Warning: This warning has been reviewed, it was a bit over the top (the original text was heavily edited and the initial warning no longer makes sense in light of the version that was actually published). This story deals with mental illness in more detail, now. If you feel that you might be affected by reading about amnesia, insanity and its onset, and suicidal thoughts, please be aware that the section at "Tonks House" deals with these in one way or another. Proceed with care. I've marked the section with an *.

I am doing this because I've had readers asking that I put such warnings up in other works, since my writing made dark days a little darker. Please let me know if you think this is an adequate measure, or if you don't and feel like there's another way to go about this. Feel free to PM me (I'll PM you back an abridged version of the problematic bit if you'd like).


Hogwarts, November 10th, 2013

The castle is hectic with people, which makes it too risky for her to wander the halls often and delve inside the Chamber. It isn't a bad thing though. It buys her time to find her serenity after all that she has gone through in the last few months.

Delphini keeps away from all things Tournament. Or she tries to, though she finds herself drawn to the riddles and to the danger of the tasks. Travers still doesn't know what he is up to, and has tried, more than once, to get her help. If she's being honest, she has to admit that she would love nothing more than to solve the puzzle. But it's too dangerous, and she has to remind herself, too often, of the events she might set in motion.

No one holds it against her, though. They simply assume that she is miffed about not being able to compete, or too busy organizing the Quidditch team. Her carefully built façade serves her right, just perfectly right.

She indulges in socializing though, the French her family has taught her finally being of true use. It's one of those things that linger in their culture, even after the war. Old habits die hard, so why would the pure blood families relinquish their use of French? It's yet another thing that sets them apart, another mark of their old blood and ancient origin, of how their ancestors came from the continent. They cherish their blood, they cherish their origin, so they still cherish French, almost a mother tongue to some of them, Blacks and Malfoys included.

She takes care not to be seen around Durmstrang students often, even if she enjoys their company and their many accents, some harsh, some more musical, some sounding like Latin. But she is keenly aware of how the rumours grow and spread whenever she is too amicable towards them, not to mention how many of the students come from families that would sympathise with the cause of Lord Voldemort reborn, as they had before, as they had with that of Grindelwald.

Delphini often thinks of how such families would cherish her Parseltongue, but never fails to shake it off her mind. Those times are dead and gone, and she will not bring them back. Not if she has anything to say about it.

But the prophecy lingers in her mind, despite her best efforts to forget about it. So lingers the promise of a new age of glory to the Dark, made flesh in her, and hopefully just that. A promise. One never to be fulfilled.

X

* * Tonks House, November 15th, 2013 * *

Andromeda knows something is wrong with her. Her thoughts are confusing, and confused in themselves. Something's missing. There's a sense of lacking gnawing at her conscience, ever present. A dark little creature lurking somewhere at the back of her mind.

She recalls memory after memory, trying to find the missing part. She relives her life again and again, trying to understand where it all went wrong. She knows this fuzziness has been with her since the dinner with Teddy and Delphini, but that had gone so well… not to mention that she found the void of the missing thing in memories far older than Teddy or Delphini, nearly as old as herself, in fact.

She remembers feeling weird the following morning, and noticing things misplaced. Things that she could not make sense of. Her bed made, though she remembers getting in it; her wand on the kitchen floor, even if she is quite certain she had dropped it; the unfinished dessert that she remembers eating with Teddy and the girl. Wasn't there something else that night? Hadn't she done something important?

Something is seriously amiss, she knows, for she keeps loosing track of her thoughts, forgetting things, wandering about the house while wondering about where Teddy might be when she knows perfectly well that he is at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts! Her mind will scream randomly at her, mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-gesture. There's something wrong at Hogwarts. Think, Andromeda, think!

Her mind is slow to get there, but she figures it out every time. There's a Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts this year, and that does not bode well for her. Teddy is there this time around, and the most egregious things have happened during Tournaments before.

The Dark Lord returning at the end of the last one is probably what has her mind on edge all the time, she rationalizes. She has lost the entirety of her family to him, in one way or another. All but Teddy, whose presence is always so soothing for her tired, grieving mind.

She misses him immensely, even when her mind becomes a wild horse galloping too fast through a forest too thick, being caught by the branches, wounded, being tripped by roots, tumbling on rocks, skidding on the mud, losing foot in reality. She often wonders if Bellatrix ever felt this way, when her mind started to lose its grip on reality.

When it's not completely lost, even if only for a fleeting moment, her mind likes to turn that missing thing over and over, from side to side, hopelessly and helplessly trying to comprehend. It's probably just a detail, but some part of her knows that whatever's missing is of the utmost importance. To her, to Teddy.

Teddy is at Hogwarts, safe. Right?

Andromeda knows something is wrong with her mind, even if she cannot pinpoint it. Was this how it all started for Bellatrix? The madness? Did her mind wander through lost places with voids in them, desperately trying to piece them back together?

She remembers all too well the family tales of the mad Blacks. Of how the ideals of blood purity had let to inbreeding among the Sacred-Twenty-Eight, their buds blooming in deranged cruelty, in a kind of madness so inherently theirs that it had become nearly prestigious to host such creatures in one's family tree.

She is like Bella in looks, what if she is like her in mind as well? What if the mad streak of the Blacks runs in her as well? What if she dies long after she has lost touch with reality? She knew people like that, in her childhood. Proud wizards and witches with blood so pure that it had turned poisonous. Old and new wizards and witches that sat in the corner during parties, talking to no one, often deprived of their own wands for everyone's safety.

