposes, that’s good enough. For instance, a Mediwizard can go into private practice.”

He glanced at Hermione. “I believe the Muggle term is Geepee, isn’t it?”

Hermione coughed. “Close enough. GP is an abbreviation for General Practitioner.”

Leonard absorbed that. “Oh! Well that does make more sense, I suppose. Anyway, you can also apply for the Auror Academy. And, of course, you can become the Matron of the Hogwarts Infirmary. But if you really manage to impress someone, you can get a Healing Specialization, which is closer to the traditional apprenticeship format. You spend three to five years working under a specific Healer in a more narrowly focused area. In my case, DADA was my favorite class at Hogwarts, so I took a double specialization in Spell Damage and Mind Healing and am qualified in both. Those who complete a Mastery are allowed to call themselves Healers-with-a-capital-H. But only fully credentialed Healers are allowed to teach healing magic to others, which is why Ted Tonks can teach Ron healing magic but Poppy Pomfrey can’t.”

The Healer frowned as he thought back over his own words. “Oh, and by the way, I did not mean to denigrate Poppy with that comment. She was at the top of her class when she graduated as a Mediwitch and had completed two years of a Pediatric Healing Mastery when the Hogwarts position opened up unexpectedly and she went for it. She could probably become a fully certified Healer in under a year, but she’d have to take a sabbatical from Hogwarts to do so.”

“I didn’t know you had a Mind Healing Mastery as well, Leonard,” said Ron in surprise. Leonard shrugged.

“There is some overlap between the two. In the Spell Damage Ward, I usually draw all the cases involving botched Obliviations, Confunduses , and more rarely the Imperius victims.”

“Now that you mention the Imperius,” Hermione began, “I was wondering, Auror Dawlish, how you were able to cast so many Imperius curses in such short time without succumbing the psychological effects that you warned us about? Does the fact that your partner here is an expert in treating mind-related magical injuries play a role?”

“Very much so, Hermione,” Dawlish replied after a swig of butterbeer. “And you can call me John when I’m not wearing the badge and the red coat. Anyway, I spent two hours meditating here at the inn after my last class and then let Leonard scan my brain to make sure that The Other Guy was locked back up in his cage.”

“The Other …” Hermione began before her eyes widened. “Oh, you’re an Occlumens! You got around the requirement of having sadistic contempt for all the school children that you cursed by creating an alternate personality that had the right mindset to cast the curse!”

Dawlish was surprised at the girl’s reasoning. “Well spotted! You’re very knowledgeable about the practice of Occlumency, Hermione! By any chance have you taken up a study of the psychic arts?”

“Don’t answer that,” Leonard interrupted sharply. “It’s none of our business, and it’s not something you should be confessing to an Auror.”

Dawlish rolled his eyes. “Says the Level 5 Legilimens,” he said archly.

“I’m a Level 5 Legilimens who specializes in Mind Healing. You are … an Occlumens of publicly undetermined level but definitely high enough to slow your career advancement despite all your professional successes.”

“Hey, I’m a Senior Auror, now! Give me a little credit!” Dawlish said with mild annoyance.

Leonard opened his mouth but then bit down on his initial response. It would probably not be fruitful to mention the fact that John Dawlish’s long-overdue promotion to Senior Auror only came after a number of his higher-ranking peers in the Corps got eaten by rats or otherwise murdered in the infamous Pettigrew-Rookwood escape just a few months prior.

“Be that as it may,” the Healer finally said. “You can’t deny that openly practicing Occlumency at your level has impacted your law enforcement career. By law, you cannot testify in any legal proceedings involving cases you’ve worked because your testimony is inherently suspect. That limits your ability to do field work because you will always need backup to give testimony about any crimes witnessed. And on top of that, your role as the Imperius resistance trainer requires you to … well, to keep the Other Guy around locked up in your head!”

“I’m lost,” said Ron. “Who is the Other Guy?”

Dawlish was eager to address Ron’s question rather than continue what had obviously been a long-running argument between Leonard and himself.

“The Other Guy is what I call the alternate personality I built specifically to allow myself to safely use the Imperius without losing control and turning dark. I call him the Other Guy because actually giving him a name other than John Dawlish would be counterproductive to his purpose. The Other Guy is basically a perfect copy of my own mind except that he is a low-key Imperius addict who is eager to use the curse whenever he can and is misanthropic and borderline sociopathic enough to do so. However, that personality has a number of fail-safes built into its nature. Most importantly, when he’s released in the context of teaching Imperius resistance, there will always be another Auror or similar authority figure on hand, and the Other Guy has a strong aversion to using the curse abusively in the presence of someone of higher rank who might hold him accountable for improper conduct. You might have noticed that every time I looked like I was enjoying myself too much, all it took was Moody coughing loudly for me to back off. And when the authority figure overseeing the training session tells me the session is over, that’s an automatic trigger for the Other Guy to withdraw and for Real Me to take over. There are also additional triggers that can shut down the Other Guy, code phrases that a number of my co-workers know to say if they think I’m acting squirrelly or something.”

“How common is that?” Ron asked in amazement. “People running around with fake copies of themselves in their heads?”

“Not very,” said the Auror. “Occlumency in general is very rare, and people who can reach a  high enough level to maintain an alternate personality long-term—Level Five, by most scales—are even rarer.”

“In fact,” added Leonard. “What was much more common back during the War was people who had alternate personalities imposed upon them by others against their will! For example, Augustus Rookwood wrote a treatise on how to become an Occlumens, but it had a lot of subliminal mind-altering effects built into it that would gradually construct a second personality within the reader’s mind. Specifically, one that was a perfect copy of the true personality except cruel enough to use Unforgiveables and totally devoted to serving You-Know-Who!”

“… Wow,” said Ron with a gulp. “That’s … awful.”

And out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Hermione. Her glance in response reassured him that she wasn’t going to blurt out a reminder of the fact that Jim Potter had spent time reading from that very book.

Room 9

“Oh, one final thing,” said Lucius, after he swallowed his last bite of tart aux framboises. “All four of you boys will need formal robes by mid-December if you have not already brought a set with you to Hogwarts. There is to be a formal dance held in connection with the Tournament. A Yule Ball, in fact. You should know, Harry, that you and the other Champions will be expected to perform the opening dance, so brush up on your waltz and make sure you have a date who won’t embarrass you.”

Harry grimaced at that. “A Yule Ball? Whose idea was that?”

“I’ll give you a hint. Who is the biggest imbecile to have any say in the Tournament’s planning?”

“Bagman,” said everyone present nearly in unison.

“Just so. Apparently, there was a ball held at the last Triwizard Tournament because it was 1787 and cotillions were all the rage. Or, I should say, it was scheduled to be held. But then everyone died horribly, and the ball was cancelled on the grounds that it would have been in bad taste to hold a glamourous celebration after a mass tragedy. So naturally, Ludovic Bagman has decided to bring back the idea, presumably out of a sense of historical accuracy.”

“And nothing about this has been announced yet because …?” Harry growled.

“Because Bagman is a theatrical imbecile. He doesn’t wish to announce the Yule Ball prior to the completion of the First Task. Apparently out of a desire to manage the media coverage for the Tournament.”

“Wait a minute,” Neville interrupted testily. “If it’s at Yule, does that mean we won’t get to go home for Christmas Break?”

“No, Mr. Longbottom, it does not. Bagman originally planned for the Ball to take place on Christmas Eve, but I pointed out that most students would likely prefer to spend Christmas with their families. And when he remained recalcitrant, I also noted that the Balkan Alliance does not celebrate Christmas and intimated that they might take offense if forced to attend a function associated with a Muggle holiday, so he finally relented. I also fed him a bit of rubbish about the rich history of Yule in ancient wizarding traditions which he was credulous enough to believe, and so now, the Yule Ball will take place on the evening of the Winter Solstice, which is the 21^st of December, a Wednesday. The Hogwarts Express will depart on the 23^rd and return on the 8tb of January.”

Neville exhaled loudly. A Yule Ball might be fun, but his only concern was the Mimbulus mimbletonia sitting back in his green house that was scheduled for its first germination just before New Year’s.

“Oh, by the way,” continued Malfoy with a devious smirk. “You are all invited to the inaugural Malfoy New Year’s Eve Ball to be held on 31 December. I have decided that since the Potters are too impoverished to host a New Year’s Eve Party as per their family tradition, I shall step into that social vacuum with an event of my own.”

Harry chuckled. “You know, I had totally forgotten about the Potter Ball, even though it’s always been held at my house. It’s a good thing I suppose, or else we might have booked competing events! Maybe you’ll allow me to host next year’s ball instead!”

Everyone else laughed amiably except for Lucius, who merely gave a wan smile. Harry gave him a quizzical look but said nothing more.

Soon after …

As the members of the Azkabal exited their meeting room, Harry noticed that Hermione’s group had also finished their meal, as he could see Hermione and Ron descending the stairs towards the pub area. Hermione glanced back and waved at him, and he returned the gesture. Then, he noticed that Neville and Theo were standing next to him and were also waving back towards the young witch. Meanwhile, Sirius had also exited the room and stopped right behind the three boys.

“So,” he asked mischievously, “now that you know about the Yule Ball, any ideas on who you might be taking?”

“Yeah,” said Neville without taking his eyes off of Hermione’s departing form. “I think so.”

“Me too,” said Theo, his gaze fixed in the same direction.

At that, Harry’s back stiffened, and he quickly looked back and forth between the two boys who he now considered his brothers in all but blood before finally turning back to watch as Hermione exited the pub.

“Why do I suddenly have a very bad feeling about this?” he thought to himself.

After their meeting had broken up, Sirius and Archie elected to stick around the Three Broomsticks for a while and have a pint. As Sirius went up to the bar to order, he happened to bump shoulders with John Dawlish, jostling the off-duty Auror as he was waiting to pay the tab for the room and meals.

“Oh, sorry!” he said. “Apologies, my good man. I didn’t see you there.”

Dawlish turned to the man who had bumped into him, and his eyes narrowed.

“That’s quite alright, Lord Black,” he said after a noticeable hesitation and in a rather clipped voice. “No harm, no foul.”

Sirius noticed the other man’s attitude. “You have me at a bit of a disadvantage, friend. Do we know one another?”

Dawlish turned back to Sirius with what certainly looked like an expression of disbelief and perhaps anger.

“We were at Hogwarts together,” he finally said. “I was two years behind you. Ravenclaw. The name’s Dawlish.”

Sirius nodded slowly. “Right. Yeah. I remember you now. I wanna say … Jeffrey?”

“John,” the Auror replied glacially while trying desperately to get Madam Rosmerta’s attention so he could pay his bill and end this encounter.

“Right, that’s it! John! Yep!” Sirius stammered slightly before looking around at everything in the room other than the man next to him. Finally, he took a deep breath and summoned his Gryffindor courage.

“Listen … John … by any chance, did we ever …?”

“Yes,” Dawlish snapped without looking.

“Oh,” Sirius said in a small voice. “I see. So … was it … okay?”

Dawlish rubbed his hand over his face. “You were Sirius Black, the bad boy of Gryffindor. And I was a pimply insecure Ravenclaw just turned 15. You were my first. And when we were done, you patted me on the cheek and said, and I quote, “Say, Jeff, that wasn’t half bad. We should do this again sometime!” And then you left me sitting naked and alone in a broom cupboard with all my clothes still lying in a pile on the floor and never so much as looked at me again before you graduated.”

