Hermione Awakes

"Yes, Victor, I will attend the Yule ball with you," said Hermione, "Do you have any idea what kinds of dances will play?"

"Ah," said Victor, "Thanks for the first, I don't know about the second, but I will begin pulling strings to find out."

Hermione nodded.

"Speaking of things you know that I don't, are any of my other classmates more or less than human?"

"Draco Malfoy, is part veela. They say I'm part dragon, several generations back, no I don't know any details, it may have merely been a mystical explanation for the family sense of smell. … Hmm. The Champion from Brown is a skin walker, so is his little brother. But the big one is mainly dragon and the little one is a fox, and they must spend time around a water elemental. And there's at least three werewolves living under that enchanted blanket of theirs."

"What?"

"Not lycanthropes, the dire wolf type that can animagus to human."

"Oh."

"Anyway," he sighed, "There's too many veela in the Beauxbatons group for me to smell anything else."

"And Durmstrang?"

Victor shrugged, "Slightly better known than its reputation for cold and conservatism, is Durmstrang's reputation for … 'racism' I think is the muggle term, though Durmstrang uses very carefully technical language, and what they mean is, this is a safe place for human childrento learn human magic and culture. The other races are encouraged to learn elsewhere and leave us alone until we're stable and mature, and so are they. Students are not discouraged in any way from interacting with other races, but with family supervision over the holidays, not all the way over here where they aren't able to complain to their parents or receive family guidance or whatever."

"Ah," said Hermione, "So segregation logic, which might in fact be less condescending than Britain's more integrated approach, but nevertheless limits the opportunities of other races."

"Yes, I think."

"And the Russian school?"

"Is a drakkin engineering school that also takes humans and also teaches magic."

"What?"

"Shh, you didn't hear that from me."

"No, be quiet a moment, I need time to process what you just said."

"What's wrong?"

"My world view just shifted is all. Alright… there are enough drakkin in the world to have organised a school."

"Yes."

"And it is not primarily a magic school."

"Do you have the saying in English charms class, First you know the world, then you know your place in the world. Finally, when you find yourself, then you may impose your desire on the world."

"No."

"Anyway, as I understand it, 'knowing the world' is the science or engineering school step, 'knowing your place in the world' is the history and politics school step, 'finding yourself' is the foundation of maturity, confidence, and decision, everything after that is the practice of engineering or magic or society."

"Do drakkins teach history differently?"

"I don't think they teach history at all, I think they just ask each other for tales, as they witnessed them. Or as their ancestors tell it, which amounts to almost the same thing, many live a millennium."

"Ah, I see," said Hermione.

"And there's you," he said, "something dark and watery."

"Hmm," she said, "what kind of dark?"

"Blood? Not sure, masked under something saltier."

"I'm a sea otter animagus."

"Oh, yes, a weasel family smell, but feeds on fish not blood."

"I have developed an unsupportable preference for salmon."

"The dangers of being an animagus." He smiled, "Salmon represents wisdom and creativity in Irish tales, right? And you hunt them down?"

Hermione smirked, "Or seek them out at least, So far I've never had to kill anything bigger than dragonflies."

He blinked, "I suspect that won't last much longer, many of the more advanced potions require fresher ingredients."

"Ah," Hermione shrugged, "I wasn't saying I wouldn't or couldn't, just that I haven't yet."

He noticed her glance around.

"Shall we go to the library?" he said.

"Let's do," she nodded.

They made their way in that direction.

"Speaking of segregation and politics," said Victor, "It's interesting perhaps even telling that they invited the drakkin engineering school all the way from the Urals and not the kabouters secondary school from the Netherlands."

"What are kabouters … like?" said Hermione.

"Goblins and things," said Krum, "the inventors of engineering … well except for the 'engine' part." He saw the look on her face, "but that is ancient history," he said, "and no one is claiming that humans stole their ideas… well almost no one. In many Germanic speaking countries, we credit the kabouters for gifting us with the engineering discipline to start with."

"Hmm," said Hermione.

November 24

Georgina shivered, but kept eating. She knew Zach was watching her closely, He always did if she ate too mechanically, but she couldn't help it, and it was better than not eating at all, then he wouldn't just notice, he'd say something about it. And there was no explanation that she was willing to give.

She looked away from him and her eyes caught on Tom at the slytherin table, unusually alone. He was eating sparingly, but drinking a lot of pumpkin juice, as if it were a nervous tick rather than a deliberate action.

The same nervous mindlessness that she had taken advantage of the day before, and two days before that.

"Ought I report you for Felix use?" she muttered, "Or should I be worried that you're going to die and leave me alone in the world?"

"What?" said her brother from three seats away.

She realised she'd muttered that aloud, and that she'd been staring.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"If you have information that someone is cheating, you should report it."

"I don't," she said, "Only that they have Felix Felicis, not that they're going to cheat by using it."

"Ah," he frowned for a moment, "Then I wouldn't worry about it unless he wins the competition in a surprisingly dramatic way or something."

"Oh," she said, "Yeah, good point."

He got up and hugged her.

Which she didn't really want, but she wished she did want. So whatever.

She looked around, most of the other contestants looked similarly nervous, though they each showed it differently.

She wished she knew for sure which of the other contestants had family or close friends here so she could spy on them for their methods for dealing with their nerves. Or if she could have absolutely anything she wanted, she'd have conquered her own nerves already and have some kind of comfort technique available to share with Tom.

She didn't quite think he wanted more of what she'd given him last time.

Or at least … not a full dose.

Interlude: Pixie

Paris Trey the pragmatic (second daughter of Orin the clear-sighted direct descendant of Oberon the Great), orange chieftainess of the second emergency council on the amelioration of foreseeable existential threats, released the new report by the green subgroup of intrepid subversive agronomic artists. The pixie, released of its burden of mission and serious knowledge, fluttered away blowing raspberries and squalling fit to frighten geese, had there been any geese nearby.

Trey closed her eyes just long enough to tamp down the new ideas and details of the report then rose above the treetops as if sunlight and fresh air would help the ideas take root in her mind and like seedlings develop to full flower.

.

