Harry Potter and the Wrath of the Elder Gods
Chapter Three
"The promise given was a necessity of the past: the word broken is a necessity of the present."
-Niccolò Machiavelli, 'The Prince'.
Harry twisted his wand in the air, flinging a spell silently against a wooden mannequin. Another soon followed, and as his rage began to mount so too did the viciousness of his spells. He slashed, broke, torn to bits and burned, built again and then torn apart once more the wooden figure without pause. His breathing grew ragged as he silently kept on throwing spell after spell to vent off his frustration.
How could he justify his actions?
The thought of doing it for the Greater Good sickened him, making him feel the inside of his throat bitter and acidic, as if the gastric refuse was just then climbing up from his stomach. He spat out verbally a dark curse, one of those the ministry had outright banned because of its viciousness, and watched with an amused glint as the limbs of the mannequin were all twisted and splintered.
It had started as a spell to debone a chicken and set apart its wings to deep fry.
It became a dark curse to shatter an enemy and render him helpless on the ground to die.
"Moleo, Trudo, Ignis…" he chanted as he slashed repeatedly with his wand going through the proper movements. He had to be faster than that. Salazar was faster than that: he could kill with but a flicker. He needed to be stronger, smarter and faster. He needed to be the best. Acid poured out of his wand as the spell he murmured melted the mannequin.
Fire burned the remains, soon followed by a freezing gust of ice. The conjured spikes of earth shattered and scrambled the remains in the air, where a small hurricane scattered them in the room. Harry bit down on his tongue, his breathing slow to calm his heart. It wasn't enough. He could train for hundreds of years and it still wouldn't be enough!
He slowly placed his wand back in his holster, before settling his robes and leaving the training room. His gaze lingered for a few seconds on the still tapestry of the trolls dancing —now that they were blocked, it looked more as if the wizard was casting curses at them and they were falling backwards, rather than teaching them how to dance.
It was October the thirty-first, and on that day the other schools would come to Hogwarts. They would arrive during dinner, and already he had given orders to the house elves to put out more chairs and transfigure the tables to be longer. The supplies would spike for quite a good bit, since the schools had brought a chunk of their entire student body —to compare teaching courses and whatnot.
Only the students of age had permission to participate though. He and the other headmasters would personally take their names and then place them in the Goblet of Fire. The Goblet was set to remain in his office, guarded by both Sophie and five house elves, until the time would come for it to spew out the names of the contestants.
Apparently, the 'Triwizard' tournament involved three schools and the damn cup. He couldn't understand why wizards had to 'bind' their magic to such a stupid artefact. Why not just ask the headmasters to write them down on a list to participate in a potentially suicidal tournament?
"Stupid wizards," Harry cursed as he quickly made his way across the empty corridor of the seventh floor. "Stupid laws, stupid wizards and stupid idiocy!" he stomped his feet on the ground as he moved. "And stupid me." He softly whispered as he slowly took care to appear unblemished and controlled, schooling his features before reaching for the hallways the student did in fact frequent.
He smiled and walked; he took care to appear perfectly at ease with the fact he was going to host a dangerous and probably lethal tournament on the grounds of Hogwarts.
The tasks had of course already been set. He wondered if Dumbledore had been tipsy when he had signed them. Dragons, a trip in the lack in February and then a maze filled with dangerous creatures —the old Headmaster had even paid a Sphinx to be there!
The cost of hiring additional security for the dragons, of getting them moved to the castle and everything else…he was glad he actually had quite a bit of money, because otherwise he'd be broke before the end of the year.
He wondered if even from the afterlife, the man was spiting on him.
"Harry!" the frantic voice of Lillian made him stop and turn, bringing up an eyebrow as the girl arrived with a ragged and short breath. "Everyone's ready!" she said with a charming smile. "We can start whenever they arrive!"
"Was there any problem?" he asked carefully.
"Nope," Lillian suddenly frowned and looked around for a moment, before sighing and gesturing towards the corner of the hallway.
Harry's breath hitched as he watched Hermione emerge from the corner. Her black hair was loose behind her shoulders, but she was holding on to a pile of books and sheepishly keeping her gaze down.
