Kyren: Funny you should relate this story to The Dresden Files… Yes, Nicodemus would love to have someone like Jen as a Denarian, and she and Lasciel would get along like a house on fire.

Deathnoteuser: Lady Zabini will very much not be happy, but how in the world is she going to know who's responsible? It's not like those who know will tell her.

skywiseskychan: I'm glad you enjoyed so much of last chapter! Jen's career as a dancer was short because she pulled in greater revenue on her back; many more clients wanted to sleep with her than just watch her. Oh, you will get to see her chat with Ginny if the plot goes that route, don't worry. She only had sex with the two Hufflepuffs in bed with her; the others were too drunk to notice or care. She was most definitely the aggressor.

Orchamus: I don't know exactly how Ingrid would react if she ever found out that "Joseph Bloggs-Whitaker" is Jen, but I'm sure it would be amusing.

Disclaimer: Was a Dueling Club only ever formed in book 2 by Flophart, even though Flitwick was a former professional duelist? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

Chapter 25
Are You Ready to Rumble?

Flip, flip. "No."

Flip, flip. "No."

Flip, flip, flip. "Damn it, why can't there be a bloody index in this bloody book?!"

Knock, knock.

"What?!" Jen yelled in frustration, pulling her hand off the floating textbook she had been 'skimming'. She only had an hour before she needed to be present at the arena in the Forbidden Forest for the Slytherin Task, and every moment lost was a moment she did not have to complete her last minute preparations.

There was a pregnant pause, and then Luna's voice came hesitantly from outside her dormitory door. "It's Tracey and Luna. Is it alright if we come in, or… maybe we should just come back later."

Tracey! The Slytherin was in her Runes class; she would be the perfect person to ask. She considered grabbing the shirt laying on her bed but quickly decided it would just be a waste of time. "No, no, it's fine. Come on in."

The wooden door opened slowly, and the two girls poked their heads in. "You're not going to cook us and eat us now, right?" Tracey asked, her voice tinged with humor and a little worry. "'Cause, no offense, but that was definitely not on today's schedule."

"No, I'm not going to eat you. Now get your arses in here and shut the blasted door." Once they had done so, she demanded, "Tracey, which Ogham runes symbolize endurance and speed?"

The other fourth-year was nonplussed for a moment. "Er, ailm and… úath? No, wait, straif. Ailm and straif."

"Of course, straif. I always forget that one." Jen snapped her fingers, conjuring strips of titanium and fusing them to create hand-sized replicas of the two troublesome runes. "There, finally. I spent the past half-hour trying to find those buggers."

"That's why I put them in a single table once Babbling introduced them all. When I forget, all it takes is a quick glance and… shite. Sorry."

"It's nothing, don't worry about it."

Still shamed by her faux pas, Tracey crept closer and looked over the five metal runes floating around her. "Muin, luis, saille. Perception, protection from spells, and flexibility?"

"Balance, not flexibility. Close, though." Jen floated the much-vexing primer onto her desk and pulled the luis rune to her left arm, just below the shoulder. Stretching the horizontal bar, she melded the ends together; the closed circle now spun lazily around her bicep, the two short vertical pieces resting at opposite sides. The other four archaic characters moved to orbit her abdomen just above her navel.

"Quick question," Luna piped up. "Could you please explain to the rest of the class exactly what you're demonstrating before you continue?"

The older Ravenclaw smiled in mild amusement, half of her mind still preparing itself for what she was about to do. A minor effort snapped the loose runes into a large circle with herself as the center, and the crosspieces spaced themselves out equidistantly, just as had happened with the luis rune. This 'evenness' aspect of Ogham could sometimes make interpreting scripts difficult without already knowing what they said, something each member of the fourth year class had learned firsthand. "Okay. Has Babbling explained to you why you start out Ancient Runes by learning Futhark?"

"Um, it's an all-purpose language, right? You can use it for just about anything."

"That's right. Wards, enchantments, rituals, bindings; if you need a runic script for something, Futhark will probably work. The issue, though, is that just as it doesn't have any real weaknesses, it doesn't have any strengths. An enchantment you laid down in Norse runes would be faster to create and more potent if you had used Sumerian. Ward schemes would be stronger and deadlier if they were written in Egyptian or Mayan."

Luna nodded as she absorbed the information. "And Ogham?"