The temporal mechanics of the prophetic interpretation seemed sound. The surveillance requests by the agronomic artists had gotten trimmed back to a reasonable level for a first mission. The honour guard demanded by the scouts-guild magical had been repeatedly marked as 'unnecessary to safely fulfil the contract as planned' by the exact same seers who said 'it was required to fulfil the stated purpose of the scouting mission.'

It was all too complex, scouting missions were all well and good, but this time it wasn't being overseen by the scouts. Subversive agronomic campaigns were all well and good, but this one wasn't being overseen by the agronomic artists.

This time the seers guild had turned over a report of impending existential threat to the council of amelioration and so she was stuck facilitating a joint campaign that was supposed to (as securely and subtly as possible) test a new transportation method, to an alternate dimension, and explore it for intense and immediate subversive agronomic intervention.

Because every hour sooner that intervention began meant one day stronger those interventions would be when the strange monsters appeared.

And this latest plan had finally been found acceptable by every council and guild involved. And most importantly the seer's guild had given an optimal target moment for departure. Which meant there was finally a decision she could take, call the council for approval, or put the plan into action as the council strongly implied she had permission to do, once a plan achieved the level of unanimous approbation this plan had finally reached.

She knew if she called the council, they'd wish to get the prophetic interpreters to explain the discrepancy in what the seers were footnoting about the scouts' honour guard. And interpreters would take too long to figure it out, and longer to explain it to the council, and by the time the council agreed to act, there wouldn't be time for the campaign to harvest and pack with proper deliberation.

That didn't change the fact that she'd like to have a little bit more interpretation done on that discrepancy. But she'd like that explanation turned over to the scouts and artists, not to the council.

A pixie-hawk darted by and she gave it the assignment of herding pixies to her.

As each pixie was brought to her, she plucked it from the air and implanted the final version of the campaign schedule and assignments, and sent it off to the heads of each guild and council. Last of all she contacted the members of her own council, informing them that she'd taken the decision as she'd been instructed, and ordering an interpretation on the last discrepancy, though it might only become available after the campaign had departed.

First Task

Padma, Luna, and Hermione as usual, chose to break house lines to sit with Draco, Harriet, and Blaise. Glenda and Moit were there also but only by an accident of how seating was assigned in the neighbouring stands allocated for Brown. Tunde was nowhere to be seen, popular guesses placed her with Dietrich or in the medical tent on the far side of the field from the tent where the contestants were now gathering.

They had an excellent view of everything that had been erected inside the new Hogsmeade Stadium. Five circular arenas of transfigured stone. A path led from the edge of the field to the centre before branching out to the openings in each circle. Every circle contained a dragon on a nest. Hermione could name all five dragon types, though Draco disputed with her about the Hebridean Black which was green and had a very long neck that it didn't mind coiling up like a snake about to strike.

"Any bets, on the outcome?" said Blaise.

"I respectfully recuse myself from the following discussion," said Luna, as she'd been saying randomly ever since they met Headmaster Smith in Sicily. Harriet had begun to think that all the repetitions were somehow about the tournament.

"I'd be willing to put a few galleons on Dietrich using his dragon form or armour," said Harriet.

"Betting with you and not against you on armour," said Blaise, "Sooo I'll take two sickles of his dragon form not being his primary strategy."

"Um," said Harriet, "I'm not sure how to convert my prediction on that into odds on just the one that I'd be willing to take."

Blaise snorted, "Never mind then."

"I'm willing to bet that Tom will attempt not just to kill his dragon, but to collect its magic," said Moit.

"Someone's been sharing the family magic," singsonged Glenda in an accusing but mocking tone.

"He is family, sort of," said Harriet.

"He was there when Dietrich got his inheritance," said Moit, "He could have managed without me, but I … wanted to be part of his progress."

"Ah," said Glenda, "Is that how it is. Tell me more?"

"I think he has some kind of mistaken idea what dragon hide can protect against," said Moit.

"Victor's plan is either so classical it hurts," said Hermione, "or he's hiding his real plan by being seen preparing to use the traditional approach."

"Does anyone know what the girls are planning?"

"No," said Blaise as if the admission stung him.

In the end none of them placed any bets.

.

Dietrich was first, he entered the pen with the ultra long necked Hebridean Black. The two of them stared at each other for a long time.

"He's got his dragon magic all the way up," said Moit, "and I think they're mind talking."

After a very long pause the dragon side stepped off her nest and inspected its contents very carefully, it didn't take her long to locate the golden egg among the rest, though it might easily have taken half the time if she'd been willing to take both eyes off Dietrich.

She picked it up in her mouth and resumed her seat on the nest. After more staring at Dietrich she tossed it aside and crouched lower.

Dietrich walked over to pick it up.

"Don't take your eyes off her, you idiot," said Moit, "And breaking the connection like that has got to count for some form of disrespect."

But the dragon didn't attack, only tracked Dietrich's progress across the pit.

It was only when he bent down to pick up the egg that she struck. Only to gnash her teeth on heavy plate armour. Because Dietrich had shifted, and his dragon form was encased in heavy plate that seemed to vaguely follow the armouring plan used for horses of medieval heavy knights.

They roared at each other. She struck at what must have looked like weak points in his armour, but he turned aside all blows. They roared at each other. Which caused the other dragons to look around and become agitated. She tried fire and he responded in kind. They resumed their glaring conversation. She drew her head back to her nest. He took the gold egg in his mouth and retreated from the pit. Finally shifting back to his human shape. Catching the egg in his hand, he proceeded from the field.

He seemed to have an argument with the healer team. Probably about how sure he was that he didn't need anything.

.

Victor Krum was next, he took on the Chinese Fireball and he played it strictly by the book. He got the egg, a few eggs got crushed, and both he and the fireball would have a miserable time recovering for several days at least.

.

Next Anoushka appeared and entered the pit with the Welsh Green, she walked toward the dragon until the dragon noticed her and began to show signs of agitation, then she sat down and folded her hands in her lap.

"What? A fakir," said Padma, "She can't be serious, dragon fire is much hotter than wood fire, and the liquid nature transfers heat at a much higher rate."

"Ah, but what does the fakir discipline allow when combined with magic?" said Glenda.

"Not sure," said Padma.

"What is this fake discipline of which you speak," said Blase.

Hermione punched his arm and told him it was no time to be punning.

Harriet wasn't sure if he'd been joking or not. But … she was fairly sure things would come out better if she let Draco or Padma explain.

The gold egg rolled from the dragon's nest. The dragon noticed and went after it. The girl's hand came up and the egg snapped to her hand just before the dragon's jaws clamped shut around its previous position.

The dragon gave her a halfhearted burst of flame (Or maybe it just didn't have much fire compered to the Chinese Fireball?) but it was all turned aside before it reached the girl, almost as if she had a shield around her. The dragon advanced further. In response the girl levitated from the ground and floated backward from the pit. Only once she was safely outside, did she unfold her legs and lower herself to the ground.

.

Then it was Tom's turn to face the Hungarian Horntail. He drew his wand before he entered the pit, and as soon as he was unequivocally inside the ring he began transfiguring, first a small wall or blind between himself and his dragon.

"He brought his familiar with him," said Moit, "it was invisible on his shoulder when he entered, now I can't see where it is."

"Swimming through the ground probably," said Harriet, "Tom has a reputation for the big-diversions-and-subtlety approach."

"More commonly known as multiprong or cloak and dagger," said Glenda.

"Whatever," said Harriet.

Not one but four identical Tom Riddle's appeared from behind the blind, all waving wands, all standing on magic carpets, or maybe just boards with hover charms on them.

"Oh you sneaky bastard," said Moit.

"Language," said Hermione.

The Toms kept twirling and sweeping closer in ever tightening loops and zigzags.

Finally the dragon had enough and flamed one Tom and swiped another from the air with with her big spiky tail.

There was blood everywhere and the smell of roasted meat.

"He didn't go half way with his transfigurations," said Moit, "How did he animate them?"

"Does it matter?" said Draco, "but infiri would be my guess."

Harriet winced.

The horntail caught another Tom in her mouth and began to tear it apart and eat. It was awful.

"Why is no one doing anything?"

"None of those were the real Tom," said Draco, "a real person would have flinched."

"The Russian girl didn't flinch," said Blaise.

"Anoushka, and she had her eyes closed," said Draco.

"Alright," said Moit, "let's just say, the real Tom would have flinched."

The last Tom hovered closer. Choosing the side on which no gore was yet spread.

The dragon batted at him with her paw, and when he dodged far enough the tail took him out from behind.

The dragon returned to eating.

"Merlin!" said Draco, "That one is the real Tom, he's actually struggling to get away from the pain."

"Constantine, you're right," said Moit, "The healers better get there fast, those aren't … chest and gut wounds are not a good way to go."

"He'll die of blood loss from his leg first," said Glenda.

"What's he doing? Where's his wand?"

"He's taking a potion, and trying not to alert the dragon that he's still alive."

"How many potions does he have?" said Harriet, "He needs pain relief and blood replenishing at the very least before he looses consciousness, then to get the foreign objects out of him, then flesh knit or spells to the same effect, more blood replenishing potion, and possibly one of the breath augmenting draughts."

"I'm not sure I needed to know that," said Hermione.

"Sorry," said Harriet.

But no one did anything.

"Accio broom," said Harriet.

"What are you doing," said Draco.

"He's got at most five minutes left," said Harriet, "If I had my broom I could get to the healer's tent and back in time, I don't have it, I'm trying to get it."

"Damn, seriously?" said Draco.

But the murmuring from the stands was beginning to reach fever pitch. Everyone was coming to the same conclusion. Suddenly all the boards hovered shakily up and tried to lift the last Tom down from where he hung impaled on the dragon's tail spikes. But all that happened was that the dragon sidestepped several meters and looked back. After a few moments she seemed to decide that the boards were as threatening as so many moths. She glanced carefully back at her nest and returned to eating.

And then all but one of the Toms turned to stone. Including the blood stain on the ground and the meat that the Horntail was devouring. The boards fell away reverted to earth or stone on the way down, some of them shattering on impact.

"Oh," said Moit, "I wasn't expecting that."

"There was his last thought," said someone nearby, "His magic has ended."

The dragon began panicking, but she had the presence of mind to stagger away from her nest. Soon she was battering her head against the wall trying to dislodge the stone filling her mouth.

Harriet's broom arrived, but instead of mounting on it she slumped in her chair and leaned heavily on it.

Glenda put am arm around her shoulder and patted her knee, "He … he really was your friend wasn't he."

"Yes," said Harriet fighting to get the word past the lump in her throat.

"Oh, quit it with the dramatics," said Moit.

"Moit," said Draco, "not now."

"I am not," said Moit, "Can't you see what he's doing? Constantine, how well do you know Tom? Just keep watching."

"Watching for what?" said Draco.

"Let's just say, he's got things he still needs to do before the dragon asphyxiates," said Moit.

Harriet looked up, "What do you mean by that?"

Moit sighed, "Oh, please… There!"

More exclamations, they turned to look where Moit pointed. There was movement among the eggs. A gold egg rolled from among the rest and after it slid a dark shape mostly still covered in dust. It continued pushing the gleaming egg and paddling through the tilled up dirt clods of the arena. When both were well clear of the nest, the bird turned to face away from the crowd, toward the judges and changed into the naked form of Tom Riddle. Before he'd even finished shifting, he threw out his hands and his wand snapped to one hand and the egg to the other. And robes appeared around him.

"Show off!" said someone behind them, "That's what he was locking himself in the washroom to practice."

He walked over to the least shattered slab of rock and transfigured it back into a large platform and hovered it over to the dragon, which seemed to be resting between bouts of trying to dislodge the rock cast from her mouth and throat.

They stared at each other.

Tom crossed his arms and leaned to the side, the dragon leaned with him and toppled onto the barely hovering board. Her weight slammed it to the ground, but soon Tom had it levitating back toward the centre of the arena where he walked around it, apparently sticking his wand into her wounds. Where he could get his magic in past her skin, he healed her. He especially worked on her head where most of the damage had been done. She seemed to be coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't just not killing her but actually helping.