Sirius nodded his head slowly. “I see. Well, in my defense … I was an absolute wanker when I was 17. In fact, with the exception of a few good days here and there, I was an absolute wanker pretty much from age 11 to, well, sometime last year, I reckon.”

After a brief pause, Dawlish couldn’t help but laught at that. After all those years, he’d forgotten how charming Black could be.

“It’s okay, Black,” he finally said. “All things considered, I reckon it’s good to get your first completely disastrous relationship over with as quickly as possible.”

Outside, Harry pulled his cloak tighter around himself to ward off the November chill, as he, Neville, and Theo headed towards the carriage waiting to carry them back to Hogwarts. Nearby, he noticed Lucius and Draco talking too quietly to hear. But from their expressions, Harry could intuit that Lucius was giving his son fatherly advice, but the son was too eager to get back to his friends on the Durmstrang shp to be fully attentive. Then, to Harry’s surprise, Lucius pulled Draco into a tight hug, one that clearly surprised Draco as well. But Harry’s own attention was focused on the expression on Lucius Malfoy’s face when he thought no one was watching. Unaccountably, Harry suddenly remembered the strange look on Lucius’s face when Harry had joked earlier about taking over the hosting duties for the New Year’s Eve Ball in the following year.

Whirr-click.

The kaleidoscope in Harry’s mind slid into position, and instantly, he knew.

Lucius Malfoy did not expect to live to see the end of 1995.

A letter from Titus Mitchell (Manager, Eye-Spy, Inc.) to Lord Wilkes …

Harry,

The monthly report on Eye-Spy operations and sales is attached for your review, but the short version is that we’re making out like nifflers in a goblin mine. I’m writing this letter separately to discuss that research project you asked me to pursue. I still have no clue why you’re so interested in the defunct House Gaunt, let alone the history of their Lord’s ring, but it was an interesting, if somewhat creepy, diversion. I hope this isn’t the start of you poking your nose into a doxy nest.

You were correct in your suspicion that the most recent Lord’s ring was not the original one that the Gaunt family had been using since before the Wizengamot existed. The decision to switch to the new (and surprisingly ugly) one was made in 1446, with the altered design registered with the Wizengamot in June of that year by Morsus Gaunt, the newly-installed Lord of the house. Morsus claimed the lordship that year after the death of his father Germanicus, and he announced that as Lord he would be using a different ring than the one that had been passed down from Gaunt to Gaunt over the preceding nine or so centuries. No reason for the change was ever put forth by Morsus or anyone else, but then again, there’s no record that anyone asked beyond mention of it in old Wizengamot records and a notice of how much gold the Gaunts had to pay to have the new ring properly registered as an official Lord’s Ring.

While I found nothing else out about the ring itself, Morsus Gaunt was an intriguing figure. Prior to becoming Lord and claiming a Wizengamot seat, he had been a high-ranking officer among the Knights of Albion, the medieval military organization that was the precursor to the modern Auror Corps. I can get you some more detailed records of his exploits as a Knight if you want, but the most interesting detail that jumped out at me was that Morsus Gaunt led the expedition to the island of Azkaban after its discovery in 1443. It had previously been magically hidden until sometime after the death of its master, the Dark Lord Ekrizdis.

And speaking of Ekrizdis and the Gaunt family, there may have been a bigger connection between the two than just Morsus Gaunt exploring his secret base. Ekrizdis’s true name was never definitively identified, but there were accusations (denied by Morsus) that Ekrizdis had once been a Gaunt. Specifically, Polydorus Gaunt, who would have been Morsus’s granduncle (or great-uncle, something like that) who’d left Britain nearly a century earlier to avoid accusations of necromancy.

Making things even more weird (in the sense that it ties directly into one of your other “side projects” you have me doing in my spare time when I’m not running your company despite being only 19) is that Polydorus Gaunt was a descendant of the Peverells, who you also asked me to research last summer. His parents were Octavian Gaunt and Harmonia Gaunt nee Peverell, the daughter of the last male descendent of Cadmus Peverell, the middle of the Three Brothers if you believe Beedle the Bard.

Let me know if you need any further research in this direction. Otherwise, I’ll see you at Hogwarts on the 28^th with a half-dozen Eye-Spies in tow. Good luck in the Tournament.

Titus

13 November 1994
Hogwarts

“Albus!” called out Nicholas Flamel from down a corridor. “Come here, would you? I have something for you.”

The Headmaster, who was running a bit late for the Weighing of the Wands Ceremony (whatever that was), paused at the call from his old friend and mentor. Albus was currently looking for a particular guest expected to arrive today, but he decided that matter could wait a few minutes while he spoke to Master Flamel. As he drew near, the Headmaster nodded respectfully to Greta Müller, Flamel’s personal Mediwitch.

“Good afternoon, Nicholas,” Albus said warmly. “I missed you at lunch today, Nicholas. And breakfast before that. I hope you’re feeling well.”

“Quite well, m’boy, quite well. Why, I hardly feel at all like I’m dying of old age. And speaking of death …”

Flamel reached into a pocket and pulled out a box, which he held up for Albus to take. The Headmaster took it and removed the lid. Inside were four vials, each filled with a pale blue liquid.

“A parting gift for … your old friend. I’ve been waiting to give it to you because I wanted to give the Mandrakes more time to mature before juicing them to maximize longevity. There should be enough in there for twenty years, give or take. After that … you’re on your own.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Thank you, Nicholas. I suppose every additional day helps.”

Before he could continue that thought, however, another figure came around the corner behind him. It was Garrick Ollivander, the wandmaker.

“Ah, there you are Albus! Now would you kindly mind explaining to me--!”

It was then that Ollivander realized to whom the Headmaster was speaking. Instantly, his mouth clamped shut, his eyes narrowed, and his whole expression darkened.

“Nicholas,” he finally said in a cold voice.

“Garrick,” the alchemist responded, equally frosty.

Albus looked back and forth between the two, immediately aware of the sudden tension that had arisen.

“Oh, I see you two know each other already,” he said with forced brightness.

“Indeed,” said Ollivander.

“Quite so,” said Flamel. “Though it has been a very long time indeed since I’ve seen you outside of your little shop, Garrick. How’s business? Still terrifying small children, I suppose?”

“Business is fine, Nicholas. And I imagine my intimidating personality is a side effect of growing old. But I take comfort in the fact that I have not yet been reduced to the status of decrepit invalid in a wheelchair.”

“Well, have no fear. I’m sure decrepitude and death will find you soon enough.”

Ollivander snorted before turning to a flummoxed Dumbledore. “Why am I here, Albus? I received a summons from that cretin Ludo Bagman insisting I preside over something called the Weighing of the Wands. Which is preposterous since the weight of a wand has absolutely no bearing on its proper functioning!”

Albus cleared his throat. “I’m sure Director Crouch can provide a much better explanation than I.  If you will follow me, I will be happy to lead you to the chamber where the event is to take place.”

“Yes, do run along now, Garrick,” added Flamel. “I’m sure whatever your role in this Wand Weighing Ceremony is, you will fulfill it adequately. Probably.”

Ollivander sneered at the backhanded compliment. Albus quickly stepped around Flamel’s wheelchair to lead the wandmaker away as quickly as possible. Ollivander moved to follow the Headmaster only to stop when he was right next to Flamel. He paused and leaned down slightly.

“Oh, by the way, Nicholas. My sincerest condolences on the passing of your goodlady wife. Perenelle will be missed.”

Then, he looked up at Greta Müller with an amused smirk. “Or perhaps she won’t, as you certainly seemed to have moved on, haven’t you, old boy. And such a pretty young thing too!”

He gave the visibly annoyed witch a bow. “Garrick Ollivander, at your service. And what shall I call you, my dear?”

The stern Mediwitch looked at Ollivander as if he were something giving off a foul odor. “My name is Müller. Greta. Müller.”

Ollivander favored her with a vaguely sinister smile. “Of course, it is, my dear. Of course, it is.”

Then, he turned abruptly and stalked away down the corridor. “Come along, Albus. Let’s get this Weighing of the Wands over with so I can get back to my shop!”

Albus watched in consternation as the wandmaker strode past him. Then, he looked back towards his old friend as if about to demand an explanation, only for Flamel to raise a wrinkled hand and wave it loftily, dismissing Albus and his questions as if he were an errant schoolboy. Then, he turned away as his Mediwitch resumed pushing the wheelchair down the hall.

Meanwhile …

Harry and Jim had both been pulled from Potions at the same time via a message from Bagman delivered by Colin Creevey. Harry and Colin walked side by side most of the way, with Harry smiling indulgently at the hyperactive Gryffindor’s questions and comments. Jim followed behind with a sullen expression. He remembered how First Year Colin had followed him about like a starstruck groupie. But now, the kid barely paid attention to the Boy-Who-Lived and was instead pestering Harry with questions about the Eye-Spy coverage of the Tournament.

“So, anyway, I was thinking that if we could get at least one Eye-Spy up here a few days early, we could do video interviews of all the Champions, both before and after the Task. Maybe talk to their friends and teachers as well for a ‘human interest’ angle. What do you think?”

“I’ll owl Titus this evening and get you at least one Eye-Spy as soon as possible. Also, after this Wand Weighing business is over, you should try to talk to Bagman about the First Task. He can’t tell you anything about the nature of the challenge, but he might be able to describe what the arena will be like so that you’ll be able to put the cameras in good locations.”

“Good idea!” exclaimed the excitable boy, who pulled out his wand and a pocket-sized spiral notebook. He tapped it once and verbalized a note to himself, which was duly copied into the notebook.

“Where did you get that?” Harry asked in surprise.

“Fred and George made it! Actually, they said it was part of a project they’re working on for you. But they enchanted my notebook for free as part of the testing process. Well, they enchanted my second notebook after the first one caught fire, but this one works fine. They’re gonna start selling them when we get closer to exams!”

“I can’t believe that we’re weeks away from risking our lives, and all you care about is money!” Jim snapped.

“Not just money, little brother,” Harry drawled. “If our man Colin actually gets design specs for the arena out of Bagman, it might help us to figure out what kind of monster we’ll be up against.”

Colin nodded solemnly. “I’ll get it. I won’t let you down, Harry.” Then, he glanced over his shoulder to Jim.

“Or you either, Jim,” he added as an afterthought.

Jim sighed angrily. But then, they reached the classroom where the ceremony was to be held. The other three Champions were already inside, as well as Ludo Bagman, who spotted them instantly, and two other figures: Rita Skeeter and her camera man.

“Ah, here they are!" Ludo exclaimed. "Champions number four and five! In you come, boys, in you come. Nothing to worry about. It’s just the wand weighing ceremony. The rest of the judges will be here in a moment.”

“Wand … weighing?!?” Jim repeated in confusion.

“Yes, Jim, dah-ling. Wand weighing. I don’t know what the point of it is either, but I’m sure dear Ludo will explain it to you. In the meantime, I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start. The youngest champion, you know … to add a bit of color?”

Without waiting for a reply from Bagman, Rita grabbed Harry by the elbow and practically manhandled him towards the door.

“Hang on,” Jim called out. “I'm the younger twin!”

“Lovely!” Rita said, ignoring him completely. Seconds later, she had pushed Harry out the door and into a broom cupboard on the opposite side of the corridor. Quickly, she pulled the door shut and locked them into the darkened closet with a spell. Annoyed, Harry pulled out his wand and cast a Lumos.