What if that is what she'll become? What if instead of burning away in battle like Bella did, Andromeda shall slowly see her mind decay?

Bella is dead, right? Right. Bella has been dead for nearly two decades now, you know that. She died in Azkaban. No, no she didn't. She died in battle, at Hogwarts. Someone I know killed her. Who was it?

Her mind is unsure about the most elementary knowledge, these days. Something is missing, something that makes sense of all the rest, some deep truth to her life. A vital piece of the jumbled puzzled her thoughts have become.

Teddy's at Hogwarts? Was he hurt there?

She leaves whichever room she happens to be in, because her mind can't quite place her now, only to run upstairs and stop at his door.

Of course not, you idiot! Teddy is at Hogwarts and all is well. He writes every week, you have the last letter from him, don't you? He even writes little notes every now and then.

She has lost count to the number of times she has found herself in this very position. Her mind is never quite sure of it, so she will always open the door to Teddy's bedroom and check inside.

He is at Hogwarts and he is fine. If he were hurt you'd have a letter from him, of from McGonagall, telling you so. Stop being paranoid! You did have a letter from the Headmistress, it must be somewhere on her desk. No, on your desk. If you got it, it's on your desk. But did you get it? Did you send one too?

Maybe she should go to St. Mungo's, she finds herself thinking more and more often, or she thinks she is doing it more often. But they'll pick her mind apart and she does not want wands probing and poking in her thoughts.

Her memories are far too painful, far too dark, far too complex for the world to understand. They'll probably find enough darkness and turmoil in her childhood alone to justify whatever she may be experiencing now, but how can she explain that none of that was abnormal? It was all part of being born into a family belonging to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, all part of being born to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Andromeda herself had never found wrong in their ways, not until she met different people at Hogwarts. Not until she fell in love with Ted.

No, St. Mungo's will not do. If only she could tell Teddy. She does not want to worry him, though; she does not want to be a burden. Except she may be going mad and becoming a burden in an entirely different way, her mind reminds her. And her mind is a vicious thing and a horrid place these days.

Where is Teddy? Teddy should be here. That's what's wrong! Teddy is in danger! No, wait. What day is it? Is Teddy at Hogwarts? He should be safe at Hogwarts. No! No, no, no. He is in danger at Hogwarts too.

She can't remember why, but she knows he is not safe at Hogwarts. His parents died there, maybe that's why. But that threat is gone isn't it? What's wrong at Hogwarts now? Where is the danger to Teddy? Who's coming for him?

X

Hogsmeade, November 17th 2013

The village is filled to the brim this Sunday, with overexcited witches and wizards running to and from shops, trying to figure out what they'll wear to the Yule Ball that has just been announced.

Headmistress McGonagall probably regrets announcing it so early, but then it was either this frenzied atmosphere or the hundred glares of teenagers not given enough time to sort out their clothes for the only ball most of them get to go to. Of course, this time, parents line the streets as well. Mothers and fathers happy to help the students chose, despite the eye rolls their suggestions often earn.

The weather is wretched, with the freezing rain being blown by the unforgiving wind of the Highlands, which makes all journeys between shops challenging. There are students getting thoroughly soaked, and falling into puddles, and slipping on mud and wet cobblestones, which makes for great entrances that leave doors ajar and specks of dirt everywhere. Wands are quick to sort things back, but there will be profuse spreading of balm on bruised body parts come the night.

Every now and then, some wizards and witches cross the High Street in much more dignified ways, having taken the time to cast spells to protect them from the elements. It is such a pair of creatures - carefully wrapped in waterproof cloaks and beneath hoods that show no more than the bottom half of their faces - that walk demurely from Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop to Twilfitt and Tattings.

Delphini and Narcissa Malfoy walk through the door, pushing their hoods away from their faces, revealing blushing cheeks from the cold. Even though their colouring is most different, the blood they share is obvious in that moment, as they smile at each other and the gesture is the same, their features so similar that they could be mother and daughter.

They are welcome sights here, as they are in the main store, at Diagon Alley. Their cloaks are swiftly removed from their shoulders and hung to dry by the door, and the chief-seamstress is quick to get to them.

"Madame Malfoy, Miss Lestrange," the witch greets, with a nod of her head to each of them, "how can I help you today?"

"Hogwarts will be hosting a Yule Ball this year, and I require a proper evening dress for it, and new dress robes." Delphini replies, all politeness and tactful smiles. She observes Aunt Narcissa out of the corner of her eye, consciously carrying herself in the way she does, having learnt, a long time ago, that people defer more to the way one carries oneself than to their true status.

The three witches assemble round a varnished table with sample books, leisurely selecting fabrics and ornaments and models. The seamstress is quick to sketch a few options, suggesting that she takes Delphini's measures before making a final decision.

Delphini looks on as the short, comely witch walks to the back of the shop, returning with a small piece of parchment and a quilt.

"We have your measures from your birthday dress, taken at Diagon Alley, but my eyes tell me that things have changed since then, Miss Lestrange. Shall we?" She flicks her wand, pushing aside a heavy velvet curtain to their right, and follows Delphini and Narcissa inside the fitting room.

Delphini is quick, though still graceful, to undress, step out of her shoes and step onto the upholstered stand in the centre. Aunt Narcissa takes a seat, while the seamstress walks around, flicking her wand and flying the measuring tape about, along and around Delphini's shape.

"Oh my, Miss Lestrange," she exclaims, taking notes with her quill, "you have grown." The perky witch smiles up to her willowy shape, long and lean but not deprived of curves that Delphini knows to be attractive. She is tall and graceful, and she carries herself in a way that makes her look a little older, with none of the awkwardness of teenagers.

