The Houses Competition

Hufflepuff, HoH

Standard

Prompt: [Setting] Durmstrang Institute (Northern Europe)

Word Count: 1998, per Google Docs

AN on style: Due to my personal beliefs on the subject, I don't write accents I'm not incredibly familiar with (basically nothing that's not my own). I think it's a slippery slope that can lead to stereotyping or even prejudice, intentional or not. Instead, in this story you'll find that Fleur and Viktor, whose native languages are not English, speak in a more "proper" manner. From what I've seen, those who learn a second language tend to speak with more formality (because that's the way you learn it, in my experience). So, TL;DR- no accents, just more formal language because I find that more respectful.

AN on characters: You don't go through something like the Tri-Wizard Tournament without scars, both visible and not. And I like to think that Harry and Fleur, being the fighters they are, would rail against anything that gave another person the same scars. And though we don't really canonically know the same of Viktor, I have to believe it's true, especially when said people are still children.

MC4A Challenge Block

Stacked with: The Houses Competition; FPC; SS; TTT
Individual Challenge(s): Yellow Ribbon (N); Yellow Ribbon Redux (N); Short Jog (N); Gryffindor MC (N)
Representation(s): Harry Potter; Fleur and Hermione Kick Butt; Coping with PTSD
Bonus Challenge(s): Persistence Still; Ladylike - Bold; Not a Lamp; Pear-Shaped
Tertiary Bonus Challenge(s): Thimble
Space Address (Prompt): 5D (Ribbon/Cord)
Word Count: 1998, per Google Docs
Warning: Depictions of PTSD, blood/gore

The Thirteenth Use for Dragon's Blood

"Harry! Harry!" Hermione yelled.

Harry jolted awake. "Who is it? What's going on?"

"Harry, it's me." Hermione's voice cut through his brain fog. "Another nightmare?"

Flopping back against his pillow, Harry sighed. "Yeah. That's what, the fourth one this week?"

Hermione settled in on the other side of his bed. "Sounds about right. Do you want to talk about them?"

"I don't know," he answered in a small voice. He'd kept his perceived "weakness" bottled up, but he was beginning to worry himself.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Have they all been the same?"

"In the beginning, I dreamed about playing fetch with Sirius, but instead of a ball, he would bring back a golden egg, and then I suddenly had a dragon chasing after me.

"Then sometimes I was swimming in the Prefect's Bath with the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Something would drag them under the water and I'm never able to find them when I dive for them." Harry paused, sucking in a shaken breath. "There were weeds like in the lake, and they were just too thick... it tangled them up... I couldn't get them free...

Harry swallowed hard. "Tonight… Tonight was new. I was pushing a cart down a Tesco aisle. When I turned a corner, I saw Cedric's corpse standing next to me holding a milk jug full of blood. He asked me to take his body back to his parents. Then he jumped in my cart, looked over my shoulder, and yelled for me to run. I just started running as fast as I could, looking for the exit, but I kept getting turned around or running into dead ends..." he finished, sobbing.

Hermione pulled him into her arms and held him as he cried. "I knew having another Tournament was a bad idea."

Harry sniffed wetly. "You know, the last one just worked out so well they wanted another."

"And the nerve of them to dedicate it to Cedric!" Hermione said hotly. "I'd love if the whole thing fell apart. It would serve them right."

With his head under Hermione's chin, Harry drifted into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Harry trudged down to the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and immediately put the kettle on. Just as he'd finished making his cup of tea, an owl bearing the Daily Prophet started pecking at the window. Harry groaned at the front page news: "Durmstrang Sets Date for Cedric Diggory Memorial Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Hermione poured her own mug of tea and sat down at the old table. "I wonder if Fleur and Viktor are feeling the same way."

Harry nodded. "I know Fleur is having nightmares. Bill caught me at the Burrow the other day and asked if I had found anything helpful other than Dreamless Sleep potion. I haven't talked to Viktor in a few weeks, though."