“Typical,” he muttered irritably. “First time I end up in a Hogwarts broom cupboard with someone else, and it’s you! Rita, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!?”

She turned to him with an excited expression. “Dragons!” she said breathlessly.

Harry stared at the woman in confusion over the seeming non sequitur. “What?!?”

“Dragons, Harry. The first task involves dragons!”

The boy folded his arms. “Impossible. We have contacts at both dragon reserves and in the DRCMC! We’d know if they were using dragons!”

The reporter smiled and reached into her handbag before pulling out a thick file folder that seemed much too big to fit inside the small clutch. There was a label on the folder that identified it as a Ministry file marked “Confidential.”

“Yes, I’m sure you and your friends were very thorough. I’ve always admired your competence. But in this instance, not thorough enough. They’re bringing dragons in from Romania. Nesting mothers. The Ministry had to bypass the DRCMC because of the risk of Amos Diggory finding out.”’

“Where and how did you get that?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Sorry, dah-ling, but I’m not giving up any of my Ministry sources. Suffice it to say I’m Rita Skeeter and this is what I do!”

She shook the folder in Harry’s direction almost invitingly. But when he reached out to take it, Rita instantly pulled it back to clutch it to her chest protectively.

“Ah-ah-ah, Harry, my dear. I’ve been very clear about how I want into your little conspiracy and am eager to help in its goals. But for something like this? I want a little quid pro quo!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

She smiled almost cruelly. “Your brother, the one who can turn into a bird. How did he really become an Animagus?”

Moments later …

As Dumbledore and Ollivander came around the corner, they discovered a fuming Jim Potter standing in the corridor while staring daggers at a broom closet.

“Jim?” Dumbledore asked in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

Jim pointed angrily at the closet. “Harry Black is in there with Rita Skeeter … doing stuff!”

The Headmaster grimaced. While Jim’s Imperius-fueled paranoia about his twin was known to him, the thought of Rita Skeeter having unfettered access to Harry was equally troubling. With a flick of his wand, the door popped open to reveal Rita and Harry, both wearing expressions of consternation at the interruption.

“Albus, dah-ling!” she exclaimed while snapping her handbag shut with a click. “So lovely to see you again. And what a charming robe you’re wearing today. It almost looks tasteful!”

She stepped forward to draw Dumbledore’s attention. Behind her, Harry casually zipped up his book bag, which was now noticeably thicker than it had been earlier.

“Rita Skeeter,” said Dumbledore. “Far be it from me to interrupt whatever a notorious gossip monger might be doing in a cupboard with an unaccompanied minor, but Mr. Black’s presence is required.”

“But of course!” she replied magnanimously. She stepped out of the closet. Harry followed behind and stepped past his glowering sibling without giving him so much as a glance. As Mr. Ollivander entered last, Barty Crouch stepped towards him, hat in hand.

“Mr. Ollivander! Thank you for coming on such short notice. Your presence should have been requested weeks ago but …” The older man turned to glare at Ludo Bagman’s gormless face for a second before turning back to the wandmaker. “Well, you know how it goes. Barty Crouch at your service, sir.”

“Yes, I recall you. Walnut and dragon heartstring. Twelve inches. Very unyielding and inflexible. Though for the life of me, I can’t recall how much it weighed, seeing as how that’s not something I or anyone else has ever considered relevant.”

Crouch coughed at the rebuke.

“Yes, quite. Well, the name of this ceremony was something Ludo came up with, for the alliteration, I suppose. All we really require is for you to examine the wands of the five competitors and assure us that they are all in good working order and have no … unusual characteristics.”

Ollivander snorted. “Unusual is in the eye of the beholder where magic is concerned, young man. Still, the Ministry has summoned me, and I shall obey. Now let’s get this frippery over with.”

And with that, the Weighing of the Wands commenced. As “ceremonies” went, it was very short and to the point. Ollivander examined each of the wands with professionalism and discernment. Fleur went first, and he expressed some surprise at the use of Veela hair as a core material.

“You might say eet ees a … family tradition,” Fleur said somewhat evasively. Harry, who’d learned the girl’s secret from Blaise, wondered whether the Veela hair in question was from a relative.

Cedric was next, and his ash and unicorn hair wand was in perfect working order. The boy cheerfully admitted that he’d polished his wand just the night before. Then, he blushed as he noticed the other four champions struggling not to snicker at the accidental double entendre.

Then, Viktor stepped forward. Ollivander expressed perhaps a bit of distaste for the work of his European rival Mykew Gregorovitch but declared that the Bulgarian’s wand (hornbeam and dragon heartstring) was in good working order.

Harry Black was next, and to his surprise, Ollivander spent more time examining it than the first three wands put together. To Harry’s further surprise, he then called Jim to step forward as well without first making any announcement about Harry’s wand. Instead, he took Jim’s wand (ash and phoenix feather) in his other hand and spent a long minute studying the two side-by-side while bearing an intense expression.

“Mr. Ollivander?” Dumbledore finally said, startling the old wandmaker out of his ruminations.

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” he said apologetically. “I was … lost in the possibilities.”

Then, he summoned forth a shower of red sparks from Jim’s wand and a shower of green sparks from Harry’s.

There were exactly three people in the room who were surprised that Ollivander was apparently proficient at using a wand in either hand simultaneously, if only for the parlor trick of producing sparks. Indeed, it was impressive not for the quality of magic but for the revelation that it was possible at all to duel-wield a pair of wands. One of those three who noticed was Harry Black. The Slytherin’s eyes widened further when Ollivander next turned the wands in his hands so that the tips were pointing at each other. For a second, Harry thought Ollivander was planning on firing off a spell with each wand against the other, but if that was his intention, the wandmaker thought better of it. Instead, he flipped each wand in his hand and handed them back butt first to their respective owners.

“Both appear to be in perfect working order.”

Then, he studied both siblings with an odd look in his eyes, “By any chance … have you boys had the opportunity to duel against one another?”

“Once,” Jim said somewhat nervously, as he recalled their infamous Second Year duel that ended catastrophically with the summoning of some kind of mutant demon-snake due to the Brother Wand Effect, followed swiftly by his unplanned outing as a Parselmouth.

“And that was more than enough,” Harry added. He was suddenly thinking of the same incident but from a different perspective. And it led Harry to a sudden epiphany that caused a feeling of ice in the pit of his stomach.

Brother Wands could be used to summon Wild Magic.

Ollivander barked out a gravelly laugh as if amused by an inside joke.

“Yes, I imagine it probably was.”

Next: The First Challenge

AN2: What the Sinister Man is reading:

Methods of Care by ThatTreeCat (A03). Harry starts Fifth year in a state of extreme depression and eventually becomes suicidal. Hermione and Ron know something is terribly wrong but don’t know what to do about it, and the staff is, as usual, oblivious. Very angsty, but sometimes, I’m just in the mood for that.

Wrong Place, Wrong Time by SSSRHA. A humor fic in which Dumbledore is neither evil nor incompetent but simply overworked. And occasionally high. Very funny.

AN3: Special thanks to my Discord editors: AjithSen, Farsight, GabrielTFS, Jenna the Green Chaos Duck, Krisni, Menacing Wheat Grain, PrettyPinkCupcake, ProgKingHughesker, raveenamarcus, Rubric of Ahriman, Sakkiko, sehrrhes, The Green Pyromancer, and Treee. Thanks guys!

AN4: Vital Statistics: Reviews: 19,317. Followers: 21,468. Favorites: 19,755. Communities: 255 Discord followers: 5,733! Go Team POS!

AN5: Edited on 7/22/23 because Bulgaria is not landlocked.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations belong to J.K. Rowling.

Harry Black
and the Resurrection Game
Chapter 28: Here Be Dragons (Part 1)

14 November 1994
Noon
The Prince's Lair

"It's definitely dragons," Ginny said grimly.

The girl was sitting at the table in front of the Prince of Slytherin, with Theo, Blaise, and Amy also in attendance, along with Prefect Adrian Pucey. On the table was a platter of sandwiches provided by Tweak, the Slytherin house elf, for this emergency meeting of the Prince and his Inner Circle.

"You've heard back from Charlie already?" Harry inquired with surprise.

Even after reviewing the information Rita Skeeter had provided, Harry had been reluctant to pass it on to his fellow Champions immediately. He wanted a certain level of confirmation first, as well as a viable "source" for the information that was not Rita Skeeter. The boy hadn't told the reporter everything he knew about Jim Potter's Animagery, but he'd been forced to give up some information after judging that yet another Potter scandal would be less dangerous for everyone involved than going into the First Challenge blindly. But he still wanted plausible deniability for whatever Rita published next.

"This morning," Ginny replied. "And the reason the response was so quick was that Charlie's still in London! He was supposed to go back to Romania last week after St. Mungo's finally cleared him for International Portkey travel. But then, he got a message from the dragon sanctuary saying to just stay in London—and at the Ministry's expense—but not to let our parents know. Well, specifically, our father. I reckon that's because Dad is a Ministry employee who's also friends with both you and Jim."

"But no one told him not to tell his siblings?" Blaise asked, surprised at the obvious security hole.

"According to Charlie's letter, the head of the sanctuary specifically told him he was not allowed to say anything to his parents or—and I quote—any of his 'crazy Gryffindor siblings.' Nothing was said about his crazy Slytherin sister, however. Which might have been a mistake by the Director, or it might have been a deliberate and cunning effort to leak information about what's coming without getting into trouble with the Ministry. Or with the evil cursed Goblet, I suppose."

She turned towards Adrian. "Charlie mentioned that the Director's name is Magdalene Pucey. Any relation?"

Adrian laughed. "Ha! Aunt Maggie? Slytherin, Class of '69? Oh yeah, she deliberately left that security hole for us."

"Unfortunately, it's not much of a hole," Ginny added. "All Charlie knows is that he's supposed to meet a crew of eleven other dragon handlers here at Hogwarts week after next. And they've sent him all the gear they use when managing adult nesting females."

"But that's enough to confirm Rita's information," Harry said glumly. "The Champions are meeting tonight after dinner. I'll tell them all then. So, I guess the next step is to brainstorm about how to get past angry mother dragons long enough to steal from their nests."

"And Skeeter is sure that's what the actual challenge is?" Theo asked. "Stealing a fake golden egg from among the real eggs in a dragon's nest?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, her information seems pretty solid. But we've got two weeks to figure it out. So having done my part, I'm going to let the three Seventh Years in the Tournament take the lead on research for a bit while I sit back and make fun of whatever dumb ideas Jim comes up with."

"Be nice, Harry," Amy chided.

"Right now, that's as nice as I can get towards the Git. We are in the one place in Hogwarts where I won't be around Jim Potter or around anyone else who might judge me for trash-talking him. Which means I can finally let my Occlumency relax for a while."

And truth be told, Harry looked more relaxed at the moment than he'd seemed in weeks despite the fact that the group had just been discussing his upcoming date with a nesting mother dragon.

"So, setting the Tournament aside for now," he continued, "is there any other business to discuss?"

"Two things," said Ginny. "First, Amy and I have a little proposal that we wanted to run by you before we started selling."

"Selling what?

The two girls looked at one another with a grin before turning back to Harry and responding in unison.

"Badges!"

