Chapter Two
Disclaimer: I own nothing, no money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
"It's—it's him!" Lily choked out after the Beauxbatons students left, having submitted their names into the Goblet during breakfast.
"But it can't be, Lily," Sirius argued.
"Why not?" Lily protested, and Sirius seemed to melt with exasperation. This time, both James and Lily were fully convinced that they had found their long-lost child.
"That messy, unruly black hair and those brilliant green eyes—it's just like Lily's vibrant eyes." James said.
"His name is Ambrose Eschete, the both of you. That's a pureblood family as old as the hills. Why would Harry end up with them?" Remus reasoned.
"Besides, green eyes and black hair is common." Sirius added.
"That shade of green is uniquely Lily." James insisted obstinately. "Didn't the Eschete family already die out?"
Sirius rubbed the side of his head, like he had a bad headache. "Don't even go there—I already researched it. There's just one member left, and he lived under a different name until a good six years ago. Sebastien Eschete. No one's seen him before, but the records do exist. He married his wife, Annabelle, and they apparently had Ambrose."
"That sounds very suspicious." James declared.
"The records are sketchy, James, not even the French government has this information. I only found it because Sebastien lived in Britain for a bit."
"It's still suspicious." Lily said, crossing her arms. "Eschete, they were popular celebrities before the line ended. Why would their last member hide in Britain under another name?"
"How should I know?"
"There're too many holes." James argued.
"Why are you making this so hard?" Sirius sighed. "I just…I just want you two to slow down, please, I know he resembles you two, but that doesn't make anything concrete. Currently, he's a French pureblood celebrity wizard and the odds are just so—small. Yes, there are problems with the story, but that means nothing. Records don't document every single scandal, you know."
The Potters nodded resignedly, seeing the truth in Sirius' words. Most likely, the poor boy would run for the hills if they stomped up to him and said: "I think you're my son."
"There's no use in waiting around here. I'll go talk to him." James said determinedly, a spark growing in his eyes.
"I'll go with you," Sirius volunteered, raising an arm with the little cheerfulness he can muster..
Dear Bella,
I do not appreciate the chunky-looking utensils—your choice is much nicer, but I must admit their Halloween decorations are lovely. Was it the same in your year? Huge pumpkins, live bats, and such. Nothing beats Beauxbatons' wood nymph choirs, of course, but in terms of decorations it'll be the Yule Ball that's the deciding factor.
Everything at Hogwarts is going smoothly, don't worry. It's so smooth, in fact, that you should hand me a trophy and some presents—
"Eh, Ambrose," Dominique, a well-built blonde, hollered, interrupted Ambrose's writing. "Two men are looking for you out there."
Slightly irritated at the interruption, he put the quill down and checked that his uniform was presentable. He passed Daphne on the way out, the blonde just exiting the kitchen with a plate of green apples.
When he swung open the door, the first thing he noticed was their badges, neatly pinned on their cloaks.
The men were Aurors.
Ambrose felt a spear of nervousness fly through him, wondering whether he and Barty had been caught tampering with the Goblet of Fire after all. He took a deep breath, willing himself to relax and stepped out of the carriage. "What?" Real polite, Ambrose, he mentally scolded himself.
"Uhm…I would just like to know more about you." The bespectacled Auror with hazel eyes said awkwardly.
"Excuse me?" Ambrose frowned, fidgeting on the spot. "Why?"
"I—I…the truth is, I think you're my son."
His companion stared at him with disbelief and muttered, "Merlin, James, you're hopeless!"
"I'm sorry for telling you so abruptly, but…"
Shaking his head as if to regain clarity, Ambrose stared at him as if he had a second head. Now they were the rude ones instead. No, not just rude. They were raving mad. "I'm sorry, but I do not understand. How am I your son?"
"I had a son called Harry Potter. He was kidnapped by a Death Eater when he was about a year old…he had green eyes, just like yours, and my wife Lily."
"That doesn't mean—"
"Look at this," James interrupted, proffering an old photo album, flipping to a rare photo of their short time with Harry. James had the toddler sitting on his knee, and Lily was grasping the toddler's hand. "Don't you think his eyes are awfully similar to you?"
The boy nodded coldly. "Resemblance does not mean anything," he reminded them quietly. "I am of the Eschete family; I have been all my life. There is no reason why I could be a...?"
"Potter," Sirius helpfully supplied. "I'm Sirius Black, and he's James Potter." He'd only just realised now that the boy—Ambrose—didn't even know who they were. Yes, indeed, James had screwed up big time by dropping the bomb three seconds into their first meeting.
Maybe he should have let Remus come with James instead, Sirius sighed silently.
"But who were your parents?" James desperately asked, grasping at straws. "Who—who were they?"
"Bella." Ambrose said without thinking, and both Aurors suddenly stiffened as if they heard a dreaded name. What was so bad about that name? "Annabelle Eschete." he quickly corrected.