Jen snapped her fingers, and the metal runes quickly began to grow warm. Tracey gasped quietly as her plan became clear. "Much to the Roman legionnaires' dismay when they set out to conquer these islands, Ogham is wonderful at enhancing a living creature's natural traits. Warriors bearing these runes were faster, stronger, braver, and harder to injure than the invaders. Combined with iron weapons, knowledge of the terrain, and guerrilla tactics, our forebears were more than a match for the Republic's troops. It was only several smaller tribes rendering Caesar aid and information that allowed him his ultimate victory.

"Unfortunately, there are two little, tiny quirks about this language." She flicked her wrist to erect a silencing charm on the door. After a moment of thought, she expanded the area to cover all six surfaces of the room. It was shortly going to get loud. "First, each body part can only hold so many runes at a time, which is why I have to put one around my arm. Second, they can't just be sewn onto clothes or etched into armor. They need to be directly on the skin."

"Like how the Celts are always depicted as being covered in paint?" Luna asked.

She shook her head and shifted slightly as her bare belly came uncomfortably close to the ring of now very hot metal around her. "No, it has to be permanent. Tattooing works, as does scarring or—"

The third-year's face grew cold as all the blood under it fled in her comprehension. "Burning?" she squeaked.

"Technically it's called branding, but yes." Swallowing thickly as the time arrived, Jen conjured a strip of wool that instantly rolled itself into a tight bundle. "You two might want to turn around and cover your ears."

They moved as if to protest before she stuck the cloth in her mouth and bit down; at that point, they did as requested and twisted away. With a grimace, she clenched her right hand tight, and the two circles of blazing titanium constricted like pythons, pressing the scorching surfaces deep into her skin.

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.

Later, Jen would be glad she conjured the fabric; her high-pitched scream, muffled though it was, was still loud enough to make her friends flinch, though that reaction might also have been due to the pungent smell of sizzling flesh she exuded. If she could have used a numbing charm, she gladly would have and spared herself the agony. The problem was that runes were extremely fragile when they were first applied; any spell on her skin would be disruptive enough to wash them away. Even the flow of her magic as it coursed through her body and back out to the world was pushing the symbols' initial integrity to the limit.

Hours, days, but probably only seconds later, she had had enough. Gasping, she vanished the metal turning her tissues into so much charred meat. She pushed herself off the floor with her uninjured arm, wondering when exactly she had collapsed, and settled herself on her knees. After disposing of the fallen gag, she murmured roughly, "Okay, you can look now."

"Merlin," Tracey whispered as she saw the damage Jen had inflicted on herself. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking something along the lines of 'I'm about to face at least two people whose idea of wandless dueling includes hand-to-hand combat; maybe I should come up with a way to not get splattered all over the arena floor'," the brunette shot back testily. One hand moving slowly over the burns on her abdomen, she restored the region enough to quiet the signals from the wound-free tissue but not so much that her painful work would be erased. Once that was done, she repeated the process with the smaller branding on her left arm. She would happily finish the healing after the duels were over, but until then, she needed every edge she could get.

Luna snapped back to reality from whatever corner of her mind to which she had retreated. "Please tell me you know a numbing spell."

"Of course I do. I'm not going to brand myself without knowing how to get rid of the ensuing pain," she replied. A shaky swirl of her hand slowly applied the charm. Concentrating, she raised its strength until the spell began pushing back on the runes' magic. She sighed in relish; it wasn't total relief, but it would do until the runes had fully powered up.

With the pain at least somewhat managed, she pulled on the loose blouse to cover her naked torso. It was probably a good thing the people knocking on her door had both been girls; she didn't have a problem with the boys getting a free show – body modesty wasn't something she valued after several years working on her back – but her female friends likely would have.

Her usual snark returned, Tracey said, "Not that I didn't appreciate the impromptu lesson in how to mark someone like cattle, but couldn't you have used something else to protect yourself, like, say, your dragonhide jacket?"

"Oh, yes, I totally forgot about a present I received a month ago and have been wearing every time we had to leave the warmth of the castle. It's not armor; it's just a coat. It may as well be leather for all the good it'll… Leather." She slapped her right hand over her face. "I'm an idiot."

Tracey snickered, and Jen pointed a finger at her menacingly. "You, shut up." She summoned her duster to her and tried to recall the lecture Elsie had once given her. "I just remembered that my tutor, paranoid old woman that she was, had a leather jacket that she enchanted to work somewhat like armor. It wasn't perfect, but it would shrug off knives like they weren't even there. I think I can do something similar."

"There's less than an hour until the Task starts. Can you really enchant that in that little time?" Luna reminded her.

She smirked. "No, I can't, which is why I'm going to cheat."

Not all magic was reliant on power, though there were few disciplines where it didn't help. Every witch could brew potions, care for plants and animals, or carve runes. Something else that anyone could do was perform sympathetic magic, linking two objects together so that a change to one would affect the other, even if they were separated by extreme distances.

Sympathetic magic was a dying art in Britain, but in Haiti, where most people were below average in terms of raw magical potential, it was crucial for more power-intensive feats such as erecting wards. Spells cast on a model of a house, one where each detail was painstakingly recreated in miniature, could be forced to appear on the real thing at a similar scale using solely wild magic from the surroundings. The weakness in the technique was the same as its strength; because the process was based on knowledge rather than force, the two objects had to be as exactly alike as possible. Even a minor difference, such as painting the house's walls a different color, could break the link between them. It also was not unheard of for someone with malicious intent to steal the model and use it to perform wicked deeds upon the inhabitants with a minimum of effort.

While Jen had naturally possessed a larger core than most and then replaced that with a direct connection to the world's reserves, Elsie had still thought it was a good thing for her to learn. The older witch was like that; 'you never know when you'll be glad you can do this' had been a common refrain when she was younger and just wanted to be taught something fun. As Jen had gotten older, she realized how right Elsie was.

Increasing the strength of her numbing charms again, she carefully teased out seven hairs from her tresses. When I channel magic through my body, a third of it moves through my skull and brain before finally exiting by flowing down my hair. Plucking out these hairs does not change them from being part of me. She matched actions to thought, tugging the strands from her scalp. Closely examining the lengths in her hand with her sonar, she found the thin, hesitant connection from them to the rest of her mane.

Now came the hard part. She focused on that weak link, gently pushing magic through it until it had enlarged to about half the width of her smallest finger. By this point, she could just barely feel the hairs like they were a fifth limb, one that had fallen asleep and was beginning to wake back up. A smile grew, and she laid the kinked strands on the silk lining of her coat. Flicking a finger caused them to slither through the fine fabric before they tied themselves together to form algiz, the Futhark rune for resilience and protection. The lines of the rune were so small that no one would be able to find it without specifically searching.

My coat is protected and enhanced by the rune. The rune is woven from my hair. My hair is a pathway for my magic. So, the power that before would have run down those hairs and simply dispersed back to the global reserves will instead flow through the connection and power the rune. Indeed, her magic was acting exactly as she intended; with the larger link, the excess energy had begun charging the rune. In just a few minutes, her coat would be enhanced enough to shrug off moderate impacts and at least minor curses. It would not be as good as Dora's vest, but considering she tried to avoid fair fights whenever possible, it did not need to be.

This shortcut method could not, of course, make products of the same level as true enchanting. While she had surmounted the charging problem by using her hair, the amount of punishment her duster could take before suffering damage was limited by the power held in its lone rune; were this the work of a professional enchanter, there would be a separate reservoir of magic so that the spellwork could not be depleted by a single powerful strike. Thankfully, the processing that diminished the dragonhide's magical resistance and prevented it from functioning as proper armor also meant she could repair any rips and tears it might accrue when she had the time, and the materials used being biological made it a little more effective than its thin width would at first suggest. As another contrast with professional work, the enhancement was not permanent; the rune would start to degrade within six months and would almost certainly collapse before a year had passed.

Still, it was the best she could ask for with the restrictions she was under. Instead of the hours or days creating, testing, and modifying a runic script would require, she had only needed a couple of minutes and a few strands of hair.

She considered leaving the blindfold lying on her bedside table before she levitated her hair and tied in on; there was little reason to abandon it when she could use it to hold a shield charm over her fragile, still-healing eyes. She cast that spell and followed it with a moderate notice-me-not charm before integrating them both into the fabric. Feeling the brands on her body stabilize at last, she reapplied the numbing charms over them at full strength and groaned when the remaining twinges of pain vanished. "That should do it. My body's enhanced, my coat will be tougher by the time the duels start, and my 'alternate focus' is ready to go. I think I'm actually ready."

"You know," Tracey commented, "you never told us exactly what you planned to do in the duels."

"And I won't tell you now, either. I will say, however, that you should enjoy the show."

"Welcome, welcome, to the Slytherin Task of the Triwizard Tournament!" Ludo Bagman was on top of the world as the crowds cheered around him once again. Sure, they weren't shouting for him, but the sound brought him back to his glory days as a Beater for the Wasps just the same. Unnecessarily, he pumped them up further. "Are you ready to see your champions fight it out?!"

The resounding screams were answer enough.

"Well, then, let's get started! The rules are simple: no wands are permitted, though any other method of using magic is acceptable. The duels are over when one participant forfeits, steps off the dueling platform, is rendered unconscious, or the judges call the match. Finally, all magic must stay within the arena, or the fight will be called in the other champion's favor.

"To even the playing field a little for our junior champions, the first duel will be between just two of them. Also, because there are seven champions, we're giving another junior a bye to the second round." He shook his head vigorously. "I'd hate to be the poor junior who has the bad luck to take on a senior for the first round."

He waited for the laughs to stop, disappointed at how few there were, before he drew a silk purse from his pocket. "So, will the junior champions step forwards?" He grinned at each of them, though he had to do a double-take when he spotted Black. The beautiful white coat and air of confidence drew the eye and made her resemble one of the knight-mages from the storybooks he had been read as a child and that he read now to his own son. She looked powerful and awe-inspiring, like she could take on any wild monster or dark wizard that came her way and then continue with whatever she had been doing beforehand.

Wasn't Dumbledore supposed to have worn something similar when he fought Grindelwald? All she needed was a phoenix on her shoulder to complete the picture.

Comparing Black to Danny Potter, Ludo started to wonder if he had put his money on the wrong person. Black had had better odds because she was an unknown, and her showing against the dragon had been much better, too. Danny just wasn't cutting as impressive a figure as the other fourth-year. If only he could change his bet with the goblins…

He shook his thoughts away and opened the neck of the bag. "All right, you four. Go ahead and reach in." He watched as the junior champions each pulled out a small stone: Eberhardt's and Leroux's were blue, Black's red, and Danny's green. "Ingrid Eberhardt and Philippe Leroux will go against each other, and Daniel Potter gets to wait until the second round to duel his first opponent. Black, if you would be so kind as to join the senior champions for a moment?

"Who will these fine fighters be facing first? Let's find out!" With that, he pulled four numbered flags from a different pocket and threw them in the air. The pieces of fabric soared over the duelists and finally came to rest above each one. "And it looks like we have a split on gender lines! Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory will be the second duel while Jennifer Black and Fleur Delacour are in the third.

"To keep things fair, each champion will stay in their own tent when they aren't dueling. We wouldn't to ruin the surprise of what strategy their opponents will be using, would we? Eberhardt, Leroux, grab your foci; the rest of you, follow these fine mediwizards and -witches to your tents. The first duel begins in five minutes!"

Jen turned her attention from the book she was reading as a man poked his head into her tent. "It's time for your duel," he said before pulling back out.

Sighing, she replaced her bookmark and set the text on the table next to her chair; Luna had not been lying when she said the unedited fairy tales were dark, though they were certainly entertaining. Moving her hands a couple of inches, she opened a box beside the book. Inside was her prop for the task: a pair of gloves running to her upper arms that she had bought in Muggle London and then festooned with conjured glitter and colored glass to look appropriately gaudy. Now that she would have sleeves coming down to her wrists, she lamented the squandered time and effort involved.

She pulled on the gloves and zipped them closed, then donned her coat. This tent, just like the larger one she had waited in for the Gryffindor Task, had silencing charms all over it; stepping out into the raucous cheers was an unpleasant change after the tranquil quiet. Her opponent was already standing at one end of a raised strip of stone in the middle of the arena, so she hopped onto the other.

"Time for duel number three!" Bagman cried from his seat among the judges. "Can these two witches put on as good a show as their male counterparts? Only one way to find out!"