Then, to everyone else's surprise, Amy produced a bag from which they each withdrew a circular badge which they attached easily to the front of their robes, apparently with some kind of built-in Sticking Charm. The two badges both said "Support Harry Black" and in smaller letters underneath "The Slytherin Selection."

"It started out as an Ancient Runes project," Amy explained. "But then, we thought it over and realized that it might have some more practical applications. We were thinking of selling them for 2 Sickles, which would yield about 3 Knuts in profit."

Harry laughed. "Very nice. But do you really think people will pay 2 Sickles just for a badge showing support for me?"

Amy scoffed. "Of course not! Don't be ridiculous!"

As Harry sputtered at his cousin's dismissal, she reached up to tap a small mark at the bottom of the badge repeatedly. In response, the message on the badge changed, cycling through other slogans.

Support Cedric Diggory! The Real Hogwarts Champion!

Soutenez Fleur Delacour! Victoire Pour Beauxbatons!

Victory for Viktor! Go Bogatyrs!

and finally

Potter Stinks!

"Hang on!" he exclaimed while stifling a laugh. "Amy, weren't you just lecturing me about being nice to the Git?"

"That's different," she said defensively. "This isn't anything personal or driven by an Oath of Enmity. This is just about effective sales techniques. Not every Slytherin will support you in the Tournament, but all of them will wear a Potter Stinks badge. And besides, there's also a pro-Jim option."

She tapped the badge again, and the motto changed to say "Support the BWL! Go Jim!"

"Fair enough, I suppose," Harry said with a note of pride in his voice at the two girls' cleverness. "Though you might want to raise that price a bit. I'm not sure it's worth the effort just for 3 Knuts per badge."

"Well, the thing of it is, it's not just about making money. Show him, Ginny."

The Slytherin Weasley pulled out a notebook from her bag, and Harry noticed it resembled the one he'd seen Colin Creevey using earlier that had been enchanted by the Weasley Twins to take dictation. She opened the notebook up to a page she'd bookmarked and touched her wand to a rune sequence at the top of the page before holding it up so that the others could see.

"It's really more of a long-term investment," she said. And to everyone's surprise, those words appeared on the page by magic.

"You bugged the badges you plan to sell?!" Blaise exclaimed delightedly. Ginny tilted her head at the unfamiliar term, even as the notebook dutifully transcribed Blaise's remarks.

"Well, if by bugged you mean 'incorporated a Listening Charm into the rune matrix' then … yeah. Only a few because it was very time-consuming. But Amy and I figured if we made a list of the most untrustworthy people who Harry thinks might be suspects in putting his name into the Goblet, we could make sure they got those badges. Then, we can remote-activate a notebook keyed to one of the badges so that it will take dictation on everything said around them."

Then, Ginny noticed that the notebook was still transcribing and tapped it with her wand to stop it and then again to erase what had been written.

"It's not perfect," Amy said. "You have to activate the connection by touching your wand to the rune sequence at a time when the target is wearing the badge to start the transcription. Or at least has it in a pocket or something. And it will only last for half an hour before the Charm has to be reapplied to the notebook, so you can't just leave the dictation spell running all the time."

"And finally, we still don't know how long the eavesdropping spell will last before failing, but it should last for at least a few weeks," Ginny added.

"This is amazing!" Theo exclaimed, causing both girls to blush. "Did you invent this spell?!"

The girls both laughed.

"No," Ginny answered. "We're not quite that awesome. I got the spell from Fred and George after I learned about their dictation Charm project. And they got the spell originally from Percy! He found it in the Restricted Section when he was a Fourth Year. Apparently, it was used by magical scribes in the Ottoman Empire, and he had to translate it from Arabic to get it to work. He used it for taking notes in History of Magic while he used the time to read for other classes."

Everyone laughed at that, but then, Harry grew thoughtful.

"Make sure Cassius Warrington gets one," he said.

"You think he's your biggest suspect?" Amy asked in surprise.

"I wouldn't call him my biggest suspect, at least as far as the Goblet of Fire sabotage goes. But he and his little group of aspiring Death Eaters have an annoying habit of meeting in rooms with no portrait frames in them, so I haven't been able to send a portrait snake in to spy on them yet. I'd like to have an idea of what they're up to even if it's unrelated to my current problems."

"Do you have snakes spying on everyone in Slytherin House?" Pucey asked suspiciously.

"Not everyone and not all the time. Most of the snakes aren't that intelligent, especially when I'm not around to direct them. But I have passed out to all the snakes a list of words and phrases with instructions to let me know if they overhear any Slytherins repeating them. Those who say anything on the list in the presence of a portrait snake get flagged, and the smarter snakes get dispatched to shadow them for a while."

"What words or phrases?" Adrian asked.

"Oh, the usual. Dark Lord. Death Eaters. Mudbloods. Harry Black must die. Stuff like that. So far, I've identified five or six Slytherins who definitely want to be Death Eaters someday. And I confirmed what Greg Goyle told us about Vincent Crabbe being a budding psychopath. Oh, and nine people hope I die in the Tournament for various reasons, surprisingly most of them involving Quidditch. But that's it so far. So, whoever you're dating in secret, Adrian, you can relax. None of the snakes have mentioned it to me."

"Not funny, Black," groused the prefect who was, in fact, afraid of his "broom cupboard adventures" being exposed by some voyeuristic serpent. Harry turned back to Ginny.

"Well done, both of you. Now, I believe you said there was another matter you wanted to discuss?"

Ginny tensed. "Yes. But not here. I have been asked to invite you to, well, sort of a Weasley Family meeting this evening before dinner."

"A … Weasley Family meeting?" Harry asked dubiously. The girl nodded, and he narrowed his eyes. "And just who asked you to invite me? And what is the topic of this … family meeting?"

Ginny gave an easy-going smile while carefully considering her response.

Four days earlier in Percy Weasley's room at Hogwarts …

In response to a soft knock, Percy opened the door to his private room and was surprised to discover Ron in the corridor and bearing a very pensive expression. He quickly invited the boy in.

"Ron? What is it?" he asked with concern.

"I … need some advice. You see, there's this … really delicate matter I need to handle. Actually, that I promised to handle for somebody else because that person … well, he doesn't do delicate very well. But then, I realized that I don't really do delicate very well either. So, after a week of trying to figure out how to proceed in this really delicate matter, I realized that the only person in our family who does do delicate … is you. So … here I am."

Percy blinked repeatedly before responding. "That was … incredibly cryptic and vague. Who is your friend and what is …?"

He paused and his expression soured.

"Oh, wait. Never mind. You have a friend who is such a walking disaster that even though you feel inadequate at diplomacy, you volunteered to speak on his behalf. So, what has Jim Potter gotten you into now?"

Ron frowned at that. "It's not like that, Percy! It's just … well, okay, it's kind of like that. Basically, I need advice on how to talk to Harry Black and … persuade him not to do something horrible to Jim even though he's probably justified in doing so and is also cursed to want to do something horrible to Jim whether he's justified or not."

Percy simply stared at his brother while trying to untangle that rather long and meandering sentence.

"Ooookay. Let's start with the basics. What has Jim done this time that would make Harry want to inflict a horrible revenge on him?"

Ron sighed. "Well, do you remember week before last there was that big meeting at the Wizengamot?"

"Of course. I was there with Mr. Crouch."

"Right. And do you remember at one point you were riding in an elevator with Jim, and you gave him this really harsh lecture about how he was irresponsible and reckless and it sometimes put people into danger?"

Percy sniffed disdainfully. "Harsh, yes, but fully justified in my view. Told you about that, did he?"

"Uh, yeah. Anyway, do you also remember that right after you gave him that lecture about being irresponsible and reckless, you then left him alone and unattended in the Ministry Headquarters?"

Percy stared at Ron for several seconds. Then, he slapped his hand rather forcefully against his forehead.

Two days ago in the headquarters of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes …

The nerve center of "3-Dub," as Fred had taken to calling the Twins' future joke emporium, was a forgotten classroom on the long-disused fifth floor of the Astronomy Tower, a classroom that had been hidden behind Notice-Me-Not Charms since roughly a week after the Twins first learned how to cast Notice-Me-Not Charms in their Third Year. Percy didn't know whether to be impressed or appalled when Ron showed him where the Twins had set up their unsanctioned testing lab for their unsanctioned private business.

"I can't believe that you hid the existence of this … madman's laboratory for years when I was a Prefect, only to welcome me in now that I'm a government official!"

"Oh, put a sock in it, Perfect Ex-Prefect Percy," said Fred with a grin. "The Ministry has no say in what goes on at Hogwarts, and you're not a Prefect anymore."

"And besides," added George. "You have no reason to be concerned about what goes on in here. After all, there's a Sixth-Year prefect on hand to monitor things!"

George reached up and tapped the prefect's badge hanging from his chest. Next to him, Fred scoffed.

"Listen to him," he laughed. "Georgie-Boy may be a Prefect, but I am Professor Snape's favorite student!"

"You say that because he gave you five points … once!" George said mockingly, but Fred was undeterred.

"Five points? From Snape? To a Gryffindor? Oh yeah, that man loves me like a son! Even if he can't bring himself to express it more openly. Tragic how out of touch with his feelings that man is."

Then, Fred pretended to wipe away a tear.

"Knock it off you two," said Ron irritably. "This is serious business. And I'm sorry, Fred, but it's George we need right now."

"Outrageous!" Fred exclaimed in mock dudgeon. "What does George have that I don't have? I mean, except for that unsightly and hideous mole on his face!"

"He's got a life debt owed to him by Harry Black," Percy said flatly. "And we need that for leverage to get him to do something. Or rather to not do something."

The Twins immediately straightened and folded their arms defiantly. Suddenly, they both looked quite serious.

"And what, may we ask…" "Do you think Harry Black is going to do …" "That is so awful that we need to invoke a life debt …" "Against our good friend …" "And biggest backer …" "In order to stop him?"

"Ha!" Ron exclaimed happily. "You're doing the Twin Speak thing again! Feels like it's been ages since you did that!"

"Yes," Percy added disdainfully. "Pity. I'd hoped you'd stopped that for good. It's terribly annoying. Anyway, we need George to invoke the life debt to stop Harry Black from doing something rash to Jim Potter."

"Something rash?" George repeated. "Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know," Percy said distractedly. "Ambushing Jim, knocking him out, and leaving him tied up in the middle of the Acromantula colony to be devoured whole. Something along those lines."

The other three boys went silent and stared at Percy.

"What?" he asked defensively. "It's what I'd do if I wanted to get rid of someone and make sure there was no body to find."

"Blimey, Percy," said Ron. "You've gotten cold since you graduated from school."

"Naturally," the older sibling said dryly. "I'm a civil servant now."

This morning, just before breakfast …

As Ginny, Amy, and several of their friends rounded a corner on the way to the Great Hall, she was surprised to see four of her six brothers waiting for her. All of them were giving her warm smiles, including Percy. It was almost disturbing.

"You all go on ahead," she told her friends. "I'll catch you up."

Then, she turned and strode down a side corridor towards the same broom closet where she'd once had private meetings with both Percy and George the day after her unexpected sorting. Unsurprisingly, the four males followed her inside.

"So," she said, "obviously either there's bad news about someone else in the family or you need something from your Slytherin sister. And you're all fake smiling, so I assume it's the latter. What do you need?"