"Your father?" Sirius asked, relieved that 'Bella' wasn't Bellatrix Lestrange, his cousin-turned-enemy that had disappeared years ago along with Voldemort. It was still hard to forget the crazed woman, with her mad cackle and unnerving smile.
"I don't know." Ambrose scowled. "Bella hates talking about it."
"You mean...you don't have a father?" Sirius scratched his chin.
Finally, Ambrose felt his irritation reach a boiling point. "Do not imply that I was born out of wedlock!" he snarled, bristling, turning around and stomping back into the Beauxbatons carriage and slammed the carriage door.
"Are those Aurors mad?" Daphne commented. She was still eating her sliced green apples, lazing on a plush armchair. At Ambrose's questioning glance, she added, "You forgot to close the door fully when you left, so the silencing charms didn't trigger. I heard every word."
"Hm. I should be more careful with doors next time." Ambrose said, giving his friend a strained smile. "Madmen. What kind of Auror stomps up to someone and says, Hello, I think you're my kid. Do you think they'll give up if I complain about them?"
"Knowing them, they won't." Daphne stated confidently, devouring yet another crêpe.
"You know them?" Daphne hadn't struck him as the type that would have British Auror friends.
"No, but those two—James Potter and Sirius Black—Mum said they're part of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore's little fan club; they're the local nutters."
"Along with Neville Longbottom?" Ambrose grinned, his good mood starting to revive again. "I haven't read the British newspaper for some time, but I remember he believed he was some 'destined hero' or something."
"Yes, that's nutter number two." Daphne smirked. "He believes that he's the Prophesied One just because Dumbledore said so."
"A bunch of nutters," Ambrose concluded, and the two broke into laughter.
He reached over to Daphne's platter of apples, plucking one deftly and gobbling it down, before heading towards his room to finish the letter to Bella.
Woah, I shouldn't have boasted about smooth encounters. You know what, two Aurors just spoke to me—one claims that I'm his son—and disregarding the fact that they seem mad, Blaise says that they won't give up.
Their names are James Potter and Sirius Black. I was shown an old photo and that kid's eyes really look like mine, but it's still so ridiculous. How could a British baby end up in France?
I crave crème brûlée and madeleine.
Please send me some? Ambrose
Folding the letter neatly, stuffing it into an envelope and sealing it with wax, Ambrose went to the carriage's spare room to look for his owl.
The Great Hall was still decorated as it was in the morning, but the night sky only enhanced the flickering lights. Great pumpkins floated in the air, tipping over their sweet-filled contents every now and then, and live bats circled the air, causing great eerie shadows to form on the walls.
"Don't be impressed." Cho Chang whispered snidely to Ambrose, who was sitting beside her. "They use the same thing every year, and I've been here for seven or eight actually."
"Seven or eight?"
"Yeah, we had a basilisk here in my third year. People were getting petrified, and the school was shut down when a first-year boy was killed."
"Basilisk?" Daphne, who had been listening to the conversation, frowned. "Why would there be a basilisk in the school?"
Cho shrugged. "Dumbledore received a lot of flak for not closing the school when the first petrification occurred, and the Ministry didn't know anything until deaths occurred. Hogwarts reopened a year later, so I'm still in seventh year, though I should have graduated already."
"I'm starting to feel a bit…grateful I went to Beauxbatons instead." Daphne muttered with disbelief. "Really, basilisks! However did Draco stand this school?"
No wonder Dumbledore's popularity in Britain had gotten so low. The French reporters didn't report this escapade, for some reason, and he'd never heard of it before the conversation with Cho.
"I would have transferred schools, if I were you." Ambrose declared. "Hogwarts was lucky that most were petrified and there was only one death—it could easily be ten."
"It isn't that easy though." Cho mused. "Mum seriously considered sending me somewhere else, but there aren't many schools for general education. Besides, there's the language barrier to think of."
"I pity you." Daphne said sincerely. "Because from how you related the basilisk incident, it sounds like that wasn't the only abnormal thing that happened."
"And it wasn't," Cho admitted, smiling with a slight tilt of her head. "But Hogwarts once had a pretty solid reputation for good teaching and decent safety before. Though, Dumbledore's known for hiring oddballs. The bad things only started happening when Longbottom entered the school, so we call him Neville Longbottom the Grim."
"The Grim?" Daphne repeated.
"It's a really bad omen over here, an omen of Death.
"What else happened though?" Ambrose said eagerly.
"He entered Hogwarts when I was a second year. That year, Dumbledore kept a Philosopher's Stone—right here in the castle itself. Then, a troll got in the dungeons, the Stone was stolen, one of our professors killed, and some other minor things."
By the time she finished, both Ambrose and Daphne were staring at her as if seeing her in a new light. "Merlin's socks!" Ambrose spluttered. "And this was only the first year?"
"Yes, but you haven't listened to second year yet." Cho said with a wicked grin. "Glideroy Lockhart, do you know him?"