"You have become tall for a young lady," the witch continues, "and a most beautiful young witch, if I may say so." She is honest in her apprising, there's no need for flattery in this case. Delphini is no Bulstrode that the seamstress need appease.

Delphini has the good looks of the Blacks of old, and a little something the world knows not of on her father's side. Delphini has the joyful wickedness of witty girls, and decides to let it run free.

"My Mother was tall. I guess I take after her."

She winks at her Aunt when the seamstress visibly flinches. Narcissa replies with a stern look that says she is pushing things too far and is certain to earn herself a scolding when they are alone.

She can see the thoughts in the witches mind, the hidden note of fear put there by the memory of Bellatrix Black in all her glory, somewhere in her twenties, trying on a most alluring dress under the hungry eyes of her husband, young and handsome too, none eaten away by Azkaban then.

The thought of Rodolphus distracts her, and Delphini is absent minded for a moment, thinking on the care he showed her mother, all his life, despite his wife's obvious devotion to the Dark Lord alone. She knows her mother cared for him as well, or she wouldn't have bothered storing memories of him, too, for her to see.

Her mind drifts as she puts her clothes back on. Aunt Narcissa has taken upon herself to make conversation with the other witch in the room, who dares not interrupt Delphini's thoughts, certain that she is saddened by thoughts of her mother.

It smells like blood and smoke here. The air is crisp, the wind is cold against their bones, trying to pry their clothes from their skin, tangling her mother's hair. It's raining, but not heavily. She can hear cracks around her and she knows that there are wizards Dissaparating from this place. She can also feel the excitement of her mother, this memory is incredibly vivid, and her mind is sharp on this night.

Sharp as Delphini knows only violence, her Master and her daughter could make her.

A blitz attack of sorts, she understands. One they feel so comfortable with that they didn't bother wearing masks. Her mother is panting, looking around; trying to make sure everyone is leaving. Delphini takes a look around for herself and quickly finds the bodies and the burning house. It's a gruesome sight, but she doesn't dwell on it for long.

Two wizards approach her mother. One that she knows, Rodolphus Lestrange, and one that she doesn't but looks alike to him, so it must be his brother, Rabastan. A little younger, just as handsome as he would be had they not both been branded by Azkaban.

"I've got this, Bast," Rodolphus yells over his shoulder, to the wizard still running towards her mother, "leave! Send word to our Master that our work here is done."

Her mother seems dizzy, and Rodolphus is quick to wrap a steadying arm around her waist. Bellatrix does not move away in the least. She lets her body lean on his, as he gently wraps a hand on her chin, raising her grey eyes to his dark ones.

"What is it, dear?" He is honest in his care, there's more to this man than the sycophant servant of the Dark Lord looking after himself by looking after his Master's paramour. Her mother is well aware of it, and she trusts him entirely.

"Too much magic, I'm tired. I'll be fine, Dolph, don't fret," she tells him, with a bit of a smile, letting the hand that holds her wand rest on the almost imperceptible bulge beneath her robes. "What are you still doing here, Bast?" She yells, in an entirely different tone, to the man behind her husband.

"I'm not leaving with you like this. Our Master will see it in my thoughts, and then what?"

Her mother lets a childish giggle escape her lips, and Rodolphus playfully chides her for finding the image of her brother-in-law being tortured funny, though he is smiling, too. Delphini doesn't know enough about them, but there is a pact here, between these darkest of creatures, that seem so careless of each other's safety while caring, deeply and truly, only for one another and their Master.

They know, the two of them, about the child growing in Bellatrix's womb, and they guard her all the more carefully for it.

"No more magic for you today, Bella," Rodolphus says, kissing her mother's forehead tenderly, "I'll take you by Side-along. Hold on."

And she does, as they both turn right on the spot, disappearing with a mighty crack, but not before Bellatrix can point her wand up to the night sky and tattoo it with the skull and the serpent.

"Morsmordre," her mother whispers, as in prayer.

Delphini cracks away with the memory, returned to reality by her Aunt's soft hand on hers.

"Ready, little bird? It's time we leave."

"Yes, of course. I was wondering about the dress already. Day dreaming," she says, with a happy little smile to her features, immediately replicated by the seamstress.

"It will be ready for fitting in about two weeks, I'm sure the school will give you all leave to come down to the village again by then."

They say their goodbyes as they wrap themselves in their cloaks, dry once more, pulling the hoods over their heads. Aunt Narcissa casts another round of spells, to Delphini's dismay, and they step outside once more.

"Can I walk you to the Inn? I know that's where you take the Floo home."

"Of course, little bird, but you have to promise-"

"That I'll go straight to the castle afterwards. I will, Aunt Cissa. The weather is too bad to do anything else but coop up with a cup of tea and a book."

"Very well then," Aunt Narcissa replies, swooshing her wand once more, toning down the sound of the rain hitting in the shield she has cast around the pair of them, "We can talk a little longer then." Her eyes become concerned, and Delphini knows what's coming.

"You must be careful, little bird. Don't remind them too often, sweet girl, it might turn against you."

"I know. I'm sorry, it was just so easy. She walked right into it, really." She dares smile, playfully, and receives a loving hug for it, and a kiss on her cheek. She is too tall for kisses on the crown of her head or on her forehead, unless she's with Uncle Lucius, who still towers above them all, despite Delphini's height.

"How are you doing, little bird? I know there are things you won't write about in our letters."