The four smiles instantly vanished, and the boys all looked to Percy, much to his chagrin.

"I thought the whole point of graduating was to be free of school drama!" he thought to himself before addressing his sister.

"We need you to broker a meeting with Harry Black," he said.

"… Broker … a meeting?" Ginny responded in confusion. "You make it sound like Harry is a rival mob boss or something. Now what's going on?"

"Jim did something foolish, and Ron accepted the responsibility for cleaning up after him. We all consider Harry a good friend, but you have the benefit of also being his good Slytherin friend. We think he'll listen to us if you are also there."

"Listen to him about what?!"

Percy took a deep breath. "Well, it all started at the Wizengamot meeting earlier this month…"

Now …

"And just who asked you to invite me?" Harry inquired. "And what is the topic of this … family meeting?"

"Oh, I'm not entirely sure," Ginny replied after a brief hesitation. She also reached over the table for another sandwich in order to avoid eye contact with the budding young Legilimens. "But I think it has something to do with George's life debt. Perhaps he and Fred want to hit you up for a favor."

"So why don't they just come to me directly? They've never hesitated to before. Not even with borderline illegal things like gambling on the Triwizard Tournament."

Ginny just shrugged and bit into the sandwich. "I dunno," she said with her mouth half-full. "But I doubt it's anything serious."

Harry's eyes narrowed. He didn't think the meeting would involve anything dangerous. But "serious" was a relative term. Obviously, it was something he would not enjoy, but it was important to the Weasley family, of whom he'd grown quite fond. Then, he remembered that a Weasley family meeting would include Ron. And Ron + something unpleasant for Harry = Jim Potter.

He sighed loudly. "Fine. I'll be there."

After that, the meeting quickly broke up, but not before Pucey's eyes lit up.

"Oh, crap, I almost forgot. Ginny, how would you like to play Seeker in a Quidditch match against Durmstrang in early December?"

The girl's eyes widened. "What?! You want me to play Seeker against Viktor Krum?!"

"More importantly," Harry added irritably. "Where is my invitation to play against Durmstrang?"

"Sorry, Harry. I was told not to recruit any of the Champions because you've already got enough on your plate this year. Which means that Diggory, Potter, and Krum won't be playing either. But it also means that the Durmstrang Seeker will be Draco Malfoy! You think you're up to outflying him, Weasley?"

Ginny grinned almost maliciously. "I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

That afternoon, just before dinner …

"HE! DID! WHAT!"

All five of the Weasleys in attendance flinched practically in unison in response to Harry's outrage. They had agreed to meet in an empty classroom. Not the one which the Twins had been using for experiments, of course. They'd put too much effort into their research to risk Harry Black blowing it all up in a fit of rage.

Ron took a deep breath and calmly repeated himself. "What I said. Jim entered your private office at the Wizengamot. He said he was there less than a minute before he got nervous and left. He … was afraid he might have messed up your plans."

A shiver of fury passed through Harry's entire body, which Ginny found alarming. She knew how good Harry's Occlumency was, and if he was still showing that much of a visible reaction, it meant the true depth of his anger must have been titanic.

"How did he even get in there?!" Harry snarled.

Ron shrugged. "He says the door was unlocked."

At that, Harry was taken aback, and he blinked several times as the expression of fury on his face lessened, though it certainly did not disappear. Ginny relaxed slightly, as it appeared that learning of a security hole in his Wizengamot office must have distracted him from the effects of the Oath of Enmity.

After a very long and tense silence during which Harry fought to regain his self-control, he finally spoke again.

"Be that as it may," he said in a calm but precise manner, "that still doesn't explain why Jim isn't here himself to confess this and has instead sent the bulk of House Weasley on his behalf."

Percy coughed into his hand. "Well, what happened is … Jim told Ron who promised to resolve the matter peacefully. Then, Ron came to me for advice. And then, I went to the Twins for advice. And then, finally, we consulted Ginny who organized this meeting."

Harry turned his glare onto the youngest Weasley who stood impassively.

"Oh, I'm not entirely sure," Harry quoted. "That was what you said when I asked what the topic of this meeting was."

The girl shrugged, unrepentant. "Well, the meeting might have touched on topics other than Jim doing something stupid. So, it wasn't technically a lie."

"Uh-huh. And what about when you said you thought it might have something to do with the life debt that I owe George?"

"Well, I reckon that's not exactly a lie either," said George nervously. "Because I was going to offer to take 10% off the life debt if you promise not to, I dunno, do whatever horrible thing it is that Ron is afraid you'll do to Jim."

"First of all, life debts still don't work like that!" Harry snapped. "Second, you can invoke a life debt on behalf of a family member, but not your little brother's idiot friend! And third, even if they did and you could, you still shouldn't value 10% of your life for Jim Bloody Potter!"

George started to respond, but Harry raised his hand to silence him while massaging his forehead with his other. He felt another migraine coming on. Finally, he looked up.

"Before we go any further, what do you all know specifically about what Potter did while he was illegally in my Wizengamot office?"

"Ron only told me that Jim entered your office without consent and presumably illegally," said Percy. "And once inside, he did something unbelievably stupid and Jim-like that was likely to provoke you to terrible rage and cause you to seek a horrible revenge against him. But Ron has not told any of us any details. That's all any of us know."

Harry nodded. "Right. Everybody out except Ron." There was a brief objection to that which Harry silenced. "You want to avoid rage and horrible revenge? Then I talk to Ron alone."

"It'll be okay, guys," Ron said. Somewhat grudgingly, the other Weasleys departed, and then Harry cast a Muffliato spell.

"Alright, spill it! What exactly did the Supreme Git of the Universe tell you?"

Ron fought down the urge to object to the insulting name for Jim Potter as he thought that defending his friend from the accusation of being an idiot at times might be unhelpful at the moment.

"He said he saw you leaving your office and, as he put it, looking shifty. After you'd left, he went to your office and tried the door and it opened. Inside your office, he … "

Ron took a deep breath and plunged in. "He found the Toymaker's portrait awake and, according to Jim, singing and dancing, which he thought was weird. Then, the Toymaker noticed him and thought he was you for a few seconds before realizing that it was your twin. They talked for a bit, but then Jim got nervous about the questions Wilkes was asking him and left. He wasn't there for more than a couple of minutes."

Despite himself, Ron swallowed nervously at the look on Harry's face. He knew he'd waited a ridiculously long time between his promise to Jim that he would handle Harry and him actually doing so, but the truth was … Harry Black could be really scary at times.

"And what specifically did Wilkes and Potter talk about?" Harry bit out.

"Well, I don't know word for word, but I think the gist was that Wilkes was asking questions about the Boy Who Lived and how he beat Voldemort as a baby. And also about you and Jim and what your relationship was. Jim says he didn't think he gave away anything major, and he realized pretty fast that Wilkes didn't seem to know much about you even though you'd just been talking. That's when he figured that you were running some kind of con on Wilkes, and he might have just screwed it up. So, he left right then."

At that, Harry's angry expression was replaced by one of surprise. "That's … surprisingly cunning for Jim. I guess he does have at least a little bit of Slytherin in him. Such a pity he's never learned to cultivate it."

Harry paced for a moment before turning back to Ron.

"Okay, here's the deal. Take it or leave it. One, I want a copy of Jim's memory of everything from the moment he entered my office to the moment he left. Two, I want a secrecy oath from both you and Jim covering everything you've learned about the Wilkes portrait being active and about me interacting with it. Do that, and I promise I won't do anything to Jim for revenge or punishment. Or at least, not because of this. Of course, it's Jim we're talking about. I imagine he'll give me some other reason to seek revenge or punishment against him any day now. But I'll let him slide for illegally trespassing into the office of the Ancient and Noble House to which House Potter is a vassal."

Ron nodded. "I'll pull Jim aside and tell him. And if he gives any guff about what you're asking for, I'll browbeat him into it."

Then, he paused and studied the Slytherin more closely. "Are you okay, by the way? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Harry replied. "Just a stress headache."

In response, Ron pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Harry, who merely crooked a suspicious eyebrow but made no move to defend himself.

"EPISKEY CRANIALIS."

To Harry's surprise, the pain in his head lessened significantly, though not completely.

"Thanks!" he said sincerely. Then, Harry suddenly regarded Ron speculatively.

"There's one more thing I want for letting Jim off the hook," he said. "Something specifically from you."

"Oh?" Ron responded cautiously.

"Given how my life has gone so far, I suspect that, at some point, I or one of my friends will need healing under circumstances where I can't just go to Madam Pomfrey or someone else who would treat us in an official capacity. I want to be able to call on you, and, assuming that whatever needs fixing is within your abilities, I want you to fix it, no questions asked."

Ron was taken aback. "What?! All I did was hit you with the Anti-Migraine Charm!"

"I'm aware you're just starting out, but I know that you're studying with Ted Tonks to become at least a Mediwizard someday. And I know you've already taken some preliminary Healer's Vows. But am I right that you have not taken any vows that require you to report any suspicious things you come across while doing healing magic?"

Harry paused as he considered the question he'd just asked. "Assuming any such vows exist, I suppose. I haven't seen a lot in the wizarding world that makes me think 'mandatory reporter' laws exist here. But in any case, there might be times when coming to a friend and fellow student might be better for me than a fully licensed Healer or Mediwitch."

The Gryffindor scowled. "I'm not helping you cover up any crimes or anything like that, if that's what you're proposing!"

"Even though that is exactly what you're doing by getting me to ignore Jim's illegal trespassing? Relax. I won't get you involved in anything criminal. Just perhaps a few things that are … sketchy, as Jim likes to call it. That's the deal. As I said, take it or leave it."

Ron's face showed the conflict between his desire to protect Jim and his fear that the big badSlytherin was trying to seduce him into what might be a criminal enterprise. And perhaps a certain amount of pride as well that Harry was trusting him to act as his secret and unlicensed Healer. Protectiveness and ego won out, and Ron shook Harry's hand and immediately swore a vow that he would not reveal Harry's involvement with the Wilkes portrait nor anything he learned about "Slytherin stuff" as result of healing Harry or his friends as needed.

And with that, Harry left the room, his anger at Jim mollified by the knowledge that he'd just acquired the services of someone who (theoretically at least) could heal with Parselmagic. Now, he only needed to fulfill his part of the deal by not hexing Jim during the Champions' meeting scheduled for just after dinner.

Just after dinner …

"Mr. Potter!"

Jim turned sharply upon hearing his name called out by an unfamiliar feminine voice. He was on his way to a meeting of the Champions which Harry had called, and he didn't want to be late. Ron had assured him that the business of his stupid mistake in entering Harry's office had been taken care of, but he still had no wish to antagonize his brother, who was magically cursed to hate his family and had the power to hurt that family in a number of terrible ways.

The girl who called his name turned out to be an older Durmstrang student who he'd seen around the school since their arrival. She had raven-black hair pulled back into a bun and had an intense look about her. Like all her classmates, she wore the unisex military-style uniform common to all Durmstrang students: a tunic and breeches in shades of brown, cinched by a thick black belt and black boots. As he looked closer, however, Jim noticed a medal on her chest which looked like the equivalent of a prefect's badge, and on her left shoulder was an embroidered patch carrying the emblem of what looked like a dragon.

"Yes?" he asked. "Can I help you?"

