Disclaimer is in chapter 1.

Wednesday Addams eyed the blond Veela from where she sat, considering the words she'd spoken. Finally she glanced over at Padma, who was wide eyed beside her, and nodded slightly.

"Sit." She said, her eyes coming back to Fleur.

Padma took the hint rising up as Fleur stepped around the table to accept the offered seat. She said nothing, waiting for Wednesday to break the silence as Padma found another seat nearby.

"The Clan doesn't collect debts," Wednesday said finally.

"The Veela do repay them." Fleur countered.

Wednesday's lips curled up slightly, "I see. It is so noted then."

"I am at your service, if you need me." The Veela said softly, "As are ma famille."

Wednesday didn't respond, opting to return to her breakfast instead. For a moment it looked like Fleur would press, try to force a conversation, but Luna leaned forward slightly and caught her eye as she shook her head. Fleur hesitated, then nodded and began to pick at the food in front of her.

She, like pretty much every Veela in France knew at least something about the idiosyncrasies of the Addams Clan. The Clan had turned from Myth to Legend then, when they'd come out of the shadows in the midst of a war and spirited away hundreds of Veela marked by Grindlewald's Stormtroopers for placement in one of many 'entertainment' camps for higher level members of the Order.

Almost no one outside the Clan or the Veela people knew of the Addams' intervention, history mostly crediting the Werewolf clans with the miraculous survival of the Veela. The wolves had been a common part of the first stage of many rescues, but it was the Addams that stood their ground against Grindlewald's forces in their entirety.

Fleurs grandmother was there one cold morning in December of Forty Three when Grindlewald personally led a force of three divisions of his Stormtroopers, complete with demonic attack dogs, battlemage support, and god alone knew what else to the boundaries of Addams Clan lands.

Forces that had flattened the mystical defenses of eight nations, destroyed countless armies in their passing, and made the word literally tremble… had splashed against the Addams wards like waves breaking on a sandy shore.

When then Clan Patriarch Charlus Addams calmly walked to the ward line and casually asked Grindlewald if there was anything he could do for him Fleurs grandmother had been afraid that he would broker a deal and turn them over. Instead the nonsensical banter from Charlus had enraged Gellert to the point that he unleashed everything he'd brought in a final assault that left his own forces broken while Charlus calmly shrugged and walked back into to his home.

Her grandmother had explained to Fleur that for the longest time no one could adequately explain the lack of reason in Grindlewald's actions. The man was a warding genius, he knew that you don't simply lay assault to ancient wards in such a manner. Those few historians who knew of the event ascribed it to a rare lapse in judgement and lack of general information about the battleground on Gellerts part.

Fleurs grandmother, however, had another explanation. She said that Charlus Addams had intentionally riled Gellert to the point where he saw nothing but red, and had done it with a cheerful smile and nonsense on his lips.

After that debacle, Grindlewald's main forces were broken. The weight of his demands fell more and more on his non-magical allies, and the momentum both sides had built began to crumble to dust as the Allied forces, both magical and non, poured into the breech and eventually dragged the man down along with his thousand year dream.

History credited Albus Dumbledore with taking down Grindlewald, but the Veela knew that Dumbledore would never have gotten within five hundred miles of the man if it hadn't been for Charlus Addams.

So Fleur kept her silence and ate, knowing that you didn't enter into a conversation with an angry Addams. It would have long term consequences that you couldn't predict, you could only dread.

Wednesday was highly aware of the blond eating at her side, her mind carefully cataloging every motion and expression as she considered the Veelas words. She knew about the history the Veela was referring to, it was Clan history after all. However, she had spoke the truth when she said that the Clan didn't collect debts.

Debts were for civilized people. Slaves and slave holders. The clan acted, and it accepted the consequences of its actions, whatever they might be. It didn't loan either its money or its members in any shape or form, nor did the clan borrow anything from anyone.

That wasn't to say the Addams were anything but generous and willing to provide support and succor. Her father, like his father, and uncountable generations before, gave freely of their money and their time.

The operative word being gave.

There was no expectation of repayment, not even a desire for it.

Only slaves accrued debt, only slavers collected it.

The Addamses were many things, but the one thing they couldn't abide in any form was slavery. Wednesday smiled slightly, amused slightly at how Hermione might react to that fact. She knew she hadn't been terribly supportive of Hermione's outrage, but that was in many ways the problem. The girl was all bluster, no substance. She had no plan, not even any research to support her actions.

An Addams did not bumble blindly.

Not unless they were looking for a good time, at any rate.

None of that told her what to do with the Veela at her side, however. The girl, her clan in fact, believed they owed the Clan a debt. Wednesday pitied her and her people that, but not everyone could be where the Clan was.