"I'll Floo him later and ask, but I'd imagine so. There has to be a way to cancel it," Hermione said.

Harry snorted and shook his head at her naiveté. "Hermione, you know none of the headmasters wanted to go through with this. This is purely driven by the various Ministries trying to prove to the world that, with Voldemort gone, we can all go back to 'normal.' They don't care if the Tournament messed us up. Honestly, they'd probably try to shut us up if we started talking about it."

"Maybe," Hermione murmured, the wheels already turning in her mind.

Harry returned from work to find Fleur and Viktor sitting with Hermione at his kitchen table.

"We heard you were having the nightmares, too," Viktor said.

"And we decided we won't let this happen to anyone else," Fleur added, elbowing his ribs.

"So what are we going to do about it?" Harry asked. "We can't just take out an ad in all the international newspapers and say 'Hey! Remember this thing? Don't do it, it'll screw up your kids!'"

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Perhaps not. But we're a team of three former champions and a near-genius. Between the four of us, surely we can come up with a solution!"

"We could sabotage the Tournament?" Viktor suggested.

"That would work, until the next time they want a Tournament," Harry growled. "Whatever we do needs to be permanent. There's a reason it was stopped in 16-whatever—"

"1792," Hermione interjected quietly.

"—right, and it failed again with us. No other student should ever go through that again!" Harry finished, banging his hand on the table.

Fleur nodded fiercely. "Yes! But it seems impossible! The champions are bound to a magical contract from the moment the Goblet spits out—"

The three former champions exchanged devious grins. "The Goblet!" they cried.

"It seems a trip to Durmstrang is in order," Viktor said.

Hermione's mind started spinning—how do you defeat such a powerful magical artifact?

Kevin Entwhistle, a former Ravenclaw from Harry's year and the liaison from the British Department of Magical Sports and Games, had intercepted them at Durmstrang's front gate despite the late hour. He sternly hauled them up the short path to the dark castle and shoved them in the headmaster's office.

"It's not that we aren't pleased to have three former champions here for the opening ceremony," he said. "We're just… surprised. It usually takes quite a bit of planning and paperwork to get outsiders here…"

Viktor shrugged. "I already knew how to get here."

"And Kingsley—Minister Shacklebolt to you, I guess—thought it would be a great idea for me to come," Harry said with a smirk.

When Fleur didn't offer her own explanation, Kevin stared at her skeptically.

"I have my ways," she purred.

"Uhhhhh… right," Kevin muttered, tugging at his collar. "I'll leave you lot here while I find accommodations for you."

Once he'd left, Harry quickly cast a Muffliato Charm. "All right, everyone remember the plan?"

Viktor nodded. "I will run interference so no one can interrupt. I'll be 'on a late-night stroll around my old school.'"

"I will approach the Bulgarian Auror guarding the cup and convince him to come with me. Maybe this allure will finally be useful," Fleur huffed.

"And as soon as you do, I'll finish this once and for all," Harry finished firmly. "This ends with us."

Harry dropped the charm just as the door burst open.

"Follow me," Kevin said stiffly. "We couldn't find rooms for you all together, so you'll be spread out. We'll simply have a student escort you to and from meals. You won't be here long enough to warrant a full orientation of the castle."

He led the three through a warren of long, narrow corridors, lit only by the torches flickering at sparse intervals on the wall.

Finally, he stopped at a cracked wooden door. "Ms. Delacour, this will be your suite."

Fleur peered in and flinched at the lackluster accommodations. "It's Mrs. Weasley, sir. This will do, thank you."

"Of course," Kevin said, color flooding his cheeks. "Gentlemen, this way."

He took the men on another long trek before dropping Viktor off at a different barebones set of rooms. Viktor bid them goodnight and went inside.

As they departed, Kevin sneered, "Headmistress McGonagall wishes to speak with you. She'll show you to your rooms when she's finished."

Kevin hadn't been his biggest fan during their school years; Harry supposed old habits die hard.

When they reached a less ominous part of the castle, Kevin stopped outside another door. Before Harry could reach out and knock, he felt a rough hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know what you're up to, Potter, but I know it's something fishy. You have been entirely too vocal about how much you hate the idea of this Tournament for this to be a friendly visit. You never could mind your own business. This time, though, I'm going to figure you out and put an end to all of your shenanigans. The world won't take so kindly to you being such a troublemaker now that the war's over," he threatened.

Harry stiffened. "I have no idea what you mean, Entwhistle. I'm simply here to support the new Hogwarts champion, whoever they may be. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to catch up with an old friend."

Without thinking, Harry jerked the door open, stepped inside, and slammed it in Kevin's face. Merlin, that felt good.

"Old friend, Mr. Potter?"

Harry turned to find his former head of house seated on a threadbare sofa in front of a fire, sipping what was likely single malt Scotch. She had an eyebrow quirked, but she was clearly trying to suppress a grin.

"Sorry, professor," Harry said sheepishly. "I just needed to get away quickly. I hope you don't mind."

Minerva released her smile. "Not at all. Though I was hoping, being the old friends we are, you wouldn't mind telling me the real purpose for your visit to Durmstrang."

Harry sank onto the other end of the sofa, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm only here to… do what I can for the Hogwarts students."

She stared back at him blandly. He should have known better than to try misleading her.

He heaved a sigh and studied the fire for a moment. "Can I trust you, professor?"

Minerva quirked her eyebrow again, this time with no trace of a smile.

"Stupid question," Harry muttered. He gave her an abridged version of their plan.

"I should have known," Minerva said, shaking her head. "Just know that you're on the Ministry's radar. It won't be an easy task, and Merlin help you if you get caught."

"We've got a solid plan," Harry promised. "And it's a risk we're all too willing to take."

The first part of the plan, which involved Harry sneaking Fleur and Viktor out of their rooms under his invisibility cloak, went perfectly. Viktor had spoken to some of the students and was able to lead Harry and Fleur to the end of the large corridor housing the Goblet. There was no one in sight except for the guard. Fleur went to step out from under the cloak when Harry jerked her back.

"The Auror is a woman!" he hissed. "Are you sure you can distract her?"

"Of course," Fleur sniffed. "Watch and learn, boys."

Viktor grabbed her other arm. "Wait. See the bracelet she wears? It is from a meet-and-greet with the Bulgarian National team."

"You can go distract her with your Quidditch-ness!" Harry mouthed.

Rolling his eyes, Viktor slipped from beneath the cloak and approached the woman. When she recognized the man touching her shoulder, she swooned. Viktor caught her easily, helped her upright, and, with a poorly concealed scowl, tried to lead her away. The Auror clutched his arm, too in awe of Viktor to unroot herself from her post.

"If you want it done correctly…" Fleur muttered, slipping from beneath the cloak.

She sauntered up to the pair and turned on the charm. After a few seconds, the Auror's eyes went glassy. Fleur hooked a hand through her arm and led her away, the Auror still clutching Viktor's arm.

When they were safely hidden, Harry dashed toward the cup, filled its bowl with a mixture of dragon's blood and acromantula venom, and stuck in the end of a fuse. Running the cord alongside him, Harry ducked behind a wall.

"Good riddance," Harry growled, and he lit the fuse. He watched the flame crawl up the cord and, when it was close enough to the cup, conjured a stone dome over the Goblet. Please let Hermione be right about this…

A subdued boom rang throughout the corridor. Harry vanished the crumbling dome as the Auror barreled around the corner.

She gaped at the melted artifact as its magical glow flickered and faded out.

"That's impossible!" she screeched.

What she didn't know was that Hermione Granger, like the champions, didn't understand the word "impossible." Turns out that, given the right accelerant—say acromantula venom—dragon's blood was highly volatile. It was Hermione's contribution to the Tournament—the thirteenth use for dragon's blood.