"I'm fine, Aunt Cissa, everything is fine." She dares smile once more, but this isn't happiness. This is relief.

The Goblet did not call her name, no one has tried to approach her in suspicious ways, she remains the brilliant student that she has always been, and she has Teddy and her friends. So everything is just right at Hogwarts.

Though not at home, she is sure. Aunt Narcissa has been avoiding the subject all day long, and none of the Malfoys have been forthcoming in their letters.

"How is Astoria?"

"Not better, but not worse, little bird. Not worse. Draco found a Healer, Harvey he's called, and he has been quite helpful."

She leaves the matter alone, for they are at the Inn's doorstep and they will not speak of this publicly. Things are bad enough without strangers gathering bits and pieces of information from their conversations.

They walk inside together, causing a bit of a commotion. They never fail to do so, striking creatures of grey reputation that they are. It wouldn't happen if there were only students here, but their parents are not used to the presence of the regal creature of green eyes and black curls, and cannot help but be drawn to her. It might not even happen if the lioness in white were not by her side. Theirs is a commanding pair. Imperious creatures that never fail to draw them close and yet would strike lethally dare any of them come near.

"I could just go home for Christmas, you know? The whole of it." She whispers to her Aunt, as she is hugged once more before the fireplace that shall take Narcissa home.

"Nonsense. You stay here and enjoy the Yule Ball, and you'll come home, if you so wish, afterwards, for the New Year."

"But maybe I can help-"

"Are you a Healer with decades of experience on bloodcurses? I didn't think so," she interrupts, answering her own question, caressing a pale cheek and the sharp line beneath the flesh, "Delphini, my precious girl, enjoy the Ball. We'll be waiting for you no matter the day."

"Are you sure I don't have to go?" They both know the true meaning behind the words.

"I am, Delphini. You don't have to come home for our sake."

Not yet, they both think, but none dare say it.

Delphini reaches for the jar of Floo Powder, offering it to Aunt Narcissa, who grabs a handful.

"Malfoy Manor," she says, clearly, as she throws the shimmering ashes towards the floor.

Delphini looks on, dwelling on jumping in, wondering how badly she would Splinch trying to catch a lift this long after the green flames have ignited. The flames die and Aunt Narcissa is no more, so she walks outside and starts the lonely climb up to the castle.

On the outskirts of the village, her mind notices a presence, a mind, broken but determined. Thirsty for her, hungry for contact. Rita Skeeter has been seen around the village today, but her mind is not broken. It's twisted, and mean, but not broken.

Euphemia Rowle, she pinpoints, turning around to peruse the shadows by the walls, and finding the witch half hidden by a corner. She has no intention of being seen in public with her, so she shoots her most hateful glare towards the witch, promising doom with her eyes alone, and watches as Euphemia's mind freezes in panic. Dares take delight in the old song of fear her semblance to her mother never fails to elicit in others.

Delphini walks towards Euphemia, determined. She makes sure they are alone.

"What did I tell you about reaching me?"

The witch stares for a moment, her mind frozen, her body stiff. Delphini lets her eyes shine red, the colour of her anger, and Euphemia jostles back to life.

"But you didn't do anything. You never came to me, and nothing happened on the 31st of October…" Euphemia's voice dies as dread overcomes her, for Delphini's eyes are crimson red and her right hand is tight around her white wand.

"And nothing will. I will not look for you unless I mean to end you. I will mean to end you should you ever approach me again, or my family. Are we understood?"

Euphemia's light eyes seem to grow on her face, the pupils made wider by fear. Her mind is a turmoil for Delphini to hear, a symphony gone astray, but it is also broken. Broken enough to be careless and daring beyond what's wise.

"Not all is lost. It will be nineteen years since he returned this June. Do it then. You won't need the stars, you're powerful enough. You, alone, are all we need." She speaks the words as if possessed by another entity, and Delphini recognizes the mask of madness on her features. Her left hand is wrapped around her right wrist, like a claw holding down prey.

Delphini lets her wrath flow and her own fear feed her magic, and then sets it free. It cracks in the air around them, emerging from her very skin in a red jolt that wraps Euphemia's body whole for a fleeting moment, sending the witch careening to the floor with a shriek.

She is not sure about what just happened, but Euphemia is not dead, so she takes a minute to collect herself, as the witch at her feet regains her breath. She takes control of her magic, gathering it beneath her skin once more, feeling it settle inside her, feeling the rush in her veins slowly dispel. Then she repeats her words, her voice clear and steady, her eyes still red, a hint of magic still about her, dancing in her loose hair.

"You will never look for me again. I will not look for you unless I mean to end you. I will mean to end you should you ever approach me again, or my family. Are we understood?"

Euphemia nods, silently, though her mind screams, begging for her life. Delphini walks away, letting the rain wash her anger down her body, all the way to the path she leaves behind with her every step.

X

Hogwarts, November 20th 2013

Despite her best efforts, the Tournament catches up with her. It does so in the form of Travers slumping down on the bench opposite her at the library. The wood scrapes the stone floor, and his books clamour onto the table, startling her to nearly hexing him on the spot.

"What is wrong with you?" She hisses, under the glare of the tutting Madam Pince, while Siphoning the mess of ink spreading quickly on her Potions book.

"I… well, you see I have a problem. I-I… require your knowledge," he says, too loudly for a library, making smiles bloom all around them, for when will ever a Slytherin simply ask for help?

"That doesn't explain what's wrong with you," she says, her attention still focused on cleaning up her things with precise movements of her wand and no words.