The girl smiled as if to put him at ease. "My hope, Mr. Potter, is that we might be able to help each other. My name is Natalya Dragomirov. I am the Sixth Year Prefect for House Zmeyevich. I was hoping I might have a moment of your time."

Dragomirov spoke excellent English with just the faintest hint of a Russian accent. Jim glanced back down the hallway towards his impending meeting before turning back to her.

"I was actually on my way to a meeting with the other Champions," he said.

"I know. I heard Viktor mention that he was meeting you all tonight. But I believe you have a few minutes before it is set to commence. And I assure you that you will be very interested in hearing what I have to say."

Jim studied the older girl suspiciously. "Go on."

"This way, please," she said. "It would not do to be overheard by … certain parties."

She led the way to a nearby empty chamber. Jim cautiously followed. Waiting in the room were two other Durmstrangers, both male. One was olive-skinned with shaggy black hair. The other was paler, with neatly styled dirty-blond hair and bushy black eyebrows. Both wore the same Durmstrang uniforms as Natalya, but where the first boy wore the same dragon insignia as she did, the blond boy's insignia was that of a black wolf. Natalya closed the door and set a privacy Charm on it.

"Mr. Potter, these are my good friends. Antonio Foscarelli and Count Rudolf Andrenyi."

"Buonasera, Signor Potter," said Foscarelli with an easy smile and a light Italian accent.

"Well met, Heir Potter," said Andrenyi with a crisp, formal bow. Despite his foreign name (and title!) Andrenyi spoke flawless English. Though Jim did not know what Received Pronunciation was, his first thought was that Andrenyi reminded him of Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Um, well met … and hi," said Jim with confusion. "Mr. Foscarelli and, er, Count Andrenyi?"

"Mister is fine," said Andrenyi. "Count is a courtesy title I inherited from my late father. Meaningless outside of Magical Hungary. And I would be very honored if you called me Rudolf."

"And my friends just call me Tony," said the other boy amiably.

The Gryffindor nodded. "Jim, then. And now that the introductions are over, what can I do for you three?"

The three Durmstrangers glanced at one another before Rudolf, who was apparently more skilled at diplomacy, took the lead.

"We wished to confirm for ourselves what we have heard from Draco Malfoy and from various newspaper reports—that you are a Parselmouth."

Jim crossed his arms defiantly. "And why exactly is that any of your concern?"

Natalya interrupted before Rudolf could reply. "Let me rephrase the question. Can you underssstand what I am sssaying?"

Jim's eyes widened at the hissing sound Natalya made when she switched from English to Parseltongue.

"Yesss, yesss I can." Then, he looked at the two males, both of whom were clearly following the conversation. "Can you two ssspeak the Founder'sss Sssacred Tongue?"

Antonio chuckled. "I would sssay that I ssspeak the Ssserpent's Tongue, inssstead. Asss would Natalya, I think."

"While I do indeed Ssspeak the Founder'sss Sssacred Tongue," hissed Rudolf somewhat imperiously before he switched back to English. "It is interesting that you should call it that as well, Jim. Your impulse to use that term when trying to say 'Parseltongue' in Parseltongue is a characteristic of those of us who inherited the gift from Salazar Slytherin himself."

"Whereas those of us who had to work at it, like Nat and me," added Tony irritably, "translate Parseltongue as just 'the Serpent's Tongue.'"

At that, Jim was taken aback. "Wait, you two learned Parseltongue? And you, Rudolf, you're a descendant of Slytherin?"

"Through our ancestors," Natalya said. "Rudolf and I are cousins. The House of Dragomirov was founded by one of Slytherin's descendants, a bastard who moved to Magical Russia in the 14th century. Parseltongue was passed down among the males of the line, but we have had a long tradition of insisting that our females learn to speak it as well. Many generations later, a great-aunt of mine married into the House of Andrenyi, which had been part of the Hungarian nobility before passage of the Statute of Secrecy, and Rudolph was born with the gift."

"Okay, that's actually very interesting," said Jim. "But you still haven't said what you want from me."

"Mainly, just to get to know you," she answered. "To learn how you developed this gift. Are you a descendant of Salazar Slytherin? Or was it, as the papers said, some strange transference from your defeat of the British Dark Lord in your infancy? While only the three of us came on this trip, our … association has over a dozen Durmstrang students who have either inherited Parseltongue or taken the enormous effort of learning it."

"To be honest," Rudolf said, "it's something of a secret organization, as even in Eastern Europe, official and public views towards Parselmouths are … complicated."

"But the thing is, Jim," added Tony. "We know a lot about Parseltongue that you might not know. About Parseltongue … and Parselmagic. And we think there might be a lot we could learn from you as well."

"So," said Natalya with a smirk. "Do we have your interest?"

Soon after …

"Good of you to join us, Jim," Harry drawled without looking up from the file in front of him.

Jim frowned. The other Champions were already sitting around the table looking at file folders of their own, each bearing their own expression of disapproval over whatever they were reading. Fleur's face was pale even as she absorbed every detail in the file with perfect clarity. Meanwhile, Viktor was fuming, while poor Cedric looked like he was about to vomit.

"So … something horrible then?" he asked while taking the empty seat that was left for him and opening the file sitting in front of it.

"Fairly horrible," said Harry. "The first Challenge will require each of us to steal an egg from a nesting mother dragon using only our wands."

"WHAT?! Are you sure?!"

"Uh, yes, Harry," Cedric added in a shaky voice. "I mean, I'm not doubting you or anything but … how did you find all this?!"

Harry shrugged. "Slytherin cunning. I know someone who knows someone who has an in at the Ministry. Beyond that, I'm not revealing my secrets. You are, of course, free to assume that I made it all up as some sort of bizarrely pointless scheme to undermine you in the task if you want."

"Viktor believes Harry!" said the Bulgarian firmly.

"Fleur believes—I mean, I believe zis information as well. Some of zese are official government documents, are zey not?"

"No comment," said Harry. "I certainly was not involved in pinching anything from a Ministry office."

"Of course not," Fleur replied almost sweetly. "You have, how do you say, 'people for that.'"

"Indeed."

"Dragons," Jim mumbled in amazement as he thumbed through the file.

"At least we don't have to fight the bloody things," Cedric muttered. "It looks like a stealth challenge more than anything."

Viktor growled. "Yes, but ve must steal fake egg from among real eggs. And there is big penalty for any eggs destroyed. Viktor's first thought was Conjunctivitis Curse. But is too risky if mother dragon is near nest."

Harry nodded at that. "A good point. I've only gotten this information, and I passed it on as soon as I could."

Which was not strictly speaking true—he'd waited a few days, both to get confirmation from Charlie Weasley through Ginny and to divert suspicion that Rita Skeeter was his source. Rita had also graciously agreed not to publish any stories relating to Jim's illegal Animagery until after the First Task so the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't be distracted during a life-or-death struggle with a dragon.

"My thinking is that we would take a few days and each consult our own research sources before meeting up again."

The Champions agreed on that strategy, and after another hour of brainstorming, they went their separate ways. Jim and Harry were the last to leave.

"So … should I do the secrecy oath now?" Jim asked cautiously.

"That depends," Harry replied coldly. "Have you told anyone about your little B&E other than Ron?"

Jim's brow furrowed. "I don't know what a Bee-Annie is."

Harry huffed in annoyance. "Breaking and entering. Your illegal entry into my office and what you said and did there."

"Oh. No, just Ron."

"Your oath of secrecy, then."

Jim grimaced but swore the appropriate oath. Then, after some prompting from Harry, he withdrew the memory of his brief exchange with the Toymaker.

"So … are we okay, now?" Jim asked cautiously.

"We will not be okay until this stupid Oath is removed, you get your head cleared of your father's Imperius Curse, and you, in general, stop acting like an idiot!"

With obvious difficulty, Jim pushed down the spike of anger triggered by Harry's insult, which Jim attributed to the Oath of Enmity. And also to the fact that it was justified—he had been an idiot by entering Harry's office even if his estranged sibling had apparently left the door unlocked. Instead, he simply nodded and made his way to the door before turning back to Harry.

"Seriously, though … are we good? For now, at least?"

"I have agreed to Ron's request," Harry said coldly, "that I not take any 'horrible revenge' on you for interfering with my affairs."

Then, Harry smirked maliciously. "Beyond that, Little Brother, I guess you'll just have to trust me."

Jim swallowed at that before quickly departing. Behind him, Harry exhaled slowly and willed the tension caused by his brother's mere presence to drain away. Then, he held the vial of liquid memory up to the light and inspected it.

"Okay, brother mine," he said. "Let's see what you've been up to."

A memory …

"Hello?" called out the memory of Jim Potter as he eased open the door.

"Back so soon?" called a jovial voice that Harry knew all too well. "I'll stop singing if you really think my voice is that unbearable. Though that's a horrible thing for a son to insinuate about his dear papa, I must say!"

Memory-Jim stepped carefully into the main office, past Harry and several of his Inner Circle, none of whom Memory-Jim acknowledged.

"…Lord … Wilkes, I reckon?" Memory-Jim said with a slight hitch in his voice.

"Well, of course! Who were you expecting? The Trolley Lady from the Hogwarts Express?!"

Memory-Wilkes snorted. "Mind you, if you were, I can understand your caution. Why the rumors I could tell you about her would curl your …!"

"The Trolley Lady?" Blaise muttered incredulously before Harry shushed him.

Then, the man in the painting paused, tilted his head, and blinked repeatedly. His attention was suddenly and fully focused on Jim's appearance and clothing. And especially his Gryffindor tie.

"Hang on! You're … you're not Harry … are you?"

"Uh, no. I'm Harry's brother, Jim."

There was a long silence as the Toymaker stood perfectly still … until it was broken by the sounds of most of the Slytherins slapping their hands to their foreheads.

"Idiot!" hissed Theo.

"Jim … Potter, per chance?" Memory-Wilkes finally asked.

"Yeeeeeaahh," Memory-Jim said slowly. "Has Harry mentioned me? I mean … to you?"

Memory-Erasmus's face lit up in a broad grin, but something in his eyes made Memory-Jim want to take a step back. He wasn't the only one; Amy Wilkes shuddered as she finally got to see her dead father in the flesh … so to speak. Beside her, Ginny noticed her distress and grabbed her hand to give a reassuring squeeze.

"Oh, only in the broadest outlines, m'boy. You're Jim Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Slayer of the Dark Lord! A legend in your own time! And seeing you in the flesh, it's no wonder why your brother is so terribly jealous of you! Why, the awful things he said!"

Memory-Jim hesitated.

"Oh?" he asked. "What kind of things has he said about me?"

"Well, for starters, he whines constantly about how the entire world worships you for destroying my Lord as a baby, even though you have no idea how you did it. Only that it couldn't have been anything intrinsic to you, on account of what a pathetic wizard you are."

Memory-Jim made a face at that but did not immediately respond. Meanwhile, Theo leaned over to Harry.

"Well, to be fair, you do kind of …"

"Zip it!" Harry snapped while maintaining his focus on Memory-Jim. The boy's face clouded with anger but just for a moment before he regained control of himself before speaking.

"Does he really? That's too bad."

"Yeeees, well. You know how younger siblings can be, Jimmy m'boy."

"Actually," said Memory-Jim, "he's the older twin."

At that, Memory-Wilkes paused and stared at Memory-Jim in confusion. "Twins, you say? I hadn't noticed the resemblance."

