CHAPTER 2:

HENRY ASHFORD

Having delivered her threat, Alexia Ashford knelt down next to Henry. The transit had been exceedingly unpleasant, and as whatever had transported them here had done so by taking them out of their stasis tanks, it meant that they were also in danger of suffering from the side effects of a very sudden removal from them. And of course, the possibility of one or both of them unable to control Veronica, as the safety margin was now a moot point.

As she put a hand to Henry's face, he woke, his eyes wide, before he choked out the stasis fluid. She cradled him, murmuring soothing words to him as he completed this farcical premature rebirth. Once she was sure he was okay, she stood once more, not caring about her nudity. "Well? I have been waiting long enough."

She looked around the room she had ended up in. It seemed rather medieval, like some massive hall in a castle, the ceiling looking like the night sky. Candles floated in the air above a quartet of tables, with children and teenagers in robes sitting at them. Near where she was was a large table with adults of varying ages, sizes (two massive ones! And a dwarf of some kind!), and appearances, all staring at her in surprise and bafflement. Almost next to her was a goblet sitting on a stone plinth, emitting blue flames. And next to said goblet was an old man who was dressed as a pantomime version of Merlin, all purple robes and long beard.

"Lady Ashford," the old pantomime Merlin said, "I thought you could tell us that. Someone has placed the name of one Harry Potter in the Goblet of Fire. I do not know how, though I suspect why. Somehow, I believe the Goblet's magic brought you both here. And I believe that the boy there is none other than Harry Potter."

Alexia's eyes narrowed. "His name is Henry Ashford. He is my son, by adoption if not by blood. And while you have bought some time, old man, you haven't satisfied me."

"How dare a mere Muggle threaten us!" snarled a rather thin, hard-faced man with an overly neat moustache and the look of being steadily mothballed about him.

Veronica sang her song to Alexia, and with a cold, thin, smile, Alexia ran her now razor sharp thumbnail along her palm, slicing it open, and allowed blood to drip onto the stone floor before the palm healed shut. Within a second, it ignited, bursting into flames for a few seconds. As they stared, shocked, she asked, gazing the moustachioed moron in the eyes, "Would you care to repeat your rather childish outburst? Or would you prefer to accede to my not unreasonable request?"

"That will not be necessary, my dear lady, but perhaps you and your ward would want some clothing first?" the Merlin wannabe asked.

She was amused by his remark, but conceded mentally it would do better to ask for information (and to make threats, for that matter) while clothed. Then again, it would be those here who were at a disadvantage. She was the paragon of divine beauty, with a body women would kill to have, she knew. Veronica Ashford had been like that, and she was Veronica's clone, more or less. And Henry…a slender but lithe body, muscled like an athlete, wiry and agile, his green eyes blinking in confusion as he got shakily to his feet. Alexa said, "That would be acceptable."

The old man took a wand (really! A wand! How gauche!) slowly from his robes, and waved it. In short order, Alexia was dressed in robes not unlike the ones worn by one of the teachers. Not exactly the haute couture Alexia was used to, but it would do. Henry was soon garbed in the same robes as some of the students. "Mother," he said, having finally regained his voice, "where are we?"

"This is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," the old man said. "I am its headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore. And it seems that your ward is now, inexplicably, the fourth champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Alexia raised an eyebrow. "How droll. I would hope that it goes from inexplicable to explicable before long. So, you are Dumbledore, hmm?"

"Indeed. We will continue this another time, as I will have to announce the fourth champion. If you both would kindly come with me…"

As they followed Dumbledore, Alexia sent Harry a message via their telepathic link. Remember your deportment and diplomacy, Henry. And remember, they are yet to see the full potential of T-Veronica.

Yes, yes, I know, Henry replied, a little irritably. He had become like that of late. Adolescence, what could you do? But are we going to go through with this, mother?

A tournament, of wizards and witches who are yet to understand the true power of Muggle ingenuity? Alexia smirked inwardly. Why not? What better test of Veronica, than letting her sing in front of so many, and against whatever foes you may face? I will be there to guide you along the way. Just remember, though, you are famous to these churls, under your birth name. But you are an Ashford, first and foremost. Try not to let their slack-jawed gawking shake your composure. And remember not to let what they think of you and Veronica get to you.

Yes, mother. She could hear the eye-roll over the mental link.