"If he really cared about her, he'd walk out of the arena so that the handlers could go in and help her a lot faster," said someone nearby.

"Don't worry, no chance of that," muttered Moit.

"You know what he's doing?" said Blaise.

"Isn't it obvious," said Moit.

"Not exactly," said Blaise.

"He's not leaving until she's his," said Moit, "either through surrender or death. I don't think he's the type to let the thing that killed him leave alive and free, especially in public, even if he meant to let it do the killing."

"Dear god," said Glenda, "He … he pulled an Ulrich in favour of his bird?"

"Yes," said Moit, "He couldn't add any forms while his familiar survived and he couldn't kill it, so he let himself die."

"That is insane," said Glenda, "But … is that him and his bird or is it just his bird pretending to be him?"

"He asked me how the ceremony worked but he seemed to already know. Ulrich only passed on his power and knowledge, I suspect that Tom and the bird are now a single creature."

In the arena below, the Horntail made a feeble swipe at Tom, who dodged easily. He took three steps back and crossed his arms. A few seconds later he shrugged and went to look over his corpse and gather his belongings from its pockets and belt.

Behind him the dragon made more feeble attempts to follow and attack, Tom kept his back to it.

Then it lay still.

"Is he counting on the crowd to change tone if he needs to dodge?" said Glenda.

"No," said Moit, "he's in tune with it, though it is trying to change tune to get away from him or to harm him, which won't work, he's too agile. He'll know when she dies because the magic will stop fighting him.

"Do you want to borrow my occulus occulti?" said Luna.

"Um, maybe," said Glenda.

"Yes, I would," said Draco.

Luna started digging through her pockets.

"There she goes," said Moit.

Tom straightened and walked from the arena without looking at the dragon, only lowering the platform and untransfigured it and all his other props on his way past. He allowed the healers to take him into their tent.

The judges conferred for a long time.

Finally they gave him the same low score as Victor. He stormed out of the tent and demanded to know what they docked him points on. "Lack of speed, dying, or pretending to, killing the dragon, and all around ugly performance," was the reply, "Move on."

"Just to clarify," said Tom, "You're saying that I killed that dragon?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" said Tom.

"While you perhaps did not strike the killing blow," said one judge, "there is no doubt that it died untimely when no one but yourself could be responsible."

"So … we could say," said Tom, "That it died of wounds or other aftereffects of facing me in single combat?"

"Leaving aside the presence of your bird."

"The bird is my true familiar, operating under my will, it still counts as single combat," said Tom.

"Then yes, we could say that."

"Is it in fact what you are declaring?"

"Yes, it is what we are declaring."

"Alright, thanks," said Tom, "I needed a new dragon hide boots," he turned back toward the arena where dragon handlers were already inspecting the horntail's corpse and cast sonorous on himself, though he was still close enough to the judge's stand that it might not have been necessary, "A representative of the ministry of magic has declared me the sole slayer of the Hungarian Horntail, as such it is my right under the laws of Great Britain, to claim the body of said dragon to be my property and rightful reward for service to the crown, to dispose of as I see fit and within the health and safety laws current, I do so declare. Kretchen and Sons' have at it. Thank you for your time."

The handlers had stopped in shock when they realised what was going on and at the final pronouncement they stepped away from the corpse, but they looked ready to start hexing whoever appeared next. They weren't ready for a little old lady on a broom who dropped out of the stands, bent over the creature's mouth, and then port keyed away taking the dragon with her.

When they looked back Tom was nowhere to be seen.

The signal sounded for Fleur to begin. All eyes turned to the contestant's tent.

"Sneaky bastard," said Glenda.

"Language!" said Hermione, "Oh and I'm now willing to offer a wager that Fleur's performance will be the most athletically impressive, though probably not nearly as dramatic as Tom's.

"Hmm," said Blaise, "I'll take a galleon of that."

"You know something we don't?" said Draco.

"Let's just say," said Hermione, "I've visited Beauxbatons during a summer session."

"And Fleur was there?"

"Not that I noticed, but if she is true to form… We'll see."

Fleur stalked into the enclosure wand at the ready. She loudly cast something known to be useless at her dragon's centre of mass.

The dragon's skin absorbed it with no visible effect, it turned its head back and forth to examine her antagonist minutely then responded in kind. Fleur was out of the way before the flame arrived, though she'd also raised a glittering purple shield already in any case. The dragon advanced, always spitting her tiny but intense fireballs right on target. Fleur continued to dodge, sometimes shielding, sometimes giving ground, sometimes advancing. Keeping the dragon angry and attacking. Suddenly Fleur was between it and the nest and she threw up a transfigured wall and ran for the nest and threw up another transfigured wall, this time making it curve around and become a dome. The dragon skirted one wall, saw the other wall and realised that her eggs might be lost in spite of all her trouble. She roared in rage and surged forward, throwing her shoulder against the dome like a battering ram. On the second blow it collapsed but rather than fall and crushing any eggs, it vanished and Fleur leaped away, hair standing on end giving the illusion that her head was a meter and a half across.

"That is not an inconsiderable amount of power waiting to be used," muttered Draco in awe.

The dragon leaped after her narrowly missing the nest. Her head struck out at the fleeing girl. And before the poor dragons nose was more than a hand breadth into the cloud of hair it had spasmed and dropped to the ground.

"What?" said Moit, "Was that an electric effect, I thought magic sucked at electric effects."

"All the more reason to be impressed," said Draco.

"I suppose," said Moit.

"I'm not losing you to her am I?" said Padma.

"Please," said Draco, "she's my third cousin, on Dad's side."

"You say something like that about just about everyone," said Padma, "the question is, does it mean anything?"

"Let's just say I got used to Veela effects from Dad before I could walk. Blaise' mum is different but even worse."

"Oi, no talking about my mother," said Blaise.

"OK," said Padma sounding slightly reassured, "tell me, who in this school isn't your cousin."

"Fourth cousin or closer?" said Draco.

"Sure."