"You're not going to make this any easier are you? There's a riddle to the first task, which happens to be in a week, and I sort of figured most of it, but I need to know. I understand you might still be upset about not being Hogwarts champion-"

"How would I be Hogwarts champion? I'm not of age." Delphini isn't even bothered by the idea of everyone dismissing her lack of enthusiasm about the Tournament as more or less of a tantrum. What bothers her is that they all expected her to be one of the champions, despite her age, despite the powerful magic surrounding the Goblet.

What bothers her is that so many believe that rules simply do not apply to her, for was it not so with her father? Was he not also the brilliant student no stain seemed to stick to, despite the darkness that surrounded him already?

"Neither was Potter," Travers replies, shrugging his shoulders.

"Potter's name was entered by someone else. There was an age line. On both occasions."

"Yes, I know, I thought Professor Slughorn would do the same for you, and the Goblet would do its thing and choose you. I guess there was another spell to it, this time. Maybe they dropped something in it before, so that underage wizards can't be chosen."

She is flattered by the notion, but she takes care not to reveal her feelings. She gives him her best you're-bothering-me look, and he finally starts talking of what he really needs from her.

Travers sets forth a golden envelope with the sigils of all three schools branded into the wax that kept it sealed. A neat square of parchment sits inside, and he carefully pulls it out, remembering to whisper this time around.

"They gave us this the night we were selected. From what I gather, we're going on a bloody treasure hunt at the Forbidden Forest."

"What?" It seems preposterous to simply set three champions loose in a forest where they could easily take each other out away from the eyes of everyone, but then the Tournament was never the most logical endeavour.

"It seems like we have to prove our worth by gathering things. What troubles me is the end of the riddle, that I can't figure out, and what they'll have guarding whatever we are supposed to retrieve."

"Besides Centaurs, Hippogriffs, Acromantulas and other deadly creatures?"

"Well, as far as I know there was vehement opposition to the use of dragons in this Tournament, so we can rule that one out."

Delphini laughs under her breath, balling up a fist in front of her mouth. She, too, has read the articles and letters published by both Newt Scamander and Charlie Weasley, eagerly supported by the public, that have seen whatever future tasks of Tournaments held at Hogwarts deprived of dragons, forever more.

"There is a Muggle car in there…" she reminds Silverius, who turns a little pale at the mention of the bewitched Ford Anglia.

"That thing has very little Muggle left on it, and I honestly hope not to come across it because I have no idea how to tackle it. Anyway, you happen to be brilliant and I'm having trouble figuring out this whole thing."

"Will you show me the riddle or not?" Her green eyes sparkle with curiosity, and her mind is long past caring that she is getting too close to the Tournament.

"Here, read it. I'm pretty sure I know more than the others," he tells her as her eyes skim down the parchment, "because I have people keeping tabs on Noailles and Yusupova, just in case they find something interesting." He gives her a meaningful look.

Delphini lets a little laugh escape her lips. Eavesdropping isn't cheating, right? She reads the riddle once more, then again, absorbing every detail.

"It seems like they have quite a lot going on…" she comments as she reaches the end a third time. There are seven lines to the riddle, each one concerning a part of the task, it seems.

"Yes, it looks like they'll have a path for us to follow, somehow, and we'll have to fight creatures, or trick them, for the things we must collect. Actually, I'm fairly sure that two of those are plants, but they won't cooperate, exactly… So far I've gathered that there will be a Hippogriff, so maybe I have to fly somewhere, which is fairly stupid considering we could simply Summon our broomsticks-"

"It wouldn't be a challenge," Delphini remarks, "plus there's always a certain amount of stupidity and lack of practicality whenever the Ministry is involved, but that's the least of your problems. This line here sounds like Mandrakes to me. I think you may have to brew a potion for the second task."

"I thought that as well. The next one, about 'the pack of ghosts that shall hunt you down' sounds bloody ominous to me. The Bloody Baron had nothing to tell me about it, do you have any ideas? Because it sounds a bit like Dementors…"

"It's not; they wouldn't bring Dementors here again, not without good reason. Can you imagine the commotion that would cause? I can already see the Prophet cover on it." Delphini sounds carefree, but she has to steady her mind before she continues. Could she ever be that good of a reason? "I believe it refers to Gytrashes," she says, her mind already busy trying to figure out the next part of the riddle.

"Gytrashes? The ghost hounds?"

"Yes, they're nocturnal, so the task will be at night. They live in small packs of six or so and they run from light. Not any light, and not flame; wand light, specifically. Remember that."

"Thank you, I will. No flames."

"No flames." She is silent then, as she analyses the other lines, agreeing with Silverius' interpretation of the enigma. He'll have to get something out of an Acromantula, which is bound to be fun, considering how aggressive they must be after last year's hunt.

There are other hints at the creatures he will face, though none pertaining to the items he is supposed to bring back with him. They both agree on that, and Silverius shares his plans for dealing with the creatures. Delphini makes suggestions, creates back-up plans, ensures that Silverius knows as much as possible about each magical being. Unlike her, he no longer takes Care of Magical Creatures, and so there is quite a bit that escapes him.

They reach the last line, and they sit quietly for a couple of minutes, pondering it.

'The last thing, key to it all, in a hurry and a hum you shall find'.

Delphini finds it far more ominous that any of the rest, but she can't simply up and leave without an explanation. The verse itself befuddles them. Unlike the rest, it seems to be about a thing, not a being. They start picking each other's brains, trying to make sense of it.

"In a hurry…" he starts, "so maybe it won't stay still? What hums?" Silverius' dark eyes meet hers, looking for answers.