"Uh, yeah," said Memory-Jim, who was slightly confused himself. "Identical actually. So, anyway, since my older brother is now Lord Wilkes and I'm his only male wizarding relative, I guess that makes me the Wilkes Heir. So … is there anything you want to share with me about House Wilkes? Since we're kin and all?"

"Seriously!" exclaimed Blaise angrily.

"Oh, be quiet," Ginny said. "For Jim, that passes for subtlety."

Suddenly, the Toymaker threw back his head and laughed. "Wait, wait, wait! Little Harry is Lord Wilkes?! Harry Potter is the Lord of my House?! What is he? Thirteen?!"

"Fourteen now," Memory-Jim snapped. "Yeah, I know. He did a Slytherin thing and got emancipated so he could claim it early. And it's Harry Black, actually. He got expelled from House Potter and took sanctuary under Lord Sirius Black."

Then, Memory-Jim looked confused. "Did Harry call himself a Potter?"

Memory-Wilkes waved off the question. "So, if Harry's the Lord and you're the Heir, I guess my next question is … can you underssstand thessse wordsss?"

Memory-Jim nearly hissed back a response but caught himself. "What was that hissing sound? Was that … Parsel-whatever? That snake language?"

"Credit where it's due," said Amy as she cast the spell to grant her a temporary understanding of Parseltongue. "That was almost a convincing lie."

Meanwhile, Memory-Wilkes did not answer Jim's diversionary questions. He just studied the Boy-Who-Lived carefully as his mind raced. Memory-Jim grew nervous at the lack of response.

Then, Memory-Jim, Harry, and the other Slytherins all flinched as Memory-Wilkes put his hands on the inside of the painting and leaned against it as if it were just a large windowpane. Indeed, his face was so close to the surface that his breath fogged up the surface!

"A secret for a secret, Jimmy, m'boy," said Memory-Wikes with a leer. "I'll answer any of your questions if you answer mine. Let's start with what you know about … the Diary."

Memory-Jim went pale. "Oh crap," he whispered under his breath, as he realized the painting had been playing him instead of the other way round. Then, he spun on his heels and practically ran out of the office, with Memory-Wilkes calling after him.

"Jim! Jimmy-Boy! Heir Wilkes! Come back! Was it something I said?"

At that point, the memory came to an end, and Harry and his Inner Circle withdrew from the Pensieve, which had been sitting on the table in the Prince's Lair.

"Idiot Gryffindor!" Blaise muttered. "But I repeat myself."

"Don't bring House politics into it," Ginny snapped. "Percy would never have handled a task like trying to trick a portrait that badly. Neither would Hermione or the Twins. Not all Gryffindors are as bad as Jim."

The other Slytherins just looked at her.

"Just, you know, most of them," she added lamely.

"So how bad is this?" Theo asked Harry.

"Not as bad as it could have been, I suppose. But bad enough. Wilkes knows I'm not his son. He knows I've obtained the Wilkes Lordship. He knows that I acquired the Ring Horcrux and also the Wilkes vault key, but also that I haven't found the vault itself yet. He probably assumes that I am in league with Dumbledore or, at the very least, against Voldemort. I won't be able to get any more information out of him. Or at least not with the strategies I've been pursuing so far."

Then, Harry frowned. "Jim also told him that we're identical twins, but I altered my appearance to look like someone who might be related to him. So, the question is: Is Erasmus Wilkes—or his portrait, at least—clever enough to deduce that I'm a Metamorphmagus?"

"That would be quite a leap," said Blaise. "Especially since the minor changes you made to your appearance—hair and eye color mainly—are NEWT level Transfiguration. Probably beyond a student our age, but he might assume that there are adults involved capable of changing your appearance that way."

"Plus, he may know you were lying to him before," Amy said. "But other than your true identity, he has no idea what all you were lying about. For all he knows, you could be working for Dumbledore or even Unspeakables, both of whom I'm sure could have changed your appearance. If you have to give up pretending to be his loyal son, maybe you can still manipulate him by lying about who you're really working for."

"Moving on from what Wilkes got from that exchange," said Theo, "you should also worry about what Jim got out of it. Wilkes practically told him you were a Parselmouth."

Harry just waved that off. "Jim has suspected that since the end of Second Year. And he may not have picked up on the implications of Wilkes being a Parselmouth. We'll see if Jim tries to make something of it in due course."

"In the meantime," added Ginny, "you should probably see about getting that hole fixed in your office security."

"There is no hole in my office security," Harry replied while leaning back onto the Hydra Throne with his eyes closed. "It's sealed so that only my biomagical signature can open it."

Ginny chuckled. "Yours or your identical twin's, you mean."

But Harry just shook his head. "No, I don't, actually. Seriously, Ginny. Between the Oath of Enmity and the curse Jim is under, do you think I would have neglected to even ask if Jim could access my office? Well, I did, and he can't. Or at least he shouldn't be able to. Identical twins do not have identical biomagical signatures."

The others looked at him in confusion.

"So how did Jim just sashay into your office then?" asked Theo almost crossly.

"That's a very good question. But one which is not currently even in the top ten on my priority list. Especially since slots 1 through 7 are presently occupied with research on dragons!"

"Heh. I'd love to hear what slots 8 through 10 are," quipped Ginny. Harry looked at her with narrow eyes.

"Well, coming in at number 10, Ginny, is taking a bigger interest in your psychic arts studies. Blaise, how's Ginny's Occlumency coming?"

"I'd put her at a low 2," answered Zabini.

"Push harder, both of you. Because when you reach level 3, Ginny, I want to start teaching you Legilimency."

"Why?" the girl inquired. Harry fixed her with a stern glare.

"Because you tried to manipulate me earlier into attending that meeting with your brothers in a way calculated to make me curious enough to go and then more open to letting Jim off the hook. Very effective use of both the Life Debt and peer pressure from a family I'm rather fond of. Naturally, I wasn't fooled and knew at once it was something to do with Jim. But I was curious enough to go anyway."

He leaned forward in his chair in a way that Ginny almost found intimidating.

"For future reference, however, just because you can charm and manipulate your brothers into doing what you want, do not think you can do it with me!"

Ginny flushed. "So, what does that have to do with Legilimency?"

Harry smiled. "Because despite the moral qualms that being raised in an all-Gryffindor family has instilled in you, you are very good at manipulating people. But if you study Legilimency, you could be great at it."

Ginny said nothing, though her expression reflected two warring impulses: embarrassment at being called out on her manipulative behavior … and excitement at the thought of honing that skill to a supernatural degree.

"That's all well and good," interrupted Amy. "But what about my … I mean, what about the Toymaker?"

Harry shrugged. "Dragons first. The First Challenge is in less than two weeks. Erasmus Wilkes may know I've been lying to him about being his Voldemort-worshiping son, but there's nothing he can do about it while the Ministry has him locked inside a portrait frame in a room that only I can get into. So, we focus on the Tournament right now, and then finding the Wilkes Vault after it's over. If we haven't cracked that puzzle by the end of term, I'll try talking to him again at Christmas."

Harry turned his attention back to the agenda on the parchment in front of him.

"Let's just forget about the Toymaker for now. He's not going anywhere."

The official business office of the House of Wilkes
Sometime later

The Toymaker wiped the sweat from his brow as he studied the runic array he'd just finished inscribing in chalk on the floor of his sitting room. The array included nearly 200 runes carefully written in a tiresome and arduous process, and this array represented his 317th attempt. In the real world, he might have run out of chalk by now, but he was a portrait wizard using portrait chalk to craft the portrait of a runic array, so it took just a flick of his wand to summon the chalk dust from the 316 prior failed attempts back to his hand. In life, Erasmus Wilkes had been known for his persistence where runeworking was concerned, and death had only increased his resolve since he had nothing else to occupy his time. After all, 317 attempts wasn't even close to how many experiments he'd run before he got the rubber duckies to work.

After making one final review of the array, the wizard knelt to the floor, steeled himself, and touched his wand to the foundation rune, one which resembled a capital V.

The Voldho rune lit up. Then, an adjacent rune also began to glow. Then, two more. Wilkes held his breath in anticipation while rune after rune activated. Finally, the last one lit up, and the whole array was charged.

"ALOHOMORA!"

The runic array gave off a flash of brilliant light that illuminated the whole portrait. And it was accompanied by a crashing sound, as if a great many glass windows had been shattered simultaneously.

"YES!" Wilkes exclaimed while thrusting his arms up into the air. "I AM A GENIUS!"

He jumped up from the floor and grabbed his discarded smoking jacket to don. With a flick of his wand, all the furniture that had been jammed up against the back wall to make room for the runic array was flung to one side. The mad wizard marched up to a small bookcase and reached for a particular novel. It was The Secret Garden by a Muggle named Frances Hodgson Burnett. He'd never read the book, but he came across it in the home of a family of Muggles he'd murdered (brutally but creatively) and thought it might be useful for a bit of sympathetic magic he'd been planning. He tugged the book forward on the shelf, and there was a loud click as that portion of the wall slid forward to reveal a secret door.

Once Wilkes had passed through to the other side, the door closed behind him. On this side, the door was carefully hidden behind an ivy trellis that was part of what was, indeed, a secret garden. For this new portrait was a large panoramic depiction of the garden that had once stood in the backyard of Wilkes Manor (or Funtime House, as the Toymaker preferred to call it). He strode purposefully past the Deliriosos Lacrimae bush from which he'd taken the berries that he'd used to drive his grandfather into madness and death. He paused only briefly to visit with the portrait representation of a tamed Venomous Tentacula he'd kept as a pet.

"Hello, Harpo," Wilkes cooed as he tickled one of the deadly vines, and the carnivorous plant quivered in response.

Harpo had been gifted to Wilkes by a Death Eater named Mr. Petal who the Toymaker had taken as a protégé but who had tragically died young, not long before Wilkes himself. Emotionally, Wilkes cared nothing about the young man's death, but as an artist he deplored the loss of someone with so much potential for mayhem.

From there, Wilkes proceeded on towards what, from the perspective of a living observer, would have been "the front" of the landscape. From inside the painting, Wilkes saw the boundary as a large window, ten feet long and five feet tall. Nothing could be seen of the other side save darkness.

Wilkes put the tip of his wand against the glass. "LUMOSSSS!" he hissed. And there was light.

A series of orbs hanging from the ceiling lit up in sequence illuminating the infamous and long-missing Wilkes vault. But to call it a vault was, in all honesty, grossly inadequate, for the space was far larger than even the most impressive Gringotts vault. A Muggle would describe it as a warehouse, easily 100 yards on each side, with each wall covered in carefully inscribed runes that maintained the vault's structural integrity within the strange realm called wizard-space.

In one section, there were entire pallets of orichalcum bricks. Row after row of shelves held deadly toys and cursed objects of all kinds. There were also antiques that were not cursed but were rather heirlooms of House Wilkes that had been withdrawn from Gringotts to this place because of Erasmus Wilkes' deep-seated fear and distrust of the Goblins. An enormous bookshelf contained all the Death Eater's experimental notes and accumulated lore. Nearby, commanding a display case all its own, was the Wilkes copy of the Anathema Codex, still wrapped in chains due to the will of Erasmus Wilkes' grandfather that his deranged grandchild should never again touch it.

But in the center of the vault, there was a large, mostly open space that functioned as a work area. For while a Muggle might have called the vault a warehouse, Erasmus Wilkes preferred to think of it as his factory. The Funtime Factory.