"Ah, Hermione! Come on! You know Harry doesn't bite!" Lillian giggled.
"Lillian," Hermione murmured softly. "You should address the King with 'Your Highness' or 'Your Grace'…"
"It's all right," Harry said with a small smile. "My friends call me Harry all the same," he shrugged as he looked around. "Are the lessons over?"
"N-No! I told you it was a bad idea, Lillian! We shouldn't have left earlier…"
Lillian sighed. "It was just five minutes, Hermione! And five bloody minutes aren't…"
"Language," Harry chided his sister. "Hold your tongue young lady."
"Young lady?" Lillian remarked with an affronted tone. "I'm your twin sister Harry! What are you talking like, an old man!?"
"Lillian…" Hermione whispered fearfully. "She didn't mean it, your Highness!"
Harry just sighed and shook his head gently. "It's nothing worthy of being troubled over, Miss Granger," he chuckled then. "I'll be looking forward to the spectacle we have prepared for the other schools then," he turned once more his head to stare behind him. "You can go," he added then softly.
"You're not coming to dinner yet?" Lillian asked.
"No, I think I'm being called to my office," Harry muttered, "Yes," he felt a slight pulse on the back of his hand. "Most definitively my office."
He dashed off, leaving behind the two flabbergasted girls. He reached the floor to find the Gargoyle guarding the entrance torn to rubble with loose rocks hanging from the pedestal itself. He jumped over the broken stone statue, wand in hand and invisibility cloak rising to cover him.
Harry reached the entrance of his office to find it perfectly unscathed. There wasn't a single paper out of place, and the house elves standing guard hadn't even moved from their positions. Sophie thrilled as she heard a noise —him walking in— and then remained quiet, eying him.
The goblet of fire burned normally, without any strange or different from normal reaction from it. The purple flame that would remain lit until the end of the day burned brightly, without actually emitting heat. Harry kept his breath steady and slow, as he took a step forward and then another. He saw the glint of something coming down on him from the sides and barely managed to avoid it.
His wand was out and slashing the air before he could stop it. The lances of pure force impacted against the cloaked figure —sending it to slam against the wall opposite him. Sophie thrilled and flapped its wings open wide, as the phoenix flew in a comet of fire against the now visible aggressor.
Harry gave one last look at the five house elves that stood guard —all of them were immobile…immobilized or petrified, probably.
Quietly, not giving away his own invisibility, Harry took in the appearance of the man who had brute forced his way inside.
There was a light pop and a shrill voice.
"Master Crouch sir!"
The elf grabbed onto Sophie who had been clawing at the man's face, tearing her apart and throwing her with force on the ground. Harry saw red.
"IGNIS!" Harry bellowed as the burning fires emerged from his wand and burned the elf before he could even take a single step towards the intruder. He wasn't going to let the thing get away with harming Sophie. Furthermore, the elf had managed to enter his office… that had to be their way in after all. The elf had bypassed the wards with relative ease —goblin wards were not as powerful as they seemed then— but if that was the case…then why destroy the Gargoyle?
He couldn't risk the man escaping anyway, so with his emergency road removed…
The man laughed.
His skin was pale —cadaveric actually— his eyes were dark and deep circles ran around his eyes. His hair was scraggly and unkempt, and there was an air of cold and despair that circled around him that all but screamed a single word…
Azkaban.
The Wizengamot had refused to pay him to hold the prisoners of Azkaban, and had demanded them back rather than let him re-trial them and then decide. This had to be one of the prisoners, one that had escaped and had made his way in Hogwarts.
Or one that Salazar had released willingly?
Harry narrowed his eyes. Therefore, the game was on.
"Mother will be pleased," the figure cackled. His wand flailed around loosely now. There no longer was a reason to hide, and it showed as the papers around the room began to fly. "I'm going to do the right thing now," his wand levelled in his general direction.
"BURN!" fire erupted from the tip of the man's wand, forcing Harry to hiss and return the challenge.
"GLACIUS!" cold freezing wind erupted as the cloak of invisibility billowed behind his back, the jet of frozen air extinguishing the flames and moving forth. The figure —even though he looked so frail he should have fallen over and died moved to the side deftly and sent a strange purple coloured curse his way.
The attack wasn't well aimed and with minimum effort Harry sent it back with a quick Protego, before twisting his wand with a counter-clockwise motion thrice and delivering a horde of thin needle-like iron missiles against the intruder.
The needles sprayed in the air as Harry slammed another gust of wind to change their direction —that apparently was one of Flitwick's favourite duelling tricks. Then he followed it with the transfiguration into a trove of snakes —poisonous ones.
The man screamed as a few needles pierced his robes before transforming into Harry's favourite scaly friends and began to bite down on his skin.
"No! Mother wanted me happy!" the gaunt figure slashed his wand down diagonally, letting a rupture of cold and darkness appear in the room's air, before it suddenly began to suck in with a powerful vacuum force everything around them.
It didn't last much, merely a few seconds, but it was enough to show the effects on the things 'half-way' in. They emerged chewed and twisted from the other side. That probably was a dark curse.
An extremely horrific and bad one considering he didn't know about it...he'd probably have to ask Gellert, if he managed to capture the man alive. A pulse of force hit square in the chest the prisoner, soon followed by another and then a third that was particularly vicious —as it tore his wand arm apart.
"ARGH! My master will not be stopped, blood traitor!" the man held onto the broken stump of his arm as Harry stepped forward. "You're nothing more than filth beneath his boots!" he roared once more. "An eye for an eye! A tooth for a tooth! Mom always said I was a good boy," the half-delusional man whispered once more, as if talking to himself. "YOU WILL NOT WIN, TRAITOR!" as soon as he yelled that, Harry's wand reached the man's temple.
The intruder blacked out a moment later, as Harry took a deep breath of relief.
He heard the sound of creaking boots on stone and spun around quickly, sending a volley of ethereal lances against whoever had been foolish enough to make noise behind him.
Alastor Moody hastily brought up a shield of conjured stone —which noticeably chipped as Harry took the time to breathe and calm down.
"Never come behind me like that," Harry hissed.
"Constant Vigilance," Alastor smirked. "I share the same belief boy, well placed forbidden spell by the way," he took a step forward. "I think I missed on a great duel between Dark Arts practitioners."
"I doubt it," Harry rolled his eyes. He swiftly threw a Reparo on the broken and bleeding arm of the intruder, before looking at the house elves. "I hope they're just immobilized rather than dead," bolts of grey light escaped Harry's wand and slammed into the frozen bodies of the five elves, who immediately widened their eyes and began moving frantically around babbling about 'failure' and 'punishments'.
"Calm down!" Harry barked, earning their immediate attention.
Ten giant eyes the size of a baseball looked at him with an air of grief, as if they were waiting for him to punish them. "Twizzle? Get the intruder to the prisons and make sure he's kept under tight security! Funky? Tell Severus we are in need of Veritaserum. Dazzly? Warn Mister Gordsworth of what transpired. Chappily? Get Knight Malfoy to set Hogwarts on High Alert, but to do it quietly and…" he was about to say to get help from Knight Granger, but he held his tongue. He wasn't going to shove the girl in the darkness once more. He would trudge alone and with those already tainted…he would not let the girl corrupt herself again.
"And Sunny? Get all the elves not assigned in the kitchens and start patrolling for elves that do not belong to the castle or aren't permitted to stay here."
The five elves nodded and disappeared with a pop, leaving behind Sophie who just then struggled to get her talons back on the carpet. The phoenix thrilled weakly, as Harry carefully grabbed her and gently nudged her on his shoulder. Alastor snorted and moved to leave. "I'll be going to warn the staff then," he left in a hurry, but Harry didn't think much of it: they were at each other's guts every now and then…but then again, the man was probably a spy for the ministry…and it was better to keep your enemies closer than your friends.
He brought both hands to his hair —he had to cut it eventually, but he just didn't have the time. Someone else stepped in his office a moment later.
"Harry?" Lillian's voice was worried as she took a few more steps forward. "Are you all right? I saw you running and—"
"Yeah," he exhaled slowly and turned sporting a smile on his face. "I'm all right. Everything's fine," he kept the smile on and acted as if nothing had happened, while he gently pushed Lillian out of his office and followed her towards the dining hall.