The moustached man had followed them, along with a man with lank, black hair, a hooked nose, and a face that seemed like its default expression was 'bit into something sour', a stern woman who looked like a benign stereotype of a witch, and a man who looked like Frankenstein's Monster with all the scars, with the addition of an eye that kept spinning in its socket. So too did one of the larger people, an incredibly tall woman, and a thin, intense man dressed in furs.

In the room beyond, waiting, were a trio of people in the late teens. One was a handsome boy with dark hair. Another was a somewhat thin, dark-eyed brooding boy, who had an aquiline demeanour. The last was a girl who seemed to be the image of Alexia herself when she was that age, but with silvery blonde hair, utterly beautiful.

It was the girl who spoke first, in a French accent. "What is it? Do they want us back in the Hall?"

"Not quite yet," Alexia said, in French. "I'm afraid, young lady, that you are in for something of a shock."

"Who are you?" the girl asked.

"I will answer that in English," Alexia said, before switching. "My name is Alexia Ashford. This is my adopted son, Henry Ashford, though you would know him better as Harry Potter. Some imbecile has put his name into the rather gauche magical artifact back out there, and summoned us from what was a really refreshing sleep. If you have any objections to it, I would suggest…actually, who is organising this little farce?"

"I am, and so is Mr Crouch," said a rather foolish-looking man who had also entered the room. He indicated the moustached man as Crouch. "Ludo Bagman, at your service."

"Good. I know who to confiscate breathing privileges from, then."

"Uh, I…"

"Oh, my mistake. Did I say breathing? I meant breeding."

"Is that a threat?" Mr Crouch asked.

"Well, was I too subtle? I wanted to avoid being vulgar and uncouth."

"You failed. Spectacularly," the lank-haired man remarked snidely.

"Oh, shame. Anyway, I suggest that any objections of the other champions and their carers should go to Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman, preferably before they gain the ability to sing soprano."

"If I may," Dumbledore said, "I would like to continue this without any more threats. Unfortunately, I have been told that having one's name accepted by the Goblet of Fire enters the person in question into a binding magical contract. If Henry does not compete, he forfeits his magic."

"And how do we know that he didn't put his name in himself?" demanded the thin, fur-clad man.

"Because both he and I were in a form of cryogenic stasis until now," Alexia said. "Do you think I was naked and breathing liquid for the entertainment value?"

"In any case, Igor, my Age Line would have prevented that," Dumbledore said. "And my precautions should have prevented an adult from putting it in."

"What's cryogenic stasis?" Bagman asked.

"I believe a good analogy would be like Sleeping Beauty, except in tanks filled with life-support equipment and…wait, you know nothing about Muggle technology, do you?" Alexia sighed, knowing the answer as soon as she asked it. "Never mind. The upshot is, my son and I are here now. He will be participating on behalf of the Umbrella Corporation."

She saw recognition in the faces of Dumbledore, the dark-haired man with the acid tongue, and the stereotypical-looking witch. The one called Igor, however, said, "This is absurd! An outrage! How can a Muggle corporation have an entrant into this tournament? And is this really Harry Potter?"

"I daresay it is," growled the voice of the Frankenstein wannabe. "I think someone wants Mr Potter dead. The tournament is very dangerous, after all. I'm surprised you didn't utter more of a protest, Alexia Ashford. Do you know anything about the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

"I know very little about your world. Mostly the salient facts of recent history, of how my son apparently survived an instant-death curse at the hands of a wizarding version of a white-supremacist terrorist. It was rather careless of you to lose the boy you considered a saviour. As for it being dangerous…my son and I are very dangerous indeed. And if there is a binding magical contract…for which I hope none of you are lying, for his sake…then what can my son do? Therefore, we are salvaging the situation."

"And the Goblet of Fire has been extinguished. It won't ignite again until the next Tournament," Bagman said, the very model of a false apologetic demeanour.

As the whole thing degenerated into an argument, Henry pinched his nose. "Mother, whatever happened to deportment and diplomacy?"

"It's not my fault they do not share the Ashford deportment and diplomatic skills."

Mother, he said using their telepathic link, Last time you and Alfred got into an argument, he tried to shoot me, and you turned him into a test subject for T-Veronica. That was not a triumph of diplomacy.

Diplomacy and deportment are not perfect, Alexia said, irritably. Not all problems can be solved with the same tool.