Wilkes cast the Sonorous Charm on himself and then bellowed out commands like a drill sergeant.

"ATTENNN-HUT! BUILD-IT BEARS! FRONT AND CENTER!"

Instantly, the silence of the deserted Funtime Factory was shattered by the sound of thunderous clanging, as if giants were marching in formation through the building.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

But it wasn't giants that were marching into the work area. Instead, it was a dozen teddy bears marching two by two to present themselves to their creator for inspection. Each was a different color that would have seemed bright and cheerful had they not been covered with cobwebs and faded with age and neglect.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

Of course, the comparison to giants was not inapposite, as each of the teddy bears was twelve feet tall. And while each bear was covered in faded and decayed fabric, the sound that accompanied their marching suggested that there was a skeleton of heavy metal beneath the plush exterior. The Toymaker broke into a broad grin as the bears fanned out to form a single row in front of the huge portrait of their creator.

"BUILD-IT BEARS! PRESEEEENT ARMS!"

As one, the Build-It Bears thrust their arms forward. And with an ominous SNIKT, large tools extended from each bear's hands. Hammers and screwdrivers, drill bits, and even buzzsaws. Metal tentacles to which smaller tools were attached for more intricate work slid out of each bear's forearms.

And every tool was made of orichalcum.

Wilkes clicked his heels together smartly and then gave an exaggerated military salute before bursting out into maniacal laughter. In Greek mythology, Hephaestus had the colossal Cyclopes to aid him in crafting the legendary artifacts of the gods of Olympus. And now, the Toymaker had his Build-It Bears to help craft the wonders that would aid Voldemort and his New Pantheon in achieving the Goal.

"Right, lads!" said the Toymaker with an infectious grin. "Let's get to work!"

Next: Dragons of a more literal sort ...

AN2: What the Sinister Man is reading:

Same Old, Same New by Arkodian (AO3). Kind of a fix-it fic, but instead of Adult Harry going back to start over again at the age of 11, it's 11yo Harry getting imperfect memories from the future. He's still basically a child, but he has just enough future-knowledge to change things. Among other details, it has a redemption arc for Petunia and Dudley, and a slightly endearing relationship between Harry and Walburga.

Peter Pettigrew and the Ghost of Christmas James (AO3): Three years after the events of Halloween 1981, Scabbers the Rat is visited by the ghost of James Potter late one night at the Burrow. And everything changes. One of the best and most interesting Pettigrews I've ever read. The hook is that Peter is and has always been a high-functioning psychopath with absolutely no moral compass. (He suggests murdering Walburga instantly when he learns about Sirius's abuse at age 12). So why did he betray the Potters to Voldemort? Because he concluded that Voldemort was going to win and so ensuring that all his friends died quickly was a kindness!

AN3: Special thanks to my Discord editors: Aph, Cas, Chaskel Velvel, ChowPow123, Daniel?, EssayOfThoughts | Aich, Farsight, Forge, Idefix, iqnmrfc, Jiiti, kean, PrettyPinkCupcake, raveenamarcus, sehrrhes, and skyari. Thanks guys!

AN4: Vital Statistics: Reviews: 19,317. Followers: 21,468. Favorites: 19,755. Communities: 255 Discord followers: 5,733! Go Team POS!

Chapter Text

26 November 1994
The Forbidden Forest
1:00 a.m.

The raven flew through the dark forest in silence until it found what it was searching for: a large open clearing that had been prepared for several tents … and five enormous cages. The corvid landed on a tree branch and took in the scene. Then, as if suddenly aware it was under observation itself, it turned its head towards the subtle movement that had caught the bird's eye … only to find an eye of a different kind staring back.

"CAW!" cried the raven, which was so startled that it nearly fell from its perch. For just ten feet away was a sinister floating orb, jet black except for a single glass eye-lens, that was hovering in mid-air as it regarded the bird's presence.

Simultaneously, deep beneath Hogwarts Castle, a young man with a lightning bolt scar watched the raven's image in a silver mirror.

"And good evening to you too, Little Brother."

The raven fluttered its wings and cawed again as if to register its disapproval at being caught by the hidden Eye-Spy. The Eye-Spy said nothing in response. It simply rotated silently and turned back to watch the clearing below. There was a soft whirr as the lens focused in on the massive and deadly creatures encaged down below.

The bird hopped up and down on its branch a few times as if indignant at the Eye-Spy's presence (and, by extension, that of its owner). Then, it jumped from the branch and glided down towards the clearing below. The raven circled the clearing a few times before coming in for a landing. But instead of a raven's talons, it was Jim Potter's trainers that touched down onto the forest floor. He was dressed in black from head to toe and even had a hood pulled up over his head. Back in the Prince's Lair, Harry was mildly impressed. Jim's attire suggested more forethought than he'd believed his twin capable.

Carefully, Jim crept forward towards the nearest cage, the one containing the Hungarian Horntail. Like her sisters, the Horntail's mouth was bound shut with a magically-reinforced iron band, lest the magnificent beast set the entire forest ablaze with her fury. Jim looked around to make sure he was unobserved (other than the Eye-Spy, of course). Then, he softly cleared his throat.

"Hello. Can you underssstand what I am sssaying?" he hissed.

The Horntail's only response was an angry growl, followed by a short puff of flames from the creature's nostrils. Not enough to be a danger to Jim, thanks to the bindings, but enough to frighten him. Even from here, Jim Potter could feel the intensity of the dragon-fire, and he did not relish the thought of facing this or any of the other dragons when they were free and able to breathe fire to their maximum ranges. Which, according to Ron's research, could reach over 100 feet for a Horntail.

Jim hissed a few more phrases in Parseltongue before finally concluding that communication was impossible. Not one to give up, however, the Animagus took a single step before shifting to his raven form and flying over to the next caged dragon to repeat the experiment with the Chinese Fireball. Though the Fireball was far more serpentine than the Hungarian Horntail, the results seemed the same.

Jim made his way around the camp to visit each of the remaining dragons and confirm that none of them seemed capable of understanding Parseltongue. Disappointed and somewhat annoyed, Jim turned and looked back up towards the floating Eye-Spy before making a rude gesture in its direction. Then, the raven took wing once more, up over the treetops and then back to Hogwarts. The Eye-Spy tracked the raven's path before turning and floating away from the dragon-handler's encampment and back to the castle.

The Prince's Lair

"Huh," muttered Theo, who was observing the mirror that had been enchanted to receive the Eye-Spy's feed from over Harry's left shoulder. "Looks like our Lion has a bit of Snake in him after all."

Harry shrugged. "I am reliably informed that the Hat offered him Slytherin, but unresolved 'daddy issues' led him to insist on Gryffindor."

"The thought boggles the mind," Blaise quipped while shaking his head at the idea of Jim Potter as a Slytherin. "Unfortunately, he just confirmed that Parseltongue definitely doesn't work on dragons. Pity that."

"I was pretty sure it wouldn't from the sources here in the Lair. But confirmation is good, I suppose. Not that I would have used it anyway unless I was out of other options."

"True," said Theo, "but if you had to expose yourself as a Parselmouth, wouldn't it be cool to do so in the middle of the First Challenge by commanding a bloody dragon to just hand you the Egg?"

"You seriously overestimate my need to 'look cool,' Theo," Harry said. Theo openly laughed at that.

"After over three years of watching you in action, I'm pretty sure I don't. In fact, I'm probably underselling your obsession with looking cooler than everyone else."

"So anyway," Blaise interrupted, "if Parseltongue is out, what's your Plan B?"

"Pfft!" Harry exhaled disdainfully. "There is no Plan B. There is a Plan Two. Followed by Plans Three, Four, and the beginnings of Plan Five."

He gave the other two-thirds of the Silver Trio an imperious look. "I would never identify my plans with letters, Blaise! That would imply I couldn't come up with more than 26!"

Later that night …

Luna Lovegood gazed up at the Goblet of Fire and shivered. The artifact that had placed two of her close friends into a deadly competition still sat on its plinth in the Great Hall, where it would remain until the end of the Triwizard Tournament. (At Luna's suggestion, the Quibbler had taken to referring to the competition as "the Pentawizard Playoffs," but that name had not yet taken off with the larger public despite being more accurate than the official name.) By day, the Goblet of Fire was not terribly impressive. Just a simple wooden cup, notable only for the eerie flames that burned constantly within it. In Luna's dreams, however, she found the artifact far more sinister.

At present, none of the usual creatures revealed by the Heliopath's insight—wrackspurts, fury-flies, and all the rest—were present, save for the few nargles generated by the girl's own pensive emotional state. The Great Hall was empty at night, and so there were no other people present to draw those creatures down to this plane to feed on their emotions. And, of course, there were no such extraplanar creatures summoned by the Goblet itself, for, as far as Luna could tell, the artifact lacked any degree of awareness, let alone sentience or emotional capacity.

And yet, there was … something. As she cautiously floated closer (Luna rarely walked in her dreams unless she was interacting with fellow dreamers), she could sense something strange about the Goblet of Fire. Though it conveyed nothing indicative of actual thought, not even on the level of the basest animal, she could nevertheless sense a powerful emotion emanating from it. A strange sense of indignation and pain, as if the Goblet had suffered some kind of dreadful violation.

But then, as Luna moved close to the very edge of the wards that protected the ancient device, she gasped. For she now realized that whatever terrible violation had been performed on the Goblet was ongoing! She could now feel something else that permeated every molecule of the Goblet of Fire and yet which was not a part of it. The Heliopath had never encountered anything like it before.

Well, almost never. In a very faint and superficial way, the wrongness that permeated the Goblet of Fire was similar to the wrongness that she'd encountered several times in her dreams when she'd crossed paths with the Dream-Selves of the Carrow Things. Similar yet wholly different, of course. But to Luna they all carried the same sense of innate horror.

It was not that Luna simply subjectively found both the Carrow Things and the Goblet to be horrible, though she did. Rather, it was as though horror for horror's own sake was somehow fundamental to their existences. Intuitively, Luna knew that had she been able to witness whatever foul rituals made both the Goblet and the Carrow Sisters into what they were, she would have been revolted … and that very revulsion was essential to the magic working as intended!

Excited by this epiphany, Luna pulled out her wand and pointed it at a peculiar freestanding object positioned next to a nearby wall. It had not been there before she turned towards it, but wherever she was in the castle, it was always right there when she needed it. With a few flicks of her wand, words appeared on the flat surface, joining other words already inscribed there in different hands.

"Horror for horror's sake," she wrote.

Then, Luna turned back to the Goblet of Fire and marshalled her Gryffindor courage to move closer to the cursed artifact. But before she could cross the warding line, she was distracted by an unexpected sound. Someone was running down the main corridor outside the Great Hall. She took one last baleful look at the Goblet before floating swiftly away, passing through the doors of the Great Hall as if she were a ghost. From there, she flew down the halls of Hogwarts in pursuit of the other person.

And before any time had passed (for that was the nature of travel in dreams), she found him. It was a child, specifically a boy who seemed too young for Hogwarts. He was disheveled, tear-stricken, and terrified. His red hair was tousled, and his clothes seemed old-fashioned to the point of anachronism.

Luna touched down to the floor and approached cautiously. Here were the nargles and wrackspurts she'd been missing, a veritable swarm of them feasting on the boy's fear and distress.