"Harry!" the voice of Draco reached him, as he was halfway through the corridor of the fourth floor. "What's going on? The—"
"Draco, not now," Harry hissed. "We have guests to receive," he added then. Draco swallowed nervously and nodded, but that just made Lillian suspicious.
"What's going on where?" she asked as Harry kept on walking. He didn't answer his sister, taking the stairway down to the second floor. "Harry?"
"Later Draco," Harry replied calmly. "First we let our esteemed guest in, and then we deal with the rest."
There was no doubt in Harry's mind, as he made his way in the dining hall and from there towards the entrance and the courtyard, that there had been two persons entering his office. One had entered through brute-force; the other had left behind the first as a distraction. The arrival of the house elf afterwards and her shock clearly told him whoever had brought the man in had done so with the use of a more roundabout mean…
Imperius naturally sprung to Harry's mind.
An invisibility cloak, the man imperiused to follow and then destroy the gargoyle…a quick immobilizing of the house elves while invisible soon followed by 'something' they had done to his office…no, to the goblet of fire. Harry wasn't an imbecile any longer: he could see where all the arrows pointed. It was as bright as the sun what the intentions had been: to meddle with the cup. They had slipped some names inside, and he had a guess on which to boot.
He was safe because as Headmaster of the school, he could not participate, and his name would simply burn if chosen and another extracted.
This could both be a political manoeuvre from Salazar —get him to insert a first year in the cup, and then have him killed to shock the world— or attack someone close to him, like Draco or Hermione. Maybe the Girl-Who-Lived herself could be the target.
He gritted his teeth and carefully watched as the carriages carried by the Pegasi —there was no way he'd call those things Abraxans— descended gently on the lane left clear of the courtyard. Right next to where the carriages came down —blue powdered carriages with gold decorations and the Beauxbatons coat of arms— a slow cracking of the ground announced the arrival of the Universitatis.
As the Romans were the masters of the Strata, the Road, so too was their mean of magical group travelling something similar. The ground outright split apart to reveal cobblestones, tightly packed and compressed upon which there was a rhythmic marching of boots. The students of the Universitatis arrived clad in Roman armour —judging by how they were sweating they actually had real armours on, and the full equipment of a legionnaire to boot.
At the head of the march was an old looking woman, the headmistress Isabella Rossi, carrying an old Roman flag with the SPQR letters written in gold upon a red banner, with the small golden statue of an eagle perched atop it that actually squawked and shrieked while flapping its wings.
"Legionnaires!" Isabella barked as the 'troop' of students arrived completely through the underground road. "Halt!"
As one, they stopped and as the cobblestone disappeared and the hole they had passed through closed, it left behind a group of tired, sweaty and outright moaning from sore muscles students.
"Non faremo la strada indietro allo stesso modo, vero?" a particularly overweight boy groaned out loud as he removed the helmet from his head. His hair was light brown and scraggly looking, with a pair of glasses on his slightly round face.
"Zitto che la strega ti sente!" a taller brown-haired girl snapped back at him.
Isabella Rossi walked forward just as Madame Maxime descended from her carriage with a huff. Both women stopped as sort of 'points' of a triangle, which had the third point with Harry who stood with both his hands behind his back.
"I bid thee welcome into Hogwarts' grounds, Madame Maxime, Madame Rossi," he made a bow with his right hand moving in front of his chest, "I am the Headmaster, Harry Wyllt."
"Polite Boy," Maxime said. "Young maybe," she added with her half-broken English.
"Age has nothing to do with skill or power," Isabella Rossi remarked rolling her eyes. "Anyway, are we going to stay out here to die from old age? I need someplace to get the armour stored —someplace safe."
"Of course," Harry acquiesced. "The House Elves will take care of that," he turned to Draco. "Knight Malfoy will oversee them personally," he then brought his right arm towards the entrance. "Shall we head inside, my fair ladies?"
"Insufferable English-man," a French accented voice commented from the side of the Beauxbatons carriage, belonging to a blond half-Veela beauty that had her arms crossed over her chest.
Nobody heard her, and thus Harry simply guided the group through the entrance and by the tapestry that depicted his actions. He frowned as he looked past the normal end of the cloth. There had been an addition to it…
It showed him standing with his wand out and his other free arm held upwards, with the palm of his left hand open and the hands crooked as if to hold some sort of orb —there wasn't, it was more of a 'bad guy' pose a la 'ha! I have won, Mister Bond!'
He was apparently flinging spells at a dark figure against a wall, while the Goblet of Fire stood to the sides of them with the flames burning brightly…and every now and then increasing in length as if something entered them and burned consequently. Behind him five elves stood huddled in a sort of 'adoring gaze of hero worship' as he probably resembled their protector from evil…well, as much as his face that showed a harsh and stern glare could permit.
Harry smiled as if nothing was strange about the tapestry…so the elves updated it regularly to boot? Wonderful…he hadn't enough troubles as it was. "You wish to make a performance entering the dining hall, correct?" he asked as he stood in front of the dining hall's double doors. "Will you need any props?"
"That won't be necessary," Isabella spoke firmly.
"Yes…we will go in last, best let the Italians go first," Madame Maxime said. "Would not want her die from old age, non?" she smiled sweetly —as sweetly as a half-giantess could— while looking towards Headmistress Rossi who just barked out a dry chuckle.
"Your funeral," Isabella smiled. Harry entered the dining halls after nodding at them, and tapped his throat with his wand.
"Students of Hogwarts!" he exclaimed with his voice now rising in the decibels. "Let me hear you!" people began furiously to clap as he walked through the dining hall towards his seat at the table. "Tonight, we welcome the students and the staff of Beauxbatons and the Universitatis!"
There were a few whistle-calls and louder claps as the doors swung open again, to admit the Italian students of the Universitatis.
They stepped inside with a military cadence, clapping their hand in rhythm as a few sang in Latin a few bits and pieces of some unknown Gregorian chant. It was nice to hear, not overtly spectacular but nice all the same. The Beauxbatons students made a small dance bit instead, letting the 'head' of the dance be a blond haired girl that was vaguely familiar to Harry.
His emerald eyes moved from her face to that of the girls near her. He could sense their jealousy from his position, and that said it all. He smiled and clapped his hands as the spectacle finished and the extra students took their seats, before standing up.
"Now, Hogwarts welcomes and thanks you, students of Beauxbatons and the Universitatis, with our own hymn!"
The trumpets began to sing from a corner of the room. The students began to clap louder and louder as a few stood up to join the chorus. It had been rehearsed to make it appear random, but in truth the ones singing were all those that weren't outright tone-deaf.
"God Save our gracious Queen!" a few of them began, but others instead…
"God Save our courteous King!"
"Long Live our noble Queen!"
"Long Rule our gallant King!"
"God Save the Queen!"
"God Save the King!"
And the Hymn went on, as Harry himself sang the parts related to the Queen of England, letting the students do those of the King of their own accord. By the time the national anthem of Great Britain ended, there was a resounding cheer from the students, which soon followed a polite coughing to end the noise from Harry.
"Very well," he said in a crisp voice as he nodded to his right where Madame Maxime was sitting and then to his left where Madame Isabella Rossi was. "As many of you have come to know through the small talk, Hogwarts will host the Triwizard tournament this year!"
Low bursts of murmurs soon echoed excitedly through the dining hall, interrupted only by the continuous coughing from the Praetorians who finally managed to get the student body back to silence.
"The prospect of a potentially fatal tournament, held in a school, is something I find utterly appalling and disgusting," Harry continued harshly. "Were it not for the magical contract binding the Headmasters of all schools participating, I would have kept this tradition completely and utterly buried. Sure, you may think of it as a famous tournament and a wonderful way to become famous…but it is a tournament that has always yielded DEATHS!" he snarled, earning the complete silence —now chilling— of the room.
"Only students of age will be granted permission to participate, and only after they have delivered on to me their names. The choice of who will participate will be left to the Goblet of Fire, an ancient artefact that is impartial in his choices…but remember this: once your name has been chosen, to refuse participation will equate with the loss of your magic. The goblet itself will not relit until next year when, hopefully, I will have that dastardly thing melted and torn asunder," he then firmly clapped his hands together once, and an elf appeared with the goblet in question.