"In our year," said Draco, "besides you and your sister. Um, Blaise and Daphne, and all the muggleborns of course, and … probably five eighths of the half bloods. Actually, since the modern politics debate club spread to more than just third years, I'm not so good at remembering who is in which year."

"What club is this?" said Glenda.

"It's pretty interesting," said Blaise, "You should come."

"Harriet, Do you know about this?" said Glenda.

"Sure, I've only been trying to get you to attend since you arrived," said Harriet.

"Oh," said Glenda, "keep trying then, maybe I'll end up with an afternoon free."

.

Fleur scored top spot by a small margin. Then Dietrich and Anoushka, followed by Victor and Tom at only twenty-four points. The excitement was over and the crowd started to disperse, though a few stayed to watch the handlers trying to calm the dragons and get them healed. And distribute the horntail's eggs among the other four. The transfiguration professors of several schools entered the enclosure of the horntail to examine what exactly Tom had done. After all, he did leave a body behind.

Cinder's brood, Ember's Love, Tom's drama

Cinder stood out of sight of the crowd and contemplated who he was now, and what he planned to do with his life. It was already shaping up much better than the last one he'd had, or what he could remember of it. No, wait, that was last TWO lives. This is disorienting.

His allies looked up to him. But they could think for themselves and expected each other to think as well as possible.

It was true that in his current persona he didn't dare be seen winnowing society as it still desperately needed. But he could always polyjuice as any of his old followers and get things done that way.

No, what he needed was a way to have final victory over the old man, so that he could reign supreme.

Having his followers vote out the old war bird in favour of himself or a lieutenant believing his newer more enlightened 'pureblood' religion was a better revenge than any he'd previously believed possible, and all he had to do was keep the debate club members a cohesive unit across the obstacle of graduation. So far he'd seemed to have an attrition rate of one fifth, he needed to do better. He needed to be seen to be out there and active.

Playing and winning this tournament would help, but it would be such a little thing, and seen as such by those who really understood the cause.

If he won it would also be a proof of his prowess for all those who were only paying attention to the mere surface of things, to what the newspapers could both understand and communicate to the populace. It was an interesting question, should he play to win, or play for notoriety. So far everyone had managed notorious performances, the question would remain, what would the newspapers comprehend enough to be impressed by? Or understand poorly enough to be mystified into controversy. Winning would be a nice windfall. Not that his accounts were looking too shabby with his share of the basilisk venom, and now Ember's carcass.

There was another interesting question, should it be Cinder, Tom and Ember, or Ember, Tom and Cinder?

He was also toying with the idea of switching out 'Tom' for 'Brand.' But it slid too near the mark left in everyone's minds by his last bid for power. Maybe he'd save that for the 'little change' he still hoped to bring to Hufflepuff.

But most of that was superficial window dressing, what he needed was to re-organise his plans based on his new access to the dragon money and the dragon magic. And he must decide which of the things he'd put off for financial reasons could be brought forward. Perhaps move a few items from his budget to the club budget…

The closing announcements came and went, he paid it a little attention, he was deep in his brooding. He'd helped Luna set up one of his new meeting-minutes quills where it should only overhear everything said with sonorous, so he'd refer back to that later.

Right now though…

Footsteps approached from behind, he was feeling abstracted enough he considered ignoring them, but there seemed a nine percent chance it was a defence professor, here to tell him how his strategy had been out of the ordinary, whether that would a good thing or a bad thing he couldn't begin to predict. A throat cleared. He looked down and back.

The old meddler himself, what a surprise.

"Hello, Professor," said Cinder.

"Hello, Tom," said the meddler, "why did you do it?"

"Do which?" said Cinder.

"Kill the horntail," said the meddler.

"I didn't kill it," said Cinder, "But I'm not above taking advantage of a bit of legal fiction when it's brandished in my face. Especially since they docked points for it."

"Are you saying that you didn't kill it?"

"Legally or morally?"

"Since I'm sure you won't admit to not killing it in the eyes of the law, until you have the body rendered and the money safely deposited, let's just discuss morals."

"Fine," said Cinder, "I am not guilty of killing that dragon."

"Do you feel guilty about the outcome at all?"

"I did feel bad watching it die. I'm surprised no one is commenting about 'Tom's attempt to use Felix to keep himself alive.'"

"Luckily for you everyone saw that end up on the ground instead of in your mouth."

Cinder shrugged.

"Where did you get it anyway, it's not a quick enough recipe for you to have brewed since your name came out of the goblet."

"It was bought," said Cinder. By Tom from Harriet's source. "Paid one of my most valuable commodities for it." See if he interpreted that hint as a gambit toward information trade.

"As disastrous as it can be when improperly brewed, I'm surprised you'd trust yourself with anything you didn't brew yourself."

Apparently not. "There are tests," said Cinder, "And anyway, like you said, it's on the ground now. I wonder if it's stable enough to last until some small insects or rodents find it. Not that I know what a lucky day for an earthworm would look like, find an especially delicious dead leaf, share it with another earthworm and make even more luck?"

"Don't be vulgar."

"I'm not," said Cinder, "I'm contemplating the lives and attributes of lesser beings, in case I need to take responsibility for them, or sacrifice them for those attributes, what else is there to study in herbology, care of magical creatures, and potions?"

The meddler grimaced.

"Don't tell me you don't do the same," said Cinder, "I have memories of you stretching out over decades, I know what you're like."

"And what are you like Tom?"

"Tom once hoped never to be like you," said Cinder, "Until he understood enough herbology, care of magical creatures, and potions to understand that he could never function in this society and still be completely free of that mindset."

"Hmm."

"Old Tom concentrated on charms. New Tom has been concentrating on enchanting. I suddenly notice that you have a reputation for transfiguration, and have for a very long time."

"This surprises you?"

"No, but a few of the implications that I'm only now alert enough to grasp, do surprise me. Perhaps I must admit another hint at a reason that I should no longer take your every action as guidelines to what I should avoid becoming guilty of."

"Do you hate me so much?"

"Old Tom feared … came to fear … everything he thought you stood for. I find that I'm no longer sure what you stand for. But I also notice how easily it is to re-interpret what I think I should be standing for under certain circumstances, and I would not do you the disrespect of believing that you could not do the same."