Taking in the rubble and shallow craters laying about the platform, Jen somewhat doubted this duel would be quite as exciting as the one before them. She shrugged her shoulders and faced Delacour. There isn't anything on her that is pulling in or storing magic, she thought as her sonar swept over the older girl. But then again, Veela don't need a focus for some things. Their Allure for one, but also flight and fireballs. Too bad for her that my coat was fireproof even before I pseudo-enchanted it thanks to it being, well, dragonhide.

"Begin!"

The French champion wasted no time as she collected magic in her palm. Once a handful of flame appeared, she hurled it at Jen, only for the younger girl to calmly raise an arm in front of her face to intercept. The fire splashed against her sleeve but had no other effect. "Wow, well done," she called out sarcastically. "Here, let me show you how to really use fire as a weapon." A spiraling jet of flame left her hand, and the older girl leapt out of its way.

What do you know; the rumors were false, after all. Veela apparently can be hurt by normal fire.

The next several minutes were filled with the cheers of the crowd and faint whooshes as fireball after fireball flew across the stage from each duelist. Jen was actually enjoying this; though she had lost a couple of inches of hair and suffered a mild burn on her neck when one of her opponent's attacks came too close, that was the worst of her injuries. Delacour had become more and more desperate as the fight went on, which she attributed to the foreign witch not having a backup plan.

Time to wrap this up. "Not that this isn't fun or anything, but we really should finish our little spat so I can get to my next duel." Icy water rushing at her fellow competitor caught both the other girl and the audience by surprise. Jen smirked; it wasn't her fault if everyone had assumed she was limited to fire. Though she was perfectly capable of wielding any spell she wished without a wand, she had decided to restrict herself to purely elemental spells to start. It was a limited field, true, but it could believably be controlled with a single focus and still provided her a good degree of flexibility in her tactics.

"Petite salope! Je déteste me mouiller! Vous voulez jouer avec les grandes filles? Jouons!"

She chuckled at that; Delacour had not evaded the spray, leaving her dripping and cursing in her native tongue. While she had never learned French, she suspected the diatribe was the result of this incredibly prideful entity of air and fire being reduced to little more than a drowned rat. Feeling the trail of water leading to the soaked Frenchwoman, she grinned wickedly. Perfect. She raised her hands, and a thick spark jumped from one glove to the other.

From the way the Veela froze in place, Jen knew she had noticed the discharge. She tilted her head down to examine herself and slowly raised it, obviously tracing the long wet streak and realizing what was about to happen. In a soft, nigh-resigned tone that could only be heard due to the silence from the observers, she said, "Ah, merde."

"Goodbye, so long, orevwa."

Twin bolts of lightning hit the watery road, raced along its course, and struck the young woman. With an explosive crack, Delacour went flying before slamming into the ground ten feet away with a dull thud. Mediwizards had already descended upon her by the time Bagman roused himself from his shocked stupor. "Great Scott! In a finish I don't think any of us expected, Jennifer Black has breezed her way into the second round, where she will be facing the Boy-Who-Lived, Daniel Potter. Let's take a few minutes' break before our next match: Durmstrang against Durmstrang, Krum versus Eberhardt."

She meandered back to her tent, a smile worthy of the Cheshire Cat stretched across her mouth. Ah, I get to personally take down Potter, too. The Baron has certainly blessed me today.

Jen stood on one end of the platform, awed by the amount of debris that had been created in the previous match. Eberhardt, forewarned by the research she had done at Jen's behest, had clearly made plans to counter Krum's explosive hexes. The question, though, was had it been enough?

"Daniel Potter has one more minute before his absence is deemed a forfeit and the win goes to Black," Bagman called after checking his watch. The man radiated irritation, an emotion echoed in the crowd's murmurs. Jen did not blame them, as she felt the same; whether sitting or standing, wasting time out here in the cold was not fun.

Thirty seconds later, Potter ran out of his tent to the platform, and she understood what had taken him so long. A number of pouches dangled from his belt and robes; unlike the other champions she knew about, he had apparently taken a 'disposable item' strategy. Which means either charmed objects or potions. He is friends with the Weasley family, and Kenneth has complained about the prankster twins enough for me to know potions are their weapons of choice. Isn't Lily Potter supposed to have a deft hand for brewing, as well?

"Just in time, Potter. Are both duelists ready?" She nodded to the former Quidditch star; Potter straddled the broom he had carried in his left hand before repeating the gesture. "Begin!"