"Now, before we have dinner…those who wish to participate, come forth and state your names!"
There was a moment of silence, before a boy of Hogwarts stood.
"Cedric Diggory, of Hogwarts!"
Another stood.
"Viktor Krum, of Hogwarts!"
A third soon rose. "Angelina Johnson, of Hogwarts!"
"Babette Marleau, de Beauxbatons!" one of the French girls soon said standing up. Harry looked to Madame Maxime who nodded and wrote down her name.
"Jean-Jacque de Montferrat, de Beauxbatons!" a French boy pointed out.
"Fleur Delacour, De Beauxbatons!" the familiar blond haired girl said crisply, her face held high and her eyes fixed on him. She was familiar…now, if he could remember where he had seen her…Fleur Delacour? Hadn't she sent him a gift last Christmas?
Oh, right…
It was a book about fire.
"Gianfranco Varigotti, dell'Universitatis!" an Italian boy exclaimed.
"Francesco Trifolati, del—"
"He's a fourth year and an imbecile," Isabella sighed shaking his head.
"Oh, come on headmistress!" Francesco whined. "It's going to be fun!"
"Did you hear a word the Headmaster of Hogwarts said?" Isabella commented.
"Not very good English I have," Francesco replied.
"You were speaking flawlessly a moment ago," Harry deadpanned. "In any case, anyone else? No? Good," he exhaled. He confirmed the names together with the other headmasters, and then dropped the scraps of paper in the Goblet of Fire. "For this night, curfew is not in effect. The Goblet will spew out the names of the participants at Midnight, so those who wish to remain and watch may…but know that lessons will continue as normal tomorrow, so tomorrow, which is a Tuesday…may god have mercy upon those who have Defence Against the Dark Arts."
He then sat back down at his seat and clapped his hands once. The representative of the Queen —as an elf whispered to him— had left to warn her Highness of what had transpired. Severus had followed soon afterwards —the potion professor had no doubt there would probably be an interrogation, which was why he hadn't thought of wasting much time on the dinner and had instead gone over to get the man's version before he was 'taken care of'.
Harry acknowledged that: if he had sent someone Imperiused, he'd also do something to make sure he wouldn't be able to reveal anything important. If, by mistake, he'd be a risk for a secret operation, he'd have the man killed. Harry clasped on his goblet of pumpkin juice and took a clam gulp as he began to think.
"You will overheat your brain, youngster," Isabella Rossi chided him from his side. "You really don't like this tournament stuff, do you?"
"No," he shook his head. "Only foolish and foolhardy fools would. It's…barbaric."
"The Romans had the Coliseum," Isabella remarked. "You know they asked me to Repair it twice last year? A few drunken wizards always try and duel inside it…no matter how much you tighten the security they always find a way to slip through."
"That's the problem with the wizardry world," Harry muttered. "One actually has to ask why it remained…this stagnant for so long. Shouldn't it have evolved by now? Why stay in this sort of comfortable middle age, when the muggles have gone beyond? Is it something related only to Britain? Is it something spread worldwide?"
"You know, the Italian Wizardry Senate wanted me to refuse the invitation," Isabella snorted. "I went all the same because at my age, they can't do anything to me I haven't already suffered through," she chuckled dryly. "I think I took the best decision in my life…you're so young it's endearing…but you do say some interesting things…let's say that you're right, then the question would be…why?"
Harry closed his eyes and clasped his hands together. The rest of the dining hall was pleasantly eating and exchanging words with one another, as a few of the students from the different schools began to mingle. "It's easier to control the stupid than the smart," he murmured. "But I suppose…stagnancy is the result of peace?"
"Or maybe Peace is the result of stagnancy?" Isabella replied with a light smirk. "If the enemy doesn't increase his armies, then there is no reason for us to do the same. If the enemy doesn't research better things, then why should we?"
"For the betterment of the community," Harry replied.
"But that brings forth a cost, and some people are dead-set in their ways," Isabella remarked. "I still hold a bust of the Duce and a painting of Vittorio Emanuele in my apartment, yet I serve the Republic. Am I being a hypocrite, for holding on to the relics of the great men of the past? I don't approve of the bad things they did…but should we judge them only of what they did wrong? Make no mistake: whoever claims they hated Mussolini from the beginning is but a hypocrite. He saved Italy from bankruptcy, he fought to give us bread, work, and to band together soldiers that came back from the First World War with nothing but their backpacks and sometimes even lacking limbs. He made mistakes. All men make mistakes, but some people make far graver ones than others." She took a sip of wine from her goblet, before her eyes glazed over as if remembering something.
"Hitler saved Germany from the first war's consequences, from an unjust treaty that brought the nation to its knees…and even though he condemned millions to death even now, there are still people who'd want him back… the same as your British Voldemort…and you know why, Headmaster Wyllt? Because there cannot exist only pitch-black evil or bright white light in the world. Even the most horrible of dictators did something right to remain in power." She shook her head slowly, biting her crinkled lips for a moment.
"No matter the bloodshed, the pain, the families that burned or cried tears of agony at the loss of their loved ones, no matter the sacrifices, the horrors of the war…every man that rose to power did something right to get there. Hitler, Mussolini, Fidel Castro, Stalin, Lenin, you name someone and I'll tell you their great deeds…and their nefarious plots. Why do you think people followed Gellert? Or why did they flock behind Dumbledore? They did great things, Wyllt…terrible things or glorious things…but never —ever— condemn them for only a little part of their actions, because they did greater things than you or I will ever make: they wrote history with their words, their actions, their beliefs…to do the same…that is something I never achieved."
She laughed, slightly tipsy. "Your wine is a good year, to get me this drunk. In the end…" she looked at the goblet. "I barely got a footnote in history. I'm the Witch of the Piave. I held the line…I got myself a medal from the King…and then another from the Duce…I saw El Alamein burn and I bitterly shed my tears over the tombs of my sons…But never, to this day, do I regret a single one of my actions. Maybe it was your Hogwarts' song that is making me sappy but…Dio salvi il re, Vittorio Emanuele! Alla salute!"
"Alla salute!" a few of the Italian students who had heard said back, raising their goblets.
Harry said nothing as he let those words wash over him. The old woman sighed wistfully and brought both of her hands to her lap, looking ahead and waiting for the goblet to finish choosing.
The first years dropped like flies, the excitement slowly leaving the place to tiredness and sleepiness. The Praetorians accompanied them away in the end, leaving only the Knights, the sixth years and the seventh ones with a few exclusions —namely, his sister Lillian and her roommates.
Finally, midnight struck and the goblet of fire burst into purple flames as it released the names of the participants for the tournament.
Harry slowly stood up and walked towards the front of the goblet, flanked by both Madame Maxime —who had remained quiet since headmistress Isabella had ranted— and the Headmistress of the Universitatis herself.
The King of Hogwarts carefully opened up the first paper, and read aloud the name inside.
"For Hogwarts, the Champion is Viktor Krum!" there were roars and claps of hands as the champion in question stood to receive the applauses.
"For Beauxbatons, the Champion is Fleur Delacour!" Madame Maxime spoke next.
Polite claps rose…from the Universitatis and the Hogwarts students as the half-Veela stood to receive them with a forced smile. Not one of her classmates was applauding her after all…
"And for the Universitatis, Gianfranco Varigotti!"
It was as the claps died down that the goblet of fire began to burn brightly once more. Harry stilled and narrowed his eyes as one more piece of paper erupted from within the goblet.
Slowly, it landed on his palm just as the goblet stopped working.
He opened the paper carefully, and then blanched.
His eyes turned to where Lillian was, speaking with Hermione and her roommates.
"The Fourth Champion of the school…"
He exhaled.
"Jean Gregorovitch, of Durmstrang."
Silence settled in the dining hall. Hermione's eyes widened for a moment. "W…Why are you…Why are you all looking at me?" she squeaked.
"Hermione," Lillian muttered next to her. "You're Jean."
And Harry internally seethed and clenched tightly the paper that had emerged. He growled and turned his head quickly to the staff. "Everyone except the Champions and their headmasters are to be immediately sent back to their rooms. Miss Potter, Miss Granger, you two will wait in my office. Knight Malfoy! Escort them there immediately," he then spun around to face the headmistresses. "Madame Maxime and Madame Rossi, please take your champions and follow Knight Entwhistle to their quarters. We will talk about this tomorrow," he snapped as he began to walk towards Viktor Krum.