She sighed almost imperceptibly, she did not need this complication now.

Albus Dumbledore watched the scene at the Ravenclaw table with some puzzled concern. Delacours little speech hadn't been loud, but he'd focused in curiously from the start of the scene and was genuinely confused.

An honor debt? To the Addams Clan? He'd never heard of the like, the Addams didn't answer calls for help, they didn't loan anything. It was a signature element of the family, and one of the many reasons so few people in the world even knew they existed. They simply didn't interact much with society.

Young Wednesday's response told him nothing, which was far from unusual when dealing with her, he'd found. Most people were easy reads, in his experience. Body language, facial expressions, even word choice. Most of the time he didn't even need Legilimency to read someone's mind.

The young Addams scion, however, was an encrypted page to him much to his chagrin. He wouldn't even dare try Legilimency on the girl, even with cause, and her verbal tells were basically non-existent while her nonverbal were utterly alien.

He could, however, read Veela easily enough.

The Delacour prodigy was tense, but genuinely seemed to look to the Addams with some sort of reverent fear. An unusual combination in Albus' experience.

In Hogwarts it was not uncommon for Albus to see some of the most important future leaders of his nation meet and begin to forge long term alliances that would eventually shape the direction Magical Britain would take.

It was slightly more uncommon for him to see such things happening with the future leaders of Magical Europe.

What he was witnessing now, Albus Dumbledore feared would extend far beyond that.

Padma Patil was carefully reconsidering everything she'd previously thought in the light of current events. Delacour was an important name, both in France and, if she remembered correctly, among the Veela peoples. An honor debt meant something important to the Veela, it wasn't bandied around lightly.

In fact, she didn't think that there had been a public acknowledgement of any such debt in centuries. Decades at the least, she was certain. The Veela people had withdrawn from the world for the most part after the atrocities they'd suffered under Grindlewald's attempt at World Order.

Since then, at least, there had been no Veela honor debts acknowledged, she was sure. Prior to that she wasn't as certain, but it had been a long time.

This group has the makings of a world power, she realized with stark surprise.

Potter and, through him, Hermione could leverage his name into the premiere power in Wizarding Britain. She'd researched enough about Magical America to know that Harris was a well-known and powerful name there, which added to Xander's creativity could turn him into a serious power in the Americas in a very few years.

The Addams name spoke for itself within the circles who knew of such things, and the addition of a Veela honor debt was going to skew everything she'd considered.

This would take some thinking on.

Harry was largely ignorant of the proceedings at the Ravenclaw table, he had worries of his own to think about.

The third task was coming up shortly, and he knew he wasn't ready.

Forget all the extra work he'd being doing, the more he trained the more Harry realized just how far behind the curve he was. He had no way to get caught up in time, and would have to wing it as he went into the third, and likely most dangerous of the tasks.

Every year at Hogwarts seemed to deal him a crap hand, Harry thought, and it only got worse as the years went on.

Honestly, he was genuinely terrified of what was going to happen next year.

That assumed, of course, that he survived that long.

Ok, he wasn't really worried about getting killed. Not in the tournament anyway, he supposed. At worst a week or so in the infirmary, Harry thought. He had a much higher likelihood of dying on Privet drive in all honestly, since the Dursleys wouldn't take him to a hospital if he paid them.

Here at least Madam Pomphrey would see to any injuries he sustained, whether he liked it or not.

Harry smiled wryly as he considered that and refocused in trying to determine what he could do to give himself a chance at the last task.

Xander caught Wednesday's eye briefly as the blond sat down, but only nodded when he read the nearly imperceptible shrug as she glanced in his direction.

I wonder what Fleur wants? He wondered idly, but didn't worry about it. It wasn't his worry, and if it was, he knew Wednesday would fill him in.

Barely fill him in, probably, but just the same.

He shrugged and went back to his meal.

"You and your friends like to create a stir."

Xander glanced over to see Daphne eyeing him intently and just smirked.

"Keeps life interesting."

"You've brought Patil into your group."

Xander just looked sideways this time, "You're watching us."

"I'm watching everybody."

"Nice to know." Xander muttered, starting to wonder if maybe Padma hadn't exaggerated in her little story about their cabal. Who else is watching and thinking the same things?

"Why did you bring her in?" Daphne asked, making her voice sound slightly hurt as she pouted at him. She'd only recently begun to develop her seduction game, and felt that this could be a fun test.

Xander barely blinked, which was more than slightly irritating as he glanced up and to the side at her.

"She asked."

Daphne was a little miffed when he went back to eating, unaware that his mind was so caught up in wondering how many people were watching him and his friends that she probably would have had to flash him to get much more of a reaction.