Of course not. For anything deportment and diplomacy can't solve, you have the experimental mutagenic viruses that can turn people into zombies or monsters, Henry snarked.

Whatever works, Henry. The argument seemed to be dying down, so Alexia said, "Is there any insurmountable problems to our being here?"

Igor looked like he wanted to object, but Dumbledore said, "No, no. We will deal with this in due course. Mr Crouch?"

"The first task will take place on November 24th. It will be a test of your nerve and daring. As courage in the face of the unknown is vital to any truly great wizard, we will not be telling you any specifics. They will face the first task only with their wands, and cannot ask for or accept help of any kind from teachers," Crouch said. He then looked at Henry. "If you do not have a wand, Mr…Ashford, I suggest obtaining one as soon as possible."

Henry nodded, and then looked at the other champions. "I would like to apologise for inadvertently upstaging you. It was not my intention to do so, or to enter this tournament in the first place. May I know the names of my competitors?"

"Cedric. Cedric Diggory," the handsome boy said.

"Fleur Delacour," the French girl said.

"Viktor Krum," the aquiline boy said.

"Thank you. Once again, my most abject apologies for upstaging you in what was supposed to be a night of achievement for you all," Henry said, bowing. "I only hope that I can prove to be a worthy opponent in this tournament."

With that, much of the tension in the room was gone. The champions were looking at Henry with, if not respect, then with less rancour than before, and many of those present also held less venom in their gazes, though the one called Igor still had resentment smouldering in his eyes.

Dumbledore then went over to Henry and Alexia. "If I may speak to you in private…I think we have a lot to discuss..."


Dumbledore's office was cluttered with books and strange paraphernalia that looked highly illogical to Alexia, not to mention messy and disorganised. A magnificent red and gold bird was standing on a perch. "Sherbet lemon?" Dumbledore asked, offering a bowl filled with the confectionaries.

Alexia smiled, and took two, one for herself, and one for Harry. "I haven't had one of these in years. Literally," Alexia remarked.

"Hmm. Usually not many people take them when I offer them," Dumbledore observed.

After they had had the confectionary, Alexia looked Dumbledore in his eyes. They had twinkled before, but now, they were all business. For all his more duffer-like traits earlier, she knew now that she was in the presence of a powerful man. "You're wondering how I came by my son. You're very diplomatic, not objecting to my calling him such."

"I hold a position as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards," Dumbledore said. "A position that requires significant skill in diplomacy. You are a Muggle, but you hold yourself like a Pureblood noble, and you have significant power yourself."

Alexia smiled. "I was a Muggle, as you would put it. What I demonstrated to that imbecile Crouch was not magic, true, but I have magic now, in addition to those powers. And it is thanks to Henry's idiot of an uncle that I have it. He sold Harry to Ozwell E Spencer, the head of the Umbrella Corporation."

"Spencer…" Dumbledore hissed in dismay.

"It turned out well in the end," Henry said. "I got a new mother and grandfather. And mother is now a witch. Through genetic engineering."

"Genetic…I think I have heard of that. A Muggle science, like a slower but permanent biological Transfiguration."

"Indeed. Through it, I gained magic." With a click of her fingers, she summoned a flame above it. She seemed actually amazed. "Hmm. Interesting. Anyway, I am sure that you would like to discuss the implications with my son and I, but we have both been rudely awakened from a very long sleep, and we would like a place to sleep until arrangements can be made."

"Of course," Dumbledore said. And Alexia smiled. While she had just divulged more than a few secrets of Umbrella to Dumbledore, she did so partly so that she could get back at Spencer. The paranoid old fart would probably have tried to kill her once she proved that Project Medea was a success.

Of course, there was bragging about the achievement, albeit in a manner that befitted the deportment and diplomacy of the Ashford family. But she had achieved something worth bragging about: changing her, a non-magical, into a witch. And combined with the song of Veronica, well, what could stop her?

CHAPTER 2 ANNOTATIONS:

Well, I hoped you enjoyed that chapter, from the point of view of Alexia.

Why did Dumbledore accede to Alexia so quickly? He wants information from her, and he knows that she has some sort of power that he may know little about. In addition, she has Harry with him, and thinks that catering to her within reason will let him find out what happened to him.

Anyway, nothing else to note…