"Mister Krum! You will follow me to your quarters now, if you please…"
"Yes," Viktor nodded stiffly as he rose from his spot to follow him.
"B-But Harry!" Lillian exclaimed suddenly.
"I'll deal with you both in my office later," he hissed trying to keep his voice down as his eyes shone murderously. "Don't you dare make a scene."
He looked to Draco who paled and quickly stood up.
"You heard the King! Come on, move it you two."
Harry breathed calmly only once he managed to reach the corridor outside of the Hogwarts' champion quarters. He looked into the stony-face of Viktor Krum —who hadn't said a word— and sighed.
"These will be your quarters for the duration of the Tournament. They have a training room attached and a house elf at your disposal. I have to ask of you if you are really sure about participating in the tournament however…it is a potentially lethal competition."
"Me knows," Viktor nodded stiffly. "Good for my Quidditch career, so I do it."
"You like playing Quidditch, right…ah, yes, you're that Viktor Krum, youngest on the Bulgaria team, right?"
"Yeah, you fan?" he made an awkward smile.
Harry shrugged. "Can't say I am…I'll just tell you the laws as a champion and then I'll let you get your sleep. First thing first, tomorrow morning we will convene with the rest of the champions at nine o'clock in my office: you know where it is?"
Viktor nodded.
"Good, hopefully I will have solved the problem of the Fourth Champion by tomorrow, and if I haven't we'll find a way…in any case, you are free from taking the exams and have leeway to enter the library —except the forbidden section— to look for magical books. I cannot help you with the tasks, nor can I tell you ahead of the others what they will entail. I can tell you however that they are potentially fatal, all of them. So be careful, all right?"
"You worry like mother," Viktor remarked. "You no like papers say."
Harry smiled briefly. "I promised to myself I would change…I would become better than my predecessors. I'm trying."
He bid farewell to the Bulgarian boy and left for his office, ready to tongue-lash to oblivion and beyond Hermione or Lillian —or both, because he had no doubt it had to have been one of them. Had the name come out to be Lillian's he would have understood it couldn't be but Voldemort or Salazar.
As it was…whoever would place 'Jean Gregorovitch' in the goblet but one who knew of her identity at Durmstrang?
Gellert?
That was preposterous.
What would Gellert earn from doing that?
He just hoped nothing worse would happen before the end of the night. And how long was Gordsworth going to take? He didn't have all night!
Gellert Grindelwald
"And when you remove a Queen from the King's side," he muttered as he moved the chess piece and ate the Queen in question. "All that the King has to defend him are pawns and Knights."
He tapped his fingers on the chessboard. "Well, there are Rooks and Bishops too…but who'd trust their defence to Rooks and Bishops? Would you trust them, Hagrid?"
The half-giant looked perplexed for a moment, before shaking his head.
"I don't play chess mister Gellert, ya have'ta really enjoy it though: yea keep talking bout it!"
"Yes," Gellert rolled his eyes. "I do."
He looked at the newspaper once more.
"Queen of England assassinated. Criminal still at large!"
"How easy it is to murder someone…how easy," he exhaled. "What will your move be now, I wonder, my Kind?"
Gellert just smiled as he looked at the Chessboard. He hated comparing chess to real life…but he enjoyed the irony of it, and since he was still recouping his forces…he needed all the enjoyment he could have.
Author's notes
Isabella's words are her own. Not mine.
I always wondered why Voldemort never *apparated* killed the queen *disapparated*.
Probably wards…uh, wonder how Gellert did it then.
Oh, 'Kind' means 'Child' in German.
The Italian sentences are as follow:
Non faremo la strada indietro allo stesso modo, vero? "We won't be going back the same way, right?"
Zitto che la strega ti sente "Quiet, the witch will hear you!"
Dio salvi il re, Vittorio Emanuele! Alla salute! — "God save the King, Vittorio Emanuele! A toast to him!"
Harry's getting smart and good at finding out plots. Meh, might be paranoia.