"That Ford Anglia probably hums…"

"Not funny."

"I mean it, Travers! That thing has an engine, it makes a noise, and it moves out of its own volition. It could well be the Ford Anglia!" She manages to say it in all seriousness, just to see the myriad of possibilities running through Silverius mind. How does one fight a charmed car, after all? But she allows herself a happy grin that has Travers pulling his hair back from his forehead in relief.

"Stop that, will you? Muggle technology weirds me out! What hums and is in a hurry?"

"I don't know. What's a hum? Maybe we should start there."

"A noise. A purr, a buzz," Travers suggests, more or less clueless about where she's going with this idea, "a murmur, a thrum…"

"Wait, that's it." Delphini's eyes come alive as her thoughts come together in a solid concept. "A hum, a murmur. What if it flies? A murmuration is always in a hurry, isn't it?"

"So I'm fighting a flock of birds? I'll be dirty in the end, that's for sure."

"Just run with it, Travers. What is a murmuration?"

"A flock of birds, I've said so!"

"A flock of starlings when in flight, to be precise. Starlings have iridescent feathers, so maybe you're looking for something shiny, or colourful, that flies in a group. Can you think of anything like that?"

"We're going out on a limb here, aren't we?"

"Do you have a better idea, Travers?" Delphini gives him a pointed look, and he shakes his head. "Well then, start thinking. It could be Billywigs… but I'm not sure that they'd survive in this climate. Maybe Firedrakes? Flitterbies?"

"Will those even harm you? We fish Flying Seahorses out of the lake all the time... maybe that's it."

"Not shiny, not really a flyer, and lives in the Black Lake, not in the Forest. Move along, Travers."

"What if it is a Fwooper? They're not really dangerous, but they'll drive you mad," Silverius says, pulling on his tie in exasperation, "or maybe a Jobberknoll? I mean, it looks like we'll have to make a potion for the second task, we might need its feathers."

"Could be Golden Snidgets…they're shiny enough. Or Pixies even."

"What about Vampyr Mosps?"

"We keep those in the Greenhouses, they're not much of a challenge."

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the library, searching every book they can think of, getting other Slytherins to help, and asking Madam Pince for more, but they can't seem to reach a definite answer.

They come back after dinner, just the two of them at first, later joined by Teddy, glad to have an excuse to not study. They find plenty of information, but no true answer. They go to bed too late for their own good, but they have six of the seven challenges figured out, or so they hope.

X

Hogwarts, November 27th, 2013

Students clad in black, blue and red cloaks, with faces buried in scarves, pour from the doors of the castle out to the fields, spreading out on their way to the Quidditch pitch, eager to watch the first task of the Tournament. Word has spread that it will be in the Forbidden Forest, so the majority sees no use to gathering at the pitch, until they reach the stands, above the lawn.

There are four large screens of canvas stretched in between four pairs of towers, two on each side, waving like sails, made pink and orange by the dying sunlight. The champions will be followed in their course by a series of complicated charms, and the crowd will be able to see the projection of what's happening here.

Ludo Bagman, the Ministry representative, points his wand at his neck and explains how things will progress. On the screens, they can all see the three champions, in their schools' colours, lined up on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, by Hagrid's Hut and a colourful tent where they'll wait their turns. They, too, can hear the judges, assembled in one of the towers and surrounded by the faculty, directly in front of one of the screens.

"Do not think you'll be free to break the rules or cause injury to each other. The Forbidden Forest has long been home to a herd of Centaurs, who have graciously agreed to help us by keeping an eye on the champions. Should you find yourselves deep in trouble and incapable of handling it yourselves, point your wands up and shoot red sparks. Help will come to you. Each of you was given a bag of Mokeskin, remember to use them. You will be scored on how many items you obtain, but also on the manner of obtaining them. Keeping that in mind, you'll have to make it out of the forest to finish the task. The best of luck for all of you! "

The first champion to face the task is Noailles, who is quick to rid himself of his robes and walk into the tall shadows of the trees. He casts wisps of blue light that fly ahead of him and cling to tree trunks, keeping his path amidst the roots visible. He finds a brown Hippogriff first, but he can't quite convince the creature of his humbleness, and so has to stun the creature in order to get to the Horklumps that it guards. He struggles to control the Snargaluff, and the crowd in the pitch mocks him for his disgust at harvesting its pods. Further ahead, he has to run for his life as he seems to forget that Gytrashes do not fear flames, only wand light, cursing profusely in French to Madame Olympe's displeasure. At last, he casts a large orb and the ghostly hounds disperse, their silvery shapes retreating and disappearing into darkness.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, then walks further into the woods. He stops before a large, thick web, several feet high. In its centre, tied with colourful ribbons, are three tufts of Abraxan feathers. He seems baffled by it, and forgets to pay attention to the monstrous eight-legged creature descending from the tree branches on a single shiny strand of silk. What follows is a messy business of missing spells and frazzled actions, but he manages to get the feathers and not be eaten in the process.

He is skilled in his handling of the Mandrakes, swiftly casting Deafening Spells on his ears, before grabbing the plant by its leaves and wrapping the squalling humanoid root in a cloth of his Conjuring. He casts a Silencing Spell on the bundle and stuffs it in his bag. Noailles takes his time in walking to the next creature, and Delphini knows he has reason to do so, for she is sure that it will be a Runespoor.