Wednesday glowered at the book in front of her, frustrated by the attention it was sapping from her personal project of the year. The Goblet still waited, it's very existence an insult to the Clan… to any free thinking person anywhere in fact, yet she found herself unable to keep from contemplating the rites she'd found within Padma's contribution to the 'Cabal' they had formed.

It wasn't just the form of the rite, or its results, though those were both alluring in their own rights.

No, mere pleasures of the flesh or added power and gifts weren't enough to truly sway her attention. The Rite, itself, however was an enigma. An enigma she was beginning to believe she had solved.

It was a Blood Sacrifice, one that could be expanded according to need, and in turn granted certain power boosts and gifts to those who enacted it. Those granted boons, however, were out of magnitude compared to the sacrifice and Wednesday had puzzled over that discrepancy for days even while she was trying to focus on the Goblet.

Magic always balanced, like anything else in the universe. It only seemed to be 'free', you always paid for what you got. Often the costs were easily manageable for Wizards, however, so they didn't really think about it.

Transfigure a chair? A little focus and some magical power tapped from your core. The cost was there, but it was deceptively small. The vast majority of spells were much the same, costing focus, intent, and power. All renewable resources for a Wizard.

This made magic a very attractive and powerful ally, but it was predictable for the most part. A given spell would always cost a given amount, try to cast too much and you'd eventually suffer from Magical Exhaustion, an uncommon but well documented condition that generally put a Wizard or Witch off their feet for a few days to a couple weeks.

Arithmantically you could calculate and predict the cost of the spell, and its output.

This Rite, however, was defying her calculations.

The power output far exceeded the input in all measurable manner which, even by magic, was quite impossible. The puzzle of it was irresistible.

It wasn't unique in that, of course. There were several historical bits of spellwork that had been noted to be of the same nature, granting an effect seemingly far beyond the cost. Many of Merlin's infamous works were among those, but there was only one modern example of which Wednesday was aware.

The Fidelius.

It was an obscure charm, but one well discussed in certain circles. The Clan had taken an interest in it before she was born, Wednesday knew well, because too many in the Clan the idea of being able to simply… vanish… was incredibly attractive.

The main house wouldn't likely hide behind it, she didn't think. Honestly, she couldn't imagine her parents caring enough about the outside world to be frightened by it. However there were others in the Clan who honestly hated the society that existed around them, and would more than willingly secret away the very knowledge of their existence if they could.

That said, only one man knew how to cast the spell after the death of Lilly Potter, and Albus Dumbledore had no intention of ever letting it's secret out.

Now, however, she'd found another spell that fit the same arithmantic problems as the Fidelius… and, far from discouraging her, Wednesday thought that she had found the secret. The reason the spell worked, the reason it worked so well for so very little cost.

She'd located the sacrifice that truly powered the Fidelius and, if she was right, this new Rite as well.

She needed to check her calculations, however. She had to be sure.

Hermione was in her favorite place in the world, deep in the library stacks in search of something new. The Hogwarts Library was a treasure trove for her, things almost literally appearing on a daily basis and just waiting for her to discover them. She was carefully noting all the titles of her latest finds when a chill ran down her spine, causing her to pause and look up slowly.

She didn't see anything as she looked around, and shook her head slightly as she returned her focus to the books. A quiet cough brought her head up and Hermione shrieked when she saw Wednesday standing in front of her.

"Wednesday!" She gasped, "Don't DO that!"

"I need your help with something." Wednesday said blandly, ignoring the admonition.

"I'm a little busy now," Hermione scowled as she clutched at her chest, "Not to mention having a heart attack."

Wednesday merely stared until Hermione sighed.

"Fine, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I merely require a second opinion of a set of Arithmancy equations."

That brought Hermione up short, Wednesday was arguably the top student in the Arithmancy class. Granted, sometimes Hermione herself was able to squeeze out a marginally better grade, and occasionally Padma or Tracy Davis did the same, but Hermione couldn't imagine Wednesday needing her numbers checked.

"Oh?" Hermione finally mumbled, genuinely confused. "With what?"

"These." Wednesday handed a sheaf of parchment to her.

Hermione puzzled over it for a moment, then her eyes went wide and she looked up in surprise, "What is this? This isn't for class."

"No."

"Wednesday, these are some of the most complicated arithmancy equations I've ever seen." Hermione confessed, forgetting her stack of books as she began to pace. "There's fully a third of this equation that… it doesn't make sense, where are these numbers coming from?"

"I just need to know if they balance." Wednesday said simply.

"But… but this doesn't make any sense," Hermione stuttered out. "Where are you getting those kinds of numbers? I've never seen anything like this…"

"You wouldn't have. Most spells on this level are now labeled as irredeemably dark." Wednesday replied, "These are my projections for the Fidelius."