The other two nodded, both having read his famous books before.
"He just disappeared one day, leaving a puddle of blood in the bathroom. Most of us think the basilisk ate him. There's also the one dead student and about six were petrified, I think, my memory is a bit fuzzy on the exact number."
Cho thought for a few more moments. "Should be six, I guess." She concluded. "Then we also had a spread of vanishing sickness, and a Muggle disease they called 'Chicken Pox'. There was also a series of rogue bludgers…and someone got flown into a really violent, sentient tree. Someone trashed the Gryffindor Common Room and during Easter there was this Acromantula rampage too, then—"
"Maybe you should continue another day." Ambrose grimaced. "If you continue, Cho, I think I'll take the first portkey back to France."
"I second that." Daphne chimed in. "The security here sounds appalling."
"I thought the Triwizard Champions were supposed to be brave." Cho teased good-naturedly.
"Well, we don't even know who will be chosen as the champion yet." said Daphne. "Besides, I'm not supposed to be brave."
"Then have you entered your name?" Ambrose asked.
"Yeah, but I doubt I'll be chosen. Most—"
As sudden as the day before, the plates cleared. Dumbledore stood up, and the noisy Hall immediately dropped to silence. Ambrose felt a thrill of tension shoot down his spine, his heartbeat going double and his lips going dry.
"It's starting!" Blaise whispered breathlessly from Ambrose's left.
"The goblet is almost ready to make its decision." Dumbledore said. "I estimate that it needs just one more minute. Now, when the champions' names—"
Daphne smashed her fingers together in anxiety.
"—are called, I would ask them to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through the door behind into the next chamber, where they will be receiving their first instructions."
Dumbledore swept the air in front of him with a flourish, and most of the candles were extinguished. The only remaining light sources were the lighted pumpkins, still flicking eerily in the darkness, and the white-blue shining of the Goblet of Fire.
With its brightness, the Fire almost hurt Ambrose's eyes, but he didn't look away. Staring intently into the fire, his gut clenching, his heart lodged somewhere up his throat.
Sparks flew; the fire burned a brilliant orange-red. A long tongue of flame jumped into the air, throwing a piece of charred parchment up. Nimbly, Dumbledore caught it and held it near the Goblet's fire, which had turned blue again.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he announced clearly, "is Victor Krum."
The famous Qudditch player slouched up towards the staff table, and was met with loud applause and cheering.
"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaoff boomed over the deafening applause. "Knew you had it in you!"
Surely Beauxbatons was next?
Ambrose felt the clenching of his gut even more strongly. Butterflies pranced around in his stomach, rather like the bats that flew around the hall. Please let it be me, he chanted silently over and over again, like a mantra.
The clapping and cheering died down.
A second tongue of fire shot into the air—Dumbledore seized the burnt parchment, peering at it over his half-moon glasses. Ambrose wiped away a trickle of sweat on his brow.
"The champions for Beauxbatons," he called, "is Ambrose Eschete."
His mantra worked! A wave of thunderous applause swept through the room—it was not quite as loud as Krum's, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.
Daphne was beaming at him, clapping enthusiastically. "Congratulations," she yelled, but was barely heard through the cheering.
He vaguely felt Blaise pat his back and he thought he saw Cho say something, but it was all too messy to make sense of her words.
Ambrose left the table, sweeping towards the staff table. He heard a distinct shout of "Go Ambrose!" from the redhead who asked for his signature in lipstick, and he turned around, flashing the girl a radiant grin. He never broke his stride throughout, ignoring the intent gazes of James Potter and his wife, entering the next chamber.
This time, the atmosphere in the Hall was almost oppressive. The Hogwarts champion…the one to lead the school to glory.
A third tongue of flame cut through the air.
"The Hogwarts Champion," Dumbledore said, squinting at the words. "is Draco Malfoy."
Roaring with applause, the Slytherin house burst into loud applause, screaming and stomping; manners took a backseat. The rest of the houses also burst into applause, albeit not nearly as loud as the snake house. Ron Weasley cursed, though his voice was lost in the din. He still retained some dislike for the Slytherin, though the rest of his friends had already mellowed out.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore exclaimed after the noise died down. "We now have all three of our champions. I hope that every one of you, including the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, will cheer your champions on and give them every ounce of support—"
The Goblet of Fire crackled quietly and turned red.
Gasps and quiet mutterings sailed through the room, and Dumbledore stopped his speech, the smile sliding from his face.
A fourth tongue of flame danced up, the air fizzling and crackling. Dumbledore caught the fourth parchment as if by reflex. He stared at the singed parchment in his hand. The room was so silent a dropping pin would've been heard, and the perfect still was only occasionally broken by the soft squeaking of the bats.
Dumbledore still stared at the parchment, and it almost seemed like nobody dared to even breathe, instead staring at the aged Headmaster.
He swallowed; cleared his throat, and then he read out: "Neville Longbottom."