The giant three-headed snake eyes him with hatred. It is guarding a nest, and Delphini wonders how on earth they intend on using the same Runespoor for all three champions. Yusupova will find a raging beast, mad at the stealing of its eggs, and she can only imagine what Travers will have to deal with. The left head seems to be pondering the best way to murder the wizard, the middle one looks curious, but the right head is fast to hiss and lunge forward, trying to sink its fangs into Noailles.

He takes care to move around the creature, using its length to his benefit, keeping the beast coiled around itself most of the time. It would look like dancing to an outsider, though the murderous partner would surely give it away. Louis-Auguste moves quickly, circling and circling, until he gets an opening. He is apparently determined to not infuriate the creature by hexing it, so he takes his chance, running towards the nest, grabbing an egg with each hand, his wand stuck in his teeth, and simply running away through the woods, as fast as he can.

The crowd in the pitch laughs and cheers, and the jury seem surprised, but not displeased. Noailles runs for his life, not bothering to look over his shoulders to the hissing beast slithering fast towards him. Something shines in the air as Noailles trips on a root. He slams into the ground, and the Runespoor slams into an invisible shield. The crowd jeers, unhappy at such device, but their attention is quickly drawn to a flock of shiny creatures not far from Noailles.

The French champion seems confused, looking around as he adjusts the sling of his bag. Then the crowd catches up. There's a humming noise to the flock, as hundreds of tiny shimmering wings flap about, not carrying creatures, but keys.

Flying keys. Some two hundred of them, some large and some small, apparently all of them different, apparently restricted to this clearing in the forest. When Noailles approaches the murmuration, it moves away as a whole, as some maritime creature swimming in the air, leaving a trail of light behind. As he tries to reach one, the flock turns and aggressively flies towards him. He observes the charmed keys for a good long while, trying to figure out which one to take and how to get it. In the end, he chooses to paralyse a few at a time, making them fall to the ground so that he can study them. He suddenly looks up, the spark of realization in his eyes, and points his wand surely at one of the keys, burning away its wings. The key that lands on his hand sports crossing wands spitting stars. The grin on his face as he calmly walks out of the forest is far too smug, but contagious all the same.

Yusopova does pretty well at first, swiftly casting a large orb to light her way, easily keeping the Gytrashes at bay after earning the trust of a grey Hippogriff and access to the Horklumps, as well as managing to have a way with the Snargaluff. But when it comes to the Acromantulas, she is simply not up for it. She looks on disbelievingly, uttering something in a foreign language, the translation quickly traveling through the crowd and making them all laugh. Something along the lines of preferring to rip the feathers of an Abraxan's wings herself, though colourfully worded. She stuns the giant spider at the top of her lungs, quickly grabbing her tuft from the web and moving on with an annoyed look.

The Mandrakes screaming seems to make her dizzy, and she is far too slow in her attempt to steal an egg from an already enraged Runespoor, escaping unharmed but empty handed. When it comes to the keys though, she is simply too angry to think clearly. She casts a net around the flock, pulling it to the ground, and the sound from inside it is maddening. She keeps jolting the flying keys inside with her magic, tightening the net's grip on them until she obviously recognizes the dicephalus eagle and the skull of her academy. She is chased out of the woods by a raging murmuration of keys, but she has hers anyway, and so she smiles when she reaches the tent from where she had departed.

Delphini, as the entirety of House Slytherin, leans forward on the stands, rooting silently for her housemate. Travers is stellar on his course, to the annoyance of the crowd. Even the Runespoor, now beyond pissed, is fooled by his Transfiguring skills, as Travers picks up a couple of rocks and turns them to shiny golden eggs that divert the creature's attention. Not that he doesn't have to run for it when the head on the right sees through the ruse. He takes a tumble before he can reach the shield, and for a moment it looks like the three-headed snake might get a bite off him, but he is quick to cast all sorts of shields on himself, crawling like a crab to safety, to the mob's amusement. His take on the flying keys, though, wins the crowd entirely.

After observing the shimmering things dancing through the clearing, peacefully, though some fly a bit sideways due to crooked wings, he points his wand in somewhat the direction of the castle. Nothing happens for a while, and the students boo his stillness, until his broomstick comes flying through the keys, dutifully stopping and levitating before him. Travers mounts it and takes off, now observing the flying keys from above without disturbing them. When he plunges down straight to the centre of the flock, the dancing creature splits into two for a second and comes back together forcefully, two dozen keys slamming into Silverius, who bears a pained expression and flinches. He dives under the swimming mass of keys, almost like a remora attached to the underbelly of a whale, and moves with it, studying out to better reach the key with the four animals that represent Hogwarts.

He pulls his broomstick on a steep flight upwards, driving the flock up and up and up, against the unseen barrier that keeps it in the clearing, and then something golden covers the clearing for but an instant before exploding as he traverses it. The flying keys break free, and now hover over the tree tops, chased by a blur of black and green. The students cheer madly, standing and jumping on the stands, which tremble dangerously. Travers strikes right through the metal birds, his hand reaching and closing on his target, and then bolts towards the Quidditch pitch, leaving the furious murmuration far behind.

There's a roaring happiness in the air as he lands on the lawn, right on front of the jury. Slughorn is the first to congratulate him, right before Bagman steals him away, eager to shake his hand and pose for pictures with him. No one bothers to announce the victor of the first task.

But after the celebration, plenty will murmur about him. Plenty will take note of the way he thanks Delphini Lestrange when a wave of students engulfs him.

X

Hogwarts, December 2nd 2013

The day outside is fading from grey to blue, with a hint of pink and orange here and there. The rain plays a song against the windows and the walls of the castle. Classes are over for the day, and the students meander about the halls, gathering to talk or study.