Her opponent kicked off the broken stage, rapidly ascending to a height of thirty feet. Not wanting to be under him when he started dropping his payload, she hurled a lance of lightning from each hand, forcing him to swerve away. "I heard your broom was destroyed in the first Task. Do you really wish to risk its replacement so soon?" He did not reply but simply swung around, abandoning the air over the stage so he could move to flank her. Sending a third streak of electricity at him as she cautiously backed towards the middle of the stone strip, she muttered, "Surely that counts as leaving the platform."

Bagman's voice rang out, "I've just spoken with the judges, and they have decided that Potter riding his broom will be allowed so long as his feet do not touch the ground anywhere other than the dueling platform. He may have the advantage, but it looks like Black plans to make him work for his chance at the win!"

Indeed, once she heard the start of the announcement, she let fly a barrage of high-voltage bolts. Her opponent was forced to dive and dodge lest he join Delacour as a crispy critter. Apprehension poured off him like a waterfall.

He thought being in the air would keep him safe, she reasoned. Flying had not crossed her mind, nor had it seemed to occur to any of the other champions if the judges had needed to deliberate on his tactics. Had he counted on everyone else's strategy relying on close-quarter engagements? If so, she would give him points for his planning, not that it would do him any good in the end.

Her thoughtful pause presenting him with a chance, Potter shifted slightly out of the way of one strike and yanked something out of a pouch. As he threw it at her, she noticed it was, of all possible things, a water balloon. Deciding she would rather not find out what it contained, she struck it with yet another blast of lightning only to discover she had done exactly what he wanted. The energy popped the balloon, vaporizing the contents, and the cloud spread out before settling on top of her. Jen held her breath as she was surrounded; her lack of a magical core meant she was unaffected by ingestible potions, but she had no idea if she would be protected similarly from an aerosol considering she could use topical potions. A stinging on her face indicated that regardless of the core issue, breathing this in would be bad. Instead of enduring the surface burns and waiting for the acidic mist to thin out enough for her to no longer be at risk, she spun one finger. A brisk breeze sprang into existence, and the vapors swirled around her in a cyclone with her at the eye. After taking a fresh lungful of air, she grinned mirthlessly. Here, have a taste of your own medicine. The wind sped up and aimed at her competitor, releasing the potion in his direction.

Once the gas was gone, she ceased the spell. A thin layer of grit, fragmented debris from Krum's duels, dropped back to the ground.

She tilted her head, inspiration striking her. As Potter approached for a second attempt, she raised her hand to the sky and replicated her spell on a greater scale. This time, it was not a swift wind that was created but a tornado, one growing ever stronger as she fed more power to it.

Dust, rock, and another two potion clouds whipped around her as the twister widened. Judging it to be enough, she flicked her wrist to point at the broom-bound boy. The entire mass of violent air turned and engulfed him before continuing into the wall below the frontmost row of seats. Allowing the thuds of debris hitting flesh to sound for a few seconds, she snapped her fingers; the storm instantly vanished. Amazingly, Potter's broom was undamaged, though the same could not be said for him personally. He fell to the dirt, transformed into what felt like an enormous slug. From the conflicting magical signatures covering him, she surmised that many of his balloons had burst when the rocks struck the pouches carrying them, and potions that should not have been mixed were.

Well, at least he cannot complain about his current shape too much. His soft form is probably the only reason he is not laying on the ground with multiple broken bones. That's not to say he won't be spending another week in St. Mungo's, though.

"As Potter is unable to continue the duel, the win goes once again to Black, and another competitor is being carried away! Neither Black or Krum have left their opponents standing; whose streak will be broken? I see that Krum has begun making his way to the platform, so the question will soon be answered."

Already?! Jen shook her head; they certainly were not giving her time to regroup. It's a damn good thing I don't have a core anymore; after throwing around that much magic, I'd run the risk of being completely empty without at least a few minutes to rest.

She stood firm as the senior Durmstrang champion plodded into the arena and onto the stage. The thick sleeveless robes that exposed his bulky arms were charmed with protective magic of a comparable strength to her coat, and his right hand was covered by a copper shell connected to an elbow-length bracer of what felt like a nickel-zinc alloy, both component metals known for their ability to store large amounts of raw magic. Even thirty feet away, the truly insane charge it held was almost enough to send strands of her hair floating. He gave her a stiff, curt nod, and she replied by pulling out the sides of her duster and descending in a parody of a curtsy; the action startled a strangled laugh from the man. Their opening taunts completed, they stood at attention, waiting for the signal to start the final match.