"I will admit that loosing the titles and responsibilities of Headmaster and Mugwump has allowed me to focus on older and more profound … priorities."

Cinder nodded.

"You didn't have anything to do with that did you?"

Cinder shrugged, "To my knowledge, the board of governors did that all on their own, before New Tom escaped … the prison that Old Tom left him in."

"Oh, is that why you differentiate between them so sharply?"

Cinder shrugged again, "Wouldn't you?"

The meddler grunted, "Is that why you're trying to find a new category to put me in, if Old Tom has overtaken my old position of prime person to hate and fear?"

"Not hate and fear," said Cinder, "Perhaps, take as an anti-role-model and keep at a respectfully safe distance from."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"I … think that these days, if you refrain from using the green curse, and give me a few seconds warning, I could hold my own in a duel, at least for long enough for the outcome to be decided by who had more allies arrive after, rather than by the difference of our abilities."

"You have trouble saying its name these days, it used to be your favourite curse?"

"Old Tom did study it extensively for quite a long time," said Cinder, "He knew there were major discrepancies between it and what is taught about it."

"Such as?"

"According to all the arithmancy Tom or I can find on it, it seems to be a high precision medical charm, not a curse."

"I think you're splitting hairs. Only curses and medical charms have permanent effects."

"I begin to suspect that you don't know the difference between light and dark, or conversely between charm mechanics and curse mechanics, which by the way have very little to do with each other, or with good and evil, or with dominance-and-submission compared to equality-and-contract."

"I have very definite views on each of those subjects."

"But do those views map to a consistent arithmancy, and does that arithmancy map a reality that exists, and are you lucky enough that that reality happens to be the one you inhabit?"

"And yours does?"

"Mine is nuanced enough to have a chance, and I'm continually attempting to adjust the arithmancy to map this reality, while I equally fine tune my volition to map the reality I'd wish to live in if I had the power to alter reality."

"I'd like to review your work," said the old meddler after a long pause.

Don't worry, you'll get the chance, every thing will be public or semi-public this time. "Perhaps I'll send you an advance copy, next summer some time."

"In advance of what?"

More footsteps in the grass.

"Publishing it of course," said Cinder, "it's a collaborative work you know, the time frame is still a bit iffy, and I don't know how much pull I have, and who will be allowed advance copies."

Someone else cleared their throat.

Both wizards looked up.

"Harriet and Glenda Matirni" said Cinder, "Welcome. I assume I don't need to introduce the Hogwarts' Transfiguration Professor."

"Oh," Glenda blinked, "We've met once, in passing. We're not interrupting are we?"

"Not much," said Cinder, "He was just following protocol and registering his disapproval of Tom's breaking transfiguration safety guidelines by 'transfiguring food.' We got sidetracked by a discussion on ethics, and whether, as a gryffindor, he is equipped to see the ethical foundation he's standing on, and perhaps modifying."

The old meddler grunted, but after a disapproving look he took several steps away, not enough for privacy, but enough to signal that his conversation could wait.

"So what brings two witches like you here?" said Cinder, "when you could be celebrating with your brother, or with either of the very impressive representatives of your gender?"

Glenda put her hands on her hips, "If you think! For one minute—" she exclaimed. But then seemed to run out of words.

Harriet didn't even try to start with words, she just ran forward and hugged him. Revealing Luna and Georgina in the distance also moving this direction.

Finally she said, "Why didn't you tell me? You apparently found time to tell Moit and Georgina."

"I didn't tell either of them," said Cinder, "Oh me, Georgina is going to kill me isn't she."

"Huh, Why?" said Harriet.

"I'd say that you'll understand someday," said Cinder, "But you alone in the world might never understand."

"Um," said Harriet.

"So … Moit figured out my strategy?"

"I guess."

"When?"

"I'm not sure?"

"When the rune boards picked up around my fa— my body?"

"Probably about then," said Harriet, "I should have figured it out then too, shouldn't I have?"

Cinder nodded.

"More like when all your clones emerged from your blind," said Glenda

Cinder looked at her, then nodded, "always thought he might be too perspicuous for his own good."

"Takes after me then?" said Glenda.

Cinder raised an eyebrow and waited until she blushed, then he nodded and smirked.

"Fine," said Harriet, "I'm going to claim emotional upheaval and leave it at that."

"Was it the kind of emotional upheaval that would make you more, or less, effective in the hospital wing?"

Harriet stared at him. Glenda gave an approving nod in the background.

"Perhaps," said Harriet, "I … wanted to switch to that role, I didn't realise that it might have been for practical and sanity reasons, rather than only helpfulness and emotional ones."

Cinder nodded, "something to learn from, and pay attention to, next time."

Harriet seemed to agree, "Anyway, there's no way I'm ever sitting on the sidelines like that again."

Someone cleared their throat. This time Cinder could recognise the sound alone and didn't need to look up.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster!" said Cinder.

Harriet echoed. And Glenda followed with a formal nod and, "Mr. Smith."

"Good afternoon," He barely batted an eye. Perhaps he also calculated that was the correct amount of respect from a foreign student, "Young lady," he said, apparently to Harriet, "I put a good deal of planning and effort into how to get you the medical training you wished and earlier rather than later. If anyone tries to talk you out of the spot that you're earning by our Healer's side for any reason other than whether you can handle the responsibility, you send them to me."

Harriet blinked owlishly at him, "And if responsibility is their complaint?"

"Then it's up to you and Madam Pomfrey to decide, and either argue it with them or ignore them, whichever is appropriate for the case."

Medium Smith appeared and dashed the gauntlet of friends and authority figures to give him a hug even more clingy than what Harriet had given him earlier.

Totally not what he'd have expected of her.

"I though you'd died." she whimpered.

Tom did, of course "I did, of course," said Cinder, "Everyone saw me."

"Yes, but." She said and hugged him closer.

"I'm afraid I'd like to buy some more of 'the cat'."

"At the same price as last time?" she stood up and smirked her most goblinlike smile, "or would you prefer to trade in dragon parts now?"

Right here in front of her father too, there was something downright gryffy about her, or was that slytherin. More to the point, what did he want to trade? What did she want him to say?