Hermione gaped at her for a long moment, then bent her head and began devouring the equations. Wednesday waited in silence for long minutes that quickly ate up the better part of an hour as Hermione paced between the stacks and mumbled to herself.

Finally the bushy haired witch stopped and looked over at her.

"The numbers balance, best I can tell. I'd like to take a couple days to go over them in detail," Hermione admitted, "But I don't see any glaring issues."

Wednesday nodded, satisfied. "As I thought then."

"But they still don't make any sense," Hermione shook her head, "I see the magical power of the caster's core is factored in, as well as the adjustment for tapping into the ward schema of a dwelling, but that still only accounts for less than half the power you're rating this spell at, and these numbers on the caster side of the spell don't match anything I've ever seen."

"They're sacrificial equations," Wednesday said simply.

Hermione took a breath, eyes widening as she slumped against a shelf and swallowed. "Blood?"

Wednesday shook her head, "no. Something… more powerful."

"But… what?"

"Faith." Wednesday answered, pointing to the section of the equations. "The person wanting the secret kept must offer up their trust and faith as part of the charm. If they don't have faith in their secret keeper, the charm will fail. If their secret keeper isn't worthy of their faith, the charm will fail… even if he doesn't tell anyone it could fail, if he betrays them in another way. The charm is powered by a sacrifice of trust. It's why you can't be your own secret keeper, why the Potters had to entrust someone else."

Hermione's brow furrowed, "but… how do you quantify trust?"

"You don't. That's the point." Wednesday said quietly. "There's no way to tell how effective the Fidelius will be until after it's cast, and even then the only sure way to know if it's weak is to have it broken. It's all about faith."

"Incredible." Hermione said after a moment's thought. "That's a completely different level of magic from what I've studied. It's…"

"Spiritual." Wednesday whispered softly, her voice almost reverent. "I know."

Hermione shook her head, "Why are you researching the Fidelius?"

"It's a spell of interest to the Clan," Wednesday replied, misdirecting Hermione with a partial truth. She had to think more on the original spell of interest to her before she told anyone, and even then she would only be telling those she chose. "The Clan has many tracts of land that would be worth hiding for the protection of the inhabitants."

"Oh." Hermione nodded, accepting the explanation easily enough. She knew about the magical preserves of the Addams Clan from previous conversations, particularly about Buckbeak. "Do you think you can recreate it?"

"With this information? I believe so, with time and work of course." Wednesday said. Likely Lilly Potter had recreated it from far less, she thought, so she was relatively confident that with the resources afforded her by the Clan she could create a working version of the Fidelius.

She wouldn't be trying on her own, or anytime in the near future, however.

Wednesday had other goals in mind.

The Third and Final Task of the TriWizard Tourney was looking in Harry's mind and his very near future, and nothing he did could make him feel like he was ready for it. He'd been working hard over the entire year, even more since Christmas, but every step forward he made seemed only to illustrate just how much farther he had to go.

All that said, though, he felt stronger and fitter than he'd ever been in his life.

Harry couldn't believe the difference in some of his spellcasting since he'd begun working on it seriously, he'd improved so much. His power was much the same as always, but he could cast faster and longer without wearing himself down and he could move!

Ok, he wasn't as insane as Xander.

Harry shuddered.

Running up and down walls, and casually dropping ten to twenty feet without a thought wasn't on his list of things to try, but Harry had learned more about dodging from Xander in the past few weeks than he had avoiding Dudley his entire life… and that was saying something, to be frank.

His offhand casting had improved a lot as well, at least with power attacks like Reductor and Stupefy. He didn't have the manual dexterity to really use much variety with his left hand, but being able to shield with the right and cast with the left had to be an advantage, right?

Not that he could use it in the tournament, unfortunately. Xander had been pretty clear about that, Harry knew. He wasn't registered to own two wands, so showing them in a public arena like the TriWiz wouldn't be the brightest thing for him to do.

Still, as aces go, Harry felt that the second wand stood as a pretty potent hole card.

The trouble was that, even with all that, he still felt so young when he compared himself to the other champions. Sure he was in the lead now, but Harry knew for himself how little of that had anything to do with his own work.

Xander and Wednesday were directly responsible for his scores in the first task, Hermione and Neville in the second.

He just felt… so very small sometimes.

Harry took a deep breath as he tried to settle his stomach and relax a little, the third task was coming, but he'd deal with it. He could deal with it, it wasn't beyond him. He didn't have to win, right? Just live through it?

Harry couldn't help but scowl.

He'd never realized until he played Quidditch, but he didn't like to lose.

Damn playing to survive. Harry wanted to win it all.