"Both competitors are ready? Yes? Begin!"

In the previous duels, Jen had let her competitors lash out first so she could try to discern their strategies. Thanks to the letter from Eberhardt she received the previous week and the damage done to the platform, she already had an idea of what Krum was capable, and she had no interest in standing around while the wizard in front of her aimed explosions her way. Flinging a fireball from her left hand and a lightning bolt from her right, she crossed to the other side of the thin platform. Ten feet was not a lot of space to maneuver, but staying in one place now would be worse.

Krum moved as well, diving to the ground to avoid her attacks. When he rose, he had in his grasp a chunk of debris that was not blown away by her earlier attack on Potter. Holding it up with his left hand, he pulled back his right and punched the stone with his metal-enveloped fist. Rather than disintegrate as she had expected, it shot forwards like a round from a cannon.

Only a half-reflexive summoning of wind deflected the stone from its trajectory; though it scratched her coat, at least it did not rip through her body. The damage Ingrid saw when she examined his practice grounds wasn't the result of an explosive spell, she realized as Krum punched the platform. It shattered, and he picked up another rock. It was the aftermath of an extremely powerful banishing charm! If it's strong enough to break up the ground and launch rubble like that, there's no way I want to tangle with him at close range. Throwing ice or debris won't hurt him through those robes, just hand him more ammunition. She hopped a couple of steps to the side to dodge his next projectile. He probably won't give me the time I need to build up a strong enough wind to blow him away, either. That leaves me water, fire, and lightning unless I want to break out another 'focus'.

Thrusting her palm out, she conjured a wall of water that crashed into him. His impressive physique bore him through it, and she scrapped her plan to electrocute him as she had Delacour when she noted the robes he wore repelling the moisture. From her outstretched hand came a trio of jagged thunderbolts; one ripped apart Krum's flying rock while the other two forced him to dodge yet again.

Five minutes, ten minutes. Stones were stopped by lightning blasts and fireballs reached their destination only for the target to no longer be there while chips of rock pelted each fighter. As Jen cursed while dodging an attack her counterstroke had missed, Bagman's voice once more broke through her concentration. "This is certainly turning out to be a battle between behemoths, folks! Both Krum and Black have been throwing out massive amounts of magic, but still they fight on. How long can these two champions keep going?"

Longer than Krum can. The Bulgarian was slowing down, the ball of static that was his core becoming drained even with his gauntlet's additional reserve and his breath devolving into pants. Not that she was in much better shape; dancing around the flying debris was exhausting. Beyond that, her arms were beginning to spasm uncontrollably. The ceaseless conversion of raw magic to electricity was taking its toll on her nerves and muscles, and she was afraid to examine her hands too closely for fear that her skin had started smoldering. If she could have a chance to flush the spell residue from her system, she'd be right as rain, but the Durmstrang champion refused to let up. Both of them knew that their opponent would capitalize on a single moment of weakness, and neither wanted to lose. I'd respect the bastard if I didn't want to shove one of these rocks down his gullet.

"Any chance you want to call it a day and give up?" she shouted to him. Her hands hung limply at her sides and twitched as she forced energy through them to speed up her magic circulation.

He stopped and stared at her for a moment before letting loose a single deep guffaw. "No, I dink I am in goot shape here. Vhy don't you forfeit if you are so tired?"

"No, thanks. There's plenty left in my tank, unlike one pansy man I could name."

"'Pansy man'? You mistake me for vun of your veak countrymen. Dis is but a varmup compared to my normal activities." He hefted another rock, one larger than he had been firing since halfway through their duel, revitalized by the break. "Come, let me show you dat Viktor Krum understands stamina."

She bit her bottom lip to keep her comment in, but the attempt was for naught. "I don't know how you do things on the Continent, but in Britain, a girl expects dinner first."

His braying laugh rivaled the collective noise of the tittering crowd, and Jen could feel her aunts shaking their heads, amused despite themselves, near the front edge of the stands. The banter had served its purpose; the power rushing through her body had washed away the lingering charge from her attacks, and a thought undid the damage her constant casting had caused. She knew she had to finish this up quickly, though. Repeated restoration left the injured region of her body resistant to further healing; when that happened, rest was her only recourse, but that was not an option here.

So far, this has been a battle of attrition. If it continues as such, I'll win, but my arms might wind up useless for a while. Not to mention, I kind of want to beat him outright, she admitted to herself. I'm guaranteed the match if I stick with the long game, but in an endurance contest, no one is my equal; winning like that says nothing at all about my skills.

So, play it safe and defend, or take a risk and attack?

She nodded, her mind made up. It might be her pride talking, but she wanted to stand over Krum and know that she had outmuscled him, not just outlasted him. She held out her hands, truly massive quantities of electricity erupting from them. "Let's do this, pansy man." Her hands flinging forwards, the twin tongues of lightning danced around each other as they flew at her opponent. Krum dived to the ground to escape certain electrocution.

Her firm stance left her unable to avoid the projectile that smashed into her left shin.

Because she had been waiting so long before her duel with Potter, she had completely buttoned her duster to ward off the chill of a Scottish January; the enchantment on the coat redistributing much of the strike's force over her entire body was the only reason her leg did not snap. What remained was, however, enough to throw her leg behind her, and she spun gracelessly before crashing into the platform. The side of her head impacted the unyielding edge of a crater, and for an instant her sonar was jumbled while her hearing was replaced with a dull whine. Okay, waiting him out was definitely the better plan.

"And it looks like the fight is finally over. Black is on the ground, and… wait, she's not done yet!" Lifting one arm, she had released a torrent of flame at Krum that caught him off guard as he relaxed in the assurance of his victory. "She's getting back up! That girl just will not stay down!"

She staggered upright; the balance rune seared into her skin was probably the sole reason she could stand at all. Forget using only elemental attacks, I can't take another blow to the head like that. I need to take him down now. How do I send a stunner at him without being obvious about it?

A memory of charmed razor wire wormed its way to the forefront of her mind. That's it. If I put the charm on an object and hit him with it, my spell will transfer. She called the wind with one hand, wrapping herself in a cyclone, and slipped the other into her pocket. Conjuring a hollow glass orb, she charged it with a stunner. Just like with Potter's balloons, the judges will think the spell was only effective after the shell containing it was broken.

She waited for another rock to hit her wall before dispelling it. Raising the hand holding the charmed glass, she forced the wind to spiral down her arm and continue a few feet in Krum's direction. With the sphere squeezed between her middle fingernail and the pad of her thumb, a simple flick both sent it flying and hit it with the strongest banishing charm she could produce. The swirling air sped it up even further while acting as rifling at the same time, forcing it to maintain a straight line where her wavering arm would have made its trajectory unpredictable. Krum didn't stand a chance; faster than he could react, the fragile ball shattered on his unprotected shoulder. The heavy Bulgarian crumpled.

"I can't believe it, ladies and gentlemen, I just cannot believe it. On her last legs, Black displayed cunning worth of a Slytherin by revealing a second focus! Let's give a cheer for the winner of the Second Task!"

She only managed a brief wave to the screaming crowds; even that minor motion sent her swaying drunkenly. What's wrong with me?

"For every match our champions won, we award them ten points. If my calculations are correct, that means that Black has also climbed to first place in the Tournament, but Krum is only six points behind her. Will she keep the lead? Will Krum overtake her? Or will we see yet another shocking upset? We'll find out seven weeks from now, when the champions tackle the Ravenclaw Task! Until then, folks!"

Jen stumbled toward the arena entrance, passing the mediwizards congregating around Krum. She had just stepped off the platform when her body stopped responding.

I truly hate concussions, was her last thought before her consciousness fled and she fell face-first onto the ground.

Ugh. Having Jen use Futhark was easy; I didn't need to do anything but look up which runes worked best for what I wanted to do. Ogham… not so much. That one got created pretty much out of whole cloth during a Physiology lecture. The kidneys suck.

For anyone who thinks what Jen did to her coat sounds familiar, yes, I did finally get a chance to read The Dresden Files over my Christmas and Spring Breaks.

Fleur's French: "Little bitch! I hate getting wet. You want to play with the big girls? Let's play!"

Silently Watches out.