"Whichever you'd prefer," he said, "but if you want part of the dragon, it might be a lot easier to arrange if you tell me sooner rather than later."

"Dragon-hide armour like all the defence professors wear under their robes this year?"

"That can be arranged," said Cinder, "but it will cost you more than a single dose of potions."

"I'm sure that, in time, we'll run across something that you won't wish to go without," she said.

This time just from what Tom's highly trained eyes could tell from the set of her shoulders and lips, Cinder was sure what she was talking about, he didn't need to bring up Ember's magic to get an idea of the state of her mind.

Tom nodded, "Quite so, we can negotiate more fully later when we have product in hand and/or parchment to record designs, notes, and contracts."

"Certainly," she said, she dropped her negotiating mask and embraced him again.

At least when she hugged him, it was herself that hugged him, not her mask hugging his mask, the way it was sometimes with Harriet.

Her father cleared his throat. She flinched hard, apparently she could also recognise him by the mere sound of it as well. She straightened and turned, "Hello father."

He gave her a formal nod. She stared at him a second and turned away, back toward the castle.

Cinder looked after her, and drew up Ember's magic. He could sense yet again that Tom had made a spur of the moment mistake with the runes. There was more to Ember than just her magic. But he'd confront that problem later, he sent out a feeler, flame-like, to follow her progress back along the lake edge.

"Can you tell I'm here?" he sent at her.

She shied and looked around, "Yes," she said aloud, as if to confirm that it was a different quality of listening than what she'd heard, then "Yes," again this time from her mind only, to confirm that it was a possibility.

"Good. Was there something else you wished to say?" he sent.

"Eventually," she said, "most of it can wait." Someone else on the path near her looked around, to see who she was talking to.

"Alright," he sent, "I'm not sure everything about how to use this magic, I suspect that it will only work as well as it currently is by line of sight."

"That's fine," she sent and seemed to relax, "Oh, by the way, The naming rights are not for sale. Her name will be Brenda: for, but not after, her father. It is said to be auspicious in this instance."

Cinder managed to mask his surprise. But still he wondered, who told her that? Who would or even could tell her that? Or that the baby would be female? Or that the baby would exist at all?

"That does sound like an auspicious name," sent Cinder, "and with that explanation I almost feel like I should pay for naming rights anyway, though perhaps at a much discounted rate."

She chuckled. It wasn't one of her happy sounds. More like joyless amusement. The sound was usually at her brother's expense … No, it was usually at her own expense and regarding the need to endure all the awkwardness and drama she had to put up with from her entire family. Ember and Tom both commiserated, though in different ways.

"The young one will be female though?" sent Ember.

"That is the forecast," sent Georgina, "if you want to bet against Luna, I'm sure someone would be happy to take your money."

"It is better to pay your seers for good predictions directly rather than bet against them, there are many more ways to be wrong than to be right."

"Of course," sent her business mask, but her insides were giggling.

Good, "I'm going to have to let go soon," he sent, "I'm still new at this."

"I understand," she sent, "don't think I'm crazy, but, … I can tell that your bird and dragon are nearby. When we talk this way."

"You are not crazy," sent Cinder, "I can also feel them both most clearly when I'm wearing Tom's body and Ember's magic."

"What if you switch to um Ember's body and Tom's Magic?"

"I don't know, I'll have to try it. Later when I have more privacy."

"Enough privacy for Ember's body? Where will that be, somewhere in the Forbidden Forest?"

"I'm certain there are many spies there that report to the big animal professor."

"I think he'd object to being 'the big game professor.'" She sent, "perhaps the big, Creatures Professor, or the Big-Creatures Professor."

"I was trying to say 'the professor who is a wizard/giant … hybrid.' But the concepts I wanted don't seem to still mean what I want when they are in Ember's mind language."

"Odd, I take it that means something terribly interesting to … Tom?"

"Yes, he also speaks snake, he has often wondered if there are easy thoughts that witches and wizards cannot think until they learn other languages to think them in."

"That sounds plausible I heard about this one language where—"

Ember's magic had stretched as far as it could around that rocky outcropping, then it snapped back.

"There's no veela in her," said Luna, "I'm sure there's not."

Oh, yes, There were people still around. No one in front of him was paying attention to him, they must all be behind him.

Glenda scoffed something under her breath.

Tom lifted his wand hand over his eye and conjured a mirror in the intervening space, so that when he turned around and brought it down it looked like he'd been staring into it, perhaps they hadn't noticed because they weren't paying attention, or perhaps because it had been invisible. Surely not because it hadn't existed.

"Sorry, had to take that mirror call," said Cinder, "and I need to make another one soon… so."

The headmaster cleared his throat, "So there's nothing between you and my daughter?"

Cinder gave him a bewildered look, "There's quarter of a mile and some of Scotland's finest bedrock between us, scores of yards thick."

The headmaster did not look interested in those details.

Tom's insight into humans came back in full force (instead of off contemplating whether muggle telephone etiquette was better for dragon conversations, than wizards' floo etiquette were), "We have had a very productive business relationship."

"Right," he grated, "And nothing beyond that?"

"I don't believe so, perhaps we should ask her," said Tom.

The headmaster managed not to growl, "What was this 'cat' of hers you're willing to trade dragon parts for?"

"She sold me some Felix Felicis a while back," said Tom, "I was just wondering if she could get me more. I'm not entirely sure if she said 'no' or if she's probing for how much I'm willing to pay to keep some on hand in case of emergencies. Of if she merely was signalling that getting it involved some risk to her life, similar to … the dragon hide clothes she asked me for."

"Not her life, perhaps," He looked beyond uncharacteristically angry and stormed off.

When he was out of earshot Glenda looked around, "I don't think having a temper like that is healthy."

"It's not," said Luna.

"I don't suppose you could send a patronus to warn her that her father thinks she stole the potions she sold me."

Harriet drew her wand, then frowned, "Not the right kind of warning to travel by patronus."

