A/N: This is a translation of a fic originally written in Russian by zmeisha.

My regards to my beta Teufel1987 who made the story readable.

Chapter 1

"Have you talked to the Prime Minister?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"That there are so many immigrants flooding this country that one can easily smuggle a dozen of dragons, no one will notice. End of quote."

"Wonderful."

"I have sent you the list of participants."

"I received it yesterday. Did you get mine?"

"An hour ago ... And there is still no news from Durmstrang."

"I didn't hear from them either. Wait, something is tapping the window. Maybe it's their messenger. Have a nice evening."

"I'd rather have a good night. Although we can forget about it for the next year, can we not? Bon soir."

The headmaster stepped away from the fireplace, opened the window and let a dishevelled owl and warm June wind inside. Yes, the period of tranquillity was over. One could only hope that everything will be different from the events that took place twenty five years ago. Keep the Cup safe, he muttered. Don't be daft, Harry, who'd want it? Keep a very close eye on the Cup.

He unfolded the parchment that the owl brought and browsed through the text. It looks like a cipher. He thought. Which language was it? Bulgarian? It was very nice of them to write the transcription. Let's see...

1. Ben-Bezalel, Revekka

2. Wiedźmin, Anton

3. Volkov, Jaroslav

4. Gavlichek, Piotr

5. Krum, Snježana

6. Korvin, Ilona

7. Korvin, Mátyás

8. Perkūnaite, Linda

9. Rosen, August

10. Snapova, Albena

11. Tvardovskaya, Rosa

12.Ţepeş, Vlada

13. Chaklun, Panas

14. Schlemiel, Jacob

He shook his head as if he tried to get those strange syllables out of his mind. Snjezana Krum must be Victor's daughter. It would be symbolic if the Cup chose her. That meant that she didn't have a chance. Ilona and Matyas were obviously twins. They'd better be different from Fred and George otherwise no one at the Tournament will have any peace. The Cup should be carefully guarded. Jacob Shlemil's name was written in different ink, it looked he was chosen just so the number of participants was not thirteen. Someone in Durmstrang is very superstitious. There were an equal number of boys and girls - was that done on purpose? He must tell Hermione, she'd be delighted.

Something in that list bothered him. Like he sensed a movement at the edge of sight and realized it was a Snitch. Beware of Bludgers, he thought and smirked. The uncomfortable sensation didn't go away, though. Harry read the letter again and felt his skin crawl. "It can't be", he whispered. And then he read again: Snapova Albena.

Snapova.

Albena.

X X X

Snape disappeared right before the end of the war like melting sugar in hot tea. His timing was impeccable, as both sides wanted to have his throat cut. The Ministry of Magic put him on the wanted list as a murderer and Voldemort's spy. Death Eaters hated him so much that Bellatrix Lestrange once tried to find out "this wretched traitor's" whereabouts from her own sister and nephew. Narcissa and Draco would have had hard times if not for Lucius, who had just escaped from Azkaban and made his appearance on the doorstep of the house. As a result Bellatrix returned to jail, and Lucius, who was responsible for her capture, returned home.

The Headmaster's murderer had become a distant, unpleasant memory a long time ago; a faded "Wanted" poster, a creepy story for the first-years and an unseen ghost of Hogwarts. To see his name on the list of Triwizard Tournament's participants was like walking to the bathroom to wash your face and seeing a snake in the sink: A particularly black, sleek and poisonous snake. Harry looked at Dumbledore's portrait and showed him the list. The portrait smiled inscrutably. The late Headmaster was willing to discuss everything from the nuances of dragon blood use to plumbing problems in the girls' bathroom on the third floor, but he refused to talk about the treacherous Potions master for the last twenty years. Not a single word; neither negative nor positive.

"Maybe he's long dead," Harry said spitefully. "It does happen: a man gets married, his child is born, and then some sick bastard eavesdrops and reports to his master - the end."

Dumbledore silently shook his head.

"He's not dead," Harry sighed. "He must be around sixty now. It's not fair. My father was barely into his twenties, Sirius didn't live to be forty ... and this scum is almost sixty."

Dumbledore's portrait only shrugged. Harry ruffled his hair and repeated addressing not so much the late headmaster as the night in general, "It's not fair, but I'll fix that."

X X X

"It's not fair!" Lily whined again. "I'll be seventeen in less than six months. If I weren't your daughter, you'd have taken me with you."

"If wishes were hippogriffs... If this Tournament were held last year I'd have won it. What's the point?" Roger was resigned and tried in vain to offer her some consolation.

"If this Tournament were held in Hogwarts, your dad would not have the need to go anywhere. Enough with the "what ifs"," Ginny said decisively. "What is this?"

Harry was thoughtfully looking at a red jumper and for the umpteenth time trying to decide if that was appropriate attire for a headmaster. He didn't reach any decision and took a metal disc on a chain from Ginny's hands.

"That's omni-purpose translator, the latest innovation of the Ministry."

Roger's eyes went wide. He had his grandfather's love for all things mechanical. Harry wanted to say that "the latest innovation" translated from bureaucratic to English meant that the previous one didn't work, but kept the remark to himself.

"Omni-purpose means that it translates all the languages?" Lily asked without much interest.

Harry smiled at such naiveté.

"Only ten: French, German, Romanian, Polish, Hungarian, Bulgarian, Russian, Czech, Latin and Goblin. They tried adding Parseltongue, but failed. This thing doesn't recognize the difference between a snake's hiss and sputter of oil on a pan."

"I wonder how the sputter of oil can be translated." Ginny said absentmindedly. She was also contemplating the red sweater.

"If my sister is cooking, the oil must be saying that she's pants at it!" Roger easily ducked a pillow thrown at him. "How does it work?"

"You put it around your neck, push the button in the middle and say Traducio. Well, does anyone want to demonstrate their skills in French?"

Roger and Lily made a face. Ginny decisively put the sweater into the suitcase and said slyly, "Let's have sex!"

Harry choked. The children were not so little, of course… And he'd be absent for a whole year… But Merlin merciful, what was that about?!

"Mum, what did you say just now?" Lily asked astonished.

"The question should be how she pronounced that," Roger laughed. "Mum, you have a lot of hidden talents!"

Ginny giggled at the compliment, then looked at her husband's red face and immediately turned serious.

"Harry, are you sure this translator works? I only said hello in Goblin, what did you hear?"

Harry's legs almost gave in from relief, and he fell on the bed. It was such a pleasure to know that his familiar world wasn't falling apart!

"Who taught you that?" he asked after getting his breath back.

"Bill, of course. Who else knows Goblin in our family? Wait… That cheeky bastard! It wasn't Hello, was it?"

"Let's say it's a good thing you didn't have a chance to say that to a goblin."

"I get it, it means, 'You have huge ears'," Roger snorted.

"Something like that," Harry laughed. "Something like that."

That night Harry told Ginny how deceitful Bill was. Then she took off his glasses and said in a meaningful voice, "You have huge ears!"