Delphini and Teddy have found themselves a bay window with a nice set of cushions not far from the library. They have mugs of tea and pumpkin pasties, and a pile of books and parchment each, but both seem lost to thinking.

Teddy has barely said a word the whole time they've been here, and it bothers Delphini. She could simply look inside his head, but he is family, so she sticks to listening to the thoughts that radiate from his mind. There's something upsetting him, and it has nothing to do with a pretty girl of golden hair and big blue eyes, like it so often does now.

No, the thoughts she's picking on concern a darker creature. An older witch of curly brown hair and grey eyes. Delphini gives it a second thought, and even a third, for she fears his answer, but she cannot let the issue go.

"What's wrong, Teddy?"

"It's Monday," he replies, his face stern, lending gravity to his words.

Delphini almost snorts, fighting to keep her hot tea with milk and honey from spilling. She manages to get a tiny smirk to draw itself on the corner of Teddy's mouth, so she figures it can't be that serious of a matter.

"Although I do understand the feeling, and I sympathise, I do, what's so special about this particular Monday?"

"My Grandma didn't write. I always get an owl on Mondays. A letter, chocolate, Muggle chewing gum, always the same owl, every Monday. I could keep a calendar on it alone."

"The weather has been pretty rough, maybe she pitied the owl."

"She sends that owl through blizzards, Delphie! Remember the storm when I was in year two? I was the only kid, the only one, who got an owl in the morning. Poor thing nearly drowned in the rain, my chocolate was so wet it was diluted, and the letter barely had any words left to it, but that owl got here. She picks them tough."

"She has been writing fewer letters, you've said so. Don't you think it might be that?"

"Yes, but Monday letters were always our thing. Something's wrong."

"Write to your godfather then. Ask him to check on her. Write to one of the Weasleys. There are enough of them to set up a visiting schedule!"

Teddy laughs. A hoarser laugh than he used to laugh when they first met, deeper, heartfelt. And that sort of makes Delphini's day.

Sort of, because it also casts a shadow over her night. Andromeda is not fine, and she may have caused it.

X

Malfoy Manor, December 15th, 2013

Draco holds Delphini's letter in one hand, a cup of hot tea in the other, reading as he sips. He is quite happy just now, nearly splayed on an armchair, in his silk pyjamas, kept warm by a velvet dressing gown and fur lined leather slippers. There's a small smile on his lips as he reaches the end of the letter.

She's coming home on Boxing Day. Most students are eager to stay after the Yule Ball and mingle with the foreigners, but not her. Their little bird wants nothing but to fly home, it seems, and he is glad for it.

It will be better for Scorpius, with Delphini around. The holidays won't be as sombre if his cousin is here to keep him company, to make him laugh, to disturb the peace with her shenanigans. To cuddle him at night in that way only she seems capable of.

Draco puts both cup and letter on the table by his armchair, turning his attention to the shape moving in the bed.

"Have you been there the entire evening, Draco?" Astoria's voice is still hoarse from sleep, but no so much that the struggle for air is hidden.

"I have, my dear," he answers, rising from his seat and walking towards the bed, "I've always liked watching you sleep." He pecks her lips, now almost permanently dry and chaffed, caressing the bags under her eyes with his thumbs. The dark brown in her eyes is all the same, the joy of life is there, still, even though the curse has taken a deep hold of her.

"I'm afraid I've been doing quite a lot of that, lately. You must think me very boring, husband," she teases, running her fingers through the hair at his nape.

"You need sleep, Astoria, to heal."

They share a sad look at that. They both know that she isn't healing, not truly. No matter what the Healers try, all they can do is slow down the decay of her health. There's no stopping an avalanche once it starts. But that is a matter they do not speak of. Astoria has tried before, but Draco won't have it.

"Well, I'll sleep much better with you by my side, so will you come to bed?"

"Right away," he says, removing his dressing gown and kicking his slippers off, "as my wife commands." He climbs into bed, adjusting his pillows until they are just right, then motioning for Astoria to come closer. She never fails to cuddle up to him, head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. He craves her touch, dreading the day it will be gone forever.

But all is right, for now. Scorpius is asleep just down the corridor, and he has his arms wrapped round Astoria, and Delphini is coming home in a few days, and then, and only then, he'll have leave to breathe normally.

Mother told him of Andromeda's letter to McGonagall, and he feared the worst. He has feared the worst ever since Delphini had dinner at Teddy's. The world doesn't know about her, though, and he can only hope it shall never learn the truth behind her wide green eyes. Even so, he cannot but fret about it, about her safety, about what would happen to his family.

He slips into sleep, hoping for a dreamless night. He has a new kind of disturbing dreams now. New nightmares that haunt his nights. Dreams of little birds with dark feathers of greenish hues being locked away in cabinets. And of such little birds being dead when he opens the door to let them free. Just like the canaries he once used had always been returned dead and broken.


Author's Notes: Don't go without a review, please. I really want to know what you think about this first task (I found myself banging my head on the keyboard over it more often than I'd like to admit). Fair warning that this fic is nearing its end, as it will be 60 chapters long at the very maximum, at this point 57 chapters long for sure.

I've forgotten to mention the guests that have reviewed this story and that I can't pm back. Thank you and sorry Olivia Kirkland and thank you Lia (feel free to let me know your opinion on other chapters, I'd be delighted), your words were very welcome.

Many thanks to the readers that helped me get my ideas straight about the Tournament at both FF and AO3, also to the amazing people at the forum I used to be part of for brainstorming with me about how to make the tasks enjoyable for the crowd.