"Tut and shice" said Tom before Cinder could restrain him. But he had a message to deliver instantly to someone whose location was already known, and that was a task even old Cinder could handle, "Give me a moment would you." And Tom's form dropped away leaving … complete freedom. And an instinctive knowledge of the location of all the birds that were swimming in space instead of just floating on its surface, and an ephemeral view of the spring-loaded threads of connection that must be portkeys waiting to be used, crisscrossing the inside of space like so many spiderwebs waiting to be plucked. There was even a new one growing from inside the castle up ahead, its caster must have been very weak or unusually frugal for it to be growing so slowly.

.

A second later Cinder and Georgina appeared around the corner from the central staircase, "sorry about that," said Tom as soon as he could reform body and insight.

"Did you just apparate inside Hogwarts?" said Georgina.

"No. Technically the elemental birds use a different magic, considered more basic to space than to matter," said Cinder's Tom impression.

"But strategically the same thing?"

"Yes," agreed Cinder and Tom and Ember.

"Can anyone besides you do that?"

"Cinder and Fawks and Lady Malfoy's ice bird, and your father's magma petrel can all manage it. Though I don't know how soon your father's bird will be partner enough to carry him."

"And you could carry me?"

They blinked at each other.

"We're not talking about that until I can tell apart Tom's contradictory sense of family vs. watching out for all orphans or other children who have gotten raw deals, and haven't started taking it out on him yet, and both of those from Ember's nesting instinct," said Cinder.

"Fine," she said, "Why did you feel this demonstration was necessary?"

Tom sighed and explained what he'd said to her father.

She clenched her teeth together for several seconds and then suggested he go back where he'd come from and let her prepare as best she could. And perhaps over dinner visit her mind and they could discuss straightening out their story once she'd made one up.

He let Tom give her a look that was meant to signal that he was concerned about her ability to make up and sell a story. But that he also didn't envy her position and would try to live with whatever she came up with. He dropped Tom's form and dove through the surface of reality to swim back to the contestant's starting tent.

He lifted the flap to find Luna and Harriet were already there, examining the results of the results left by the meeting-minutes quill.

He spoke the deactivation phrase and put it away.

"Thank you," said Luna, "I couldn't get it to respond."

"It has a different start and finish phrase," he said.

"That explains it," said Harriet, "Um, you may want to go see the transfiguration professor, he seemed rather put out about something."

"Ugh," said Tom, "he wants to know if I'm new Tom or old Tom or Cinder pretending to be either one of us."

"Oh," said Harriet, "I know you're not old Tom, unless there's more to the ritual you did than I thought, but … I'd like to know the answer about Cinder also."

Tom sighed, "New Tom was coming to see the world the way I do, and I was learning to think like New Tom, even before New Tom sacrificed his body to move his magic into a container closer to the right durability for it. And now we have Ember's generally patient and benevolent view of 'squishy little humans,' to contend with. Also her current obsession with keeping her eggs guarded and if at all possible… Ugh, I'm probably going to be spending the next three days or so going over all possible methods of getting a hold of her eggs, and what to do with them if I do get a hold of them."

"Do you want my advice?" said Luna.

"I would very much appreciate your advice," said Tom. While Cinder and Ember went digging through his memories to find out just how desirable her advice was likely to be.

Luna stared at him for several seconds, "Your best option for gaining control of her eggs," said Luna, "(and it's a relatively terrible one) is borrowing a camera, and getting Dietrich's dragon to pose with yours err Ember, with Harriet posing as you, or with any adult you'd leave your… Ember's eggs with while you concentrate on school. Then walking in with that picture and transfigured documents, buy the eggs, or contracting to get 'your dragons' to hatch them, come back the next day and mind wipe the handler you bought them from."

Cinder and co. blinked at her. She'd been known to argue strongly against the ethics implied several of those methods. If she said it was Ember's best option, and that it was terrible… Never mind that, the question he … what Ember wanted to ask now that she knew why to consult Luna … "What's best for the eggs?"

"Going right now and asking if there is anything you can do to help them get to good homes. You know, rent brooms or bring blankets. Donate money, or offer to get Hagrid to bring firewood," she said, "they won't be able to accept your offer. But if they think that even 'the mean little wizard that killed her' is upset that her eggs might not get cared for. It will make several people's lives a lot better, also the eggs will get tended to about two hours earlier than otherwise."

Ember turned and move Tom's body jerkily in the right direction.

"Thanks, I'm on it," said Tom.

Cinder reasserted control and got them functioning as a more graceful whole.

Damn do humans walk funny.

And we think in surfaces instead of space.

I think that's why Harriet spends time on a broom and some of the others on thestral back.

.

When he got to the dragon keepers he found that they were slightly sympathetic to his pleas and offers but mostly they were impatient, and kept ducking out. Finally the third or fourth one he talked to complained that he'd been bothering them for almost an hour and they'd already taken care of moving the eggs to the care of the other mothers, so he should stop pestering them, and any donations he still felt he needed to make should be through proper channels, and gave him the floo addresses of the offices of two dragon reserves.

He thanked them and went to find Harriet. When he explained she gladly spimmed him back so he could make his request an hour before, and as shortly after the task had finished as he could believably appear.

Once Ember figured that one out she tried to insist they spim back even further and change something so that she could NOT DIE. It took most of ten minutes for Cinder and Tom to explain and persuade her that spimster wickets don't work like that, can't work like that. Finally she demanded they fly off somewhere safe and transform because a human sized brain wasn't big enough for her to do her thinking in very fast. And Cinder's and Tom's existential angst were obviously suffering from the same problem but not as badly.

Where do you want to go? agreed Cinder.

Are we really doing this? thought Tom.

Yes, at least until we're sure whether her brain is better, and if so, by how much, and how much time it can save us, thought Cinder.

Ah, alright.

So Tom, where is most probably safe? If I'm the one doing the swimming?

The middle of the Sahara? Suggested Tom, or a dragon preserve big enough that no one will notice or recognise Ember.

I've always wanted to see Hungary, Thought Ember, but only because of the name. This Sahara place sounds cosy.

Cinder took them.

Ember showed them around and took them for a spin and a short flight. Then she basked and they all took turns brooding until dusk began to cool the gravel.

.

{End Chapter 5}