Relevant Inspiration:

Deprived by the Crimson Lord

Disclaimer: I'm not British, French, Irish, or Polish [B/N: But I am!].

Enjoy.


-IV-

Lord Sebastien Delacour apparated to his chateau with a fairly audible bang, followed by the subtler pops of Maximilien Delaguède and Timofey Pierre. Compared to most men, Timofey would have been considered huge, but in the wake of Lord Delaguède, the Commandant of Arcane Defenses seemed a hound beside a mountain. The trio rushed along the flagstone and grass path towards the huge house, none more anxious than the father that feared for his children. His path was blocked a few dozen meters further, however, by a boy with silver sunglasses, and bare feet. He did not wait until he was close to shout, instead calling across the green as he rushed forward. "Was there an attack? Is my family safe? Is Fleur okay? Gabrielle? Apolline?"

John held his hands up in a universal gesture of peace. His response was measured, and calm. "They are fine and well, Lord Delacour. Your wife and daughters are healthy, and sitting within the main sitting room." While Sebastien slowed from a dead sprint and took several relieved breaths, he did not cease his movement. Deep within his mind he still held a need to see his family for himself, as if only in holding them could he feel assured that he had not failed by being absent when they had needed him.

Maximilien and Timofey, though seeming placated as well, both had noticed something that the Minister of Arcane Defenses, in his rush, had not. A man's dead body. Maximilien did not hold his tongue.

"So there was indeed an attack?" Sebastien whirled around to see what the taller man was referring to, then seeing the corpse with a collapsed chest, turned to the bodyguard he had hired for answers. In doing so, he also noticed two more dead men behind John and nearer to the front door.

"Yes, sir. We were attacked by a group of seven men. They arrived at the fringes of the property around three in the morning, but due to this chateau's comprehensive wards, they did not reach the front door of the house until the sun was beginning to rise, around half past six." John replied. "I chose to leave them where they died, 'thought it would make it easier for you legally." Sebastien took another deep breath, calming his racing heart, and stopped in front of the boy on his payroll.

"Where are they?"

"One in a pit by the western side of the river, one beside your two compatriots, two behind me, two by the southern chateau entrance, and the Count beside where your statue of Caesar was. I'm afraid I couldn't stop him from destroying it." This was accompanied with the slightest of tilt to the corner of his mouth, but it was gone as soon as Sebastien saw it. He thought on all that John had said, and came up a few questions short.

"A pit by the river?"

"Yes, sir. Filled with punjis." Sebastien and Timofey winced. Maximilien began to smile. His was the next question.

"You took down seven men by yourself?"

"I took down five. Salomé Bardot took down two that flanked the southern entrance." Each man reacted differently. While he was still smiling, Maximilien nodded his head, then passed by the others to examine the two dead men behind John. Timofey cocked an eyebrow, and Sebastien frowned.

"Salomé took down two by herself? Without injury?" At that John held back a wince.

"She is unharmed, but was almost assaulted, physically, by the two she killed. Her mental state seems good, but only time will tell." John saw Lord Delacour turn slightly pale.

"Where is she?"

"With your wife and eldest daughter in the main living room. Besides Salomé and me, only they knew of the attack. Jezebel is with Gabrielle, both are stunned and sleeping safely in their room." Sebastien nodded once, and walked by the bodyguard, determined to see his family. Timofey, however, followed Maximilien, looking at the two dead would-be-attackers whose faces were a mess of flesh. He spoke now to John, looking up at the boy.

"What spell did you use?" John approached, bare feet making no noise on the soft grass and cool stone.

"Cartilage-to-magma curse."

"Where did you learn such a thing!?" The commandant's face was a blanched picture of shock.

"At the Akadimía we studied, among other things, the spells used by various magical groups around the globe. One of these groups were the Marshals." Even Maximilien gave a half-shudder at the mention of the sanctioned enforcers of the ICW.

Throughout history, if someone or some group (at times even countries) dared to disobey the decrees of the International Confederation of Wizards, they would task one of the three Marshals with the problem. Normally, one of the three killers would in turn task one of their own seven subordinate magi with the job, and the problem would soon no longer be one. These subordinates, nicknamed the Marshal's Aces, did not always have the renown of their bosses, but they were not to be underestimated. Famously, in 1683, one Marshal had assigned the defense of Vienna to his best Ace, Tomasz Dabrowa. The Polish mage had been known for his flair for the dramatics, and had called in a favor from the King of Poland.

Jan Sobieski had somehow managed to take 25,000 of the elite Hussar cavalry along with 28 pieces of artillery up the side of the looming Kahlenberg Mountain, a thitherto unprecedented task. Every tactician on either side had said scaling the mountain would be impossible with cavalry, much less artillery. Yet impossibly, magically, Sobieski had succeeded. He then proceeded to charge down the side of the mountain with his cavalry, and rout the 150,000 man Ottoman army in a victory so total, the Empire never again presented a true threat to Europe. It was even said that when the sun rose, Dabrowa had set the spears of his cavalry alight, and that the crimson fire had burned amongst the corpses of the dead for days after.

Timofey remembered being taught what had happened at Vienna, and shuddered at the thought. That hadn't even been a Marshal, just an Ace. He looked at the boy now. Not only had he claimed that he had studied and learned the spells used by such a lethal group…hadn't he said he was—

"You're part of the Akadimía?" Lord Delaguède's voice betrayed his surprise.

"Yes, sir." There was now a spark of respect in the blond titan's eye.


Sebastien held some expectations when he walked into the living room, but the scene still threatened to crack his heart. His Apolline sat, arms wrapped around the curled-up form of Salomé, whose eyes were puffy and red from crying, tear trails drawing rivers down her cheeks. He heard his wife whispering and cooing softly to the distraught girl, with Fleur sandwiching her friend into a bundle of warmth and comfort. When he entered, however, his daughter shot to her feet, ran over to him, and smacked him across the face. He blinked, and opened his mouth to respond when she buried her face into his shoulder, and began shaking. Wrapping her in his arms, he carried her over to a love seat across from the couch where his wife sat, and plopped into the soft cushions. His voice was stern, but gentle in volume.

"I know you're upset, Fleur, but if you smack me again you will be punished. I am still your father." She nodded into his shoulder, and raised her head to look at his brown eyes with her crystal blue ones, showing both parts apology, and confusion.

"Did you know there would be an attack?" Her voice was just above a whisper.

"Yes, ma cherie." She sputtered in surprise and indignation, and he heard a similar sound, though muffled, from her friend in Apolline's embrace. He continued, however, when he began to feel Fleur's shakes increase and her skin began to grow hot to the touch. "Fleur, at peace. Do not let yourself transform. I will answer the questions you have. First however," He turned from looking at her to looking at Salomé, "It was never my intention for you to be in any real danger Salomé. I've seen you here enough to know you are a wonderful girl, and to consider you a member of this household. I truly believed you and Jezebel would be safer here than at Jezebel's house. I know that may be hard to understand, but I hope in telling you, your confusion will subside." He paused, and took a breath, pleased to notice that Fleur had cooled down and was listening intently as well.

"It started when Timofey brought to my attention that one of the men I expected to run for my office next election died mysteriously. Individually, this wouldn't stand as a greater problem than any other political tragedy, but then Sophie Thomas, the former Minister of Intelligence, approaches me with news that Lucius Malfoy had been seen entering France to visit his cousin Count Flavius Malfoy, as well as Aramis Motierre, and Mance Chervaux. Three days later, she is called back to the ICW and Motierre is appointed Minister of Intelligence. So we have a quartet of known blood-purists, one of whom has long wanted my job, having a secret meeting in France. Suddenly, one becomes a minister, and another who is running to be minister starts losing competition." He looked between the three women in the room with him.

"So I contacted my friend from when I attended Beauxbatons, Luis-Gerrard Laurent, asking if he could recommend a bodyguard for Fleur." Sebastien heard a small gasp from within his wife's arms, a gasp of understanding. He continued. "He flooed me back saying he had found the perfect one, and when we met in person, he presented John to Apolline and me. John is a graduate of the most elite bodyguard program in the world, the Akadimía." Sebastien made to stand, but Fleur grumbled into his shoulder so he affixed her with a look. She grumbled again, but relented, getting up, and moving over back to where she could hug her friend. Sebastien followed her, but stopped at the foot of the couch, and dropped to sit with one knee raised and the other leg crossed beneath him. Looking deep into the grey eyes that stared back, he spoke gently.

"Salomé, I want you to know that I never thought you would come to any harm, and I am sorry that you have. I explained why I did what I did so that you would know that there were, in fact, some thoughts going through my head when I made the decision to have you and Jezebel stay the night. However, despite good intentions, I fucked up." The eyes blinked, and he heard his wife suck in breath to reprimand him, but he pushed on. "Simply, plainly, I fucked up and broke the trust you have in me as an adult, and as your friend's father. If you don't want to come back here, I understand. I hope you don't take any of the blame I deserve, and put it on my daughter. She deserves a friend like you, even if her dad doesn't." He smiled sadly, but there was genuine love in his eyes, and his feelings were bare to see. Salomé blinked new tears back, and sniffled loudly. When she spoke, it was a soft murmur.

"Ish fhinne…" She blinked again, and brought a bunched trio of tissues up from somewhere beneath the heavy quilt she and Apolline were half-covered with and blew equal parts snot and mucus into it. After wiping her nose, she flicked it off to the side, and into a large pile that had been gathering beside the couch. Apolline glanced at the pile, and idly evanesced it. Salomé tried again. "Its fine…I mean, I know I'm not going to be right as rain tomorrow, but I'm safe here." She realized the irony of that statement, and quickly tried to explain. "I placed myself in danger when I volunteered to help. I don't hold any of you to blame." She took a deep breath, and tried on a smile. It fell short of smiles he had seen from her before, but an effort none the less. "Can…Can I speak with John?" Sebastien nodded, and stood up.

"Do you want us here for it?"

"Private, just a minute, if that's okay?"

"Of course it is fine!" Apolline motioned for Fleur to get up.

"Thank you…Monsieur and Madame Delacour…and you too Fleur, thank you for everything." Apolline smiled as she ushered her family out of the room, turning to wink over her shoulder.

"Not a problem dear, though if you keep calling me Madame Delacour, we might have one." Salomé smiled shyly, and gave a small apology before the door was shut, and she was alone with her thoughts. Probably not what the Delacours had intended, but Salomé wasn't complaining. She needed a few minutes to think. Rubbing her face with both hands, they came away with snot and tears, and she spent a few minutes trying to grab tissues without befouling the quilt. Quite a few minutes, indeed.


Sebastien walked with his family as far as the entrance hall, where the two women went upstairs to check on the girls, and he continued outside, only to find the front yard devoid of people. Following distant voices, he found the others at the southern entrance, on the patio beside the dueling lane and two more corpses. He glanced at them as he approached John.

"John, Salomé wants to talk to you." The boy nodded, and as he made to pass Sebastien, the older man put a hand on his shoulder. He pretended not to notice the boy give the slightest of flinches. "You be easy on her, or we will have words." John saw the ice in his employer's eyes, and gave a nod.

"Sir, with all due respect, it was never going to be any other way." It was Sebastien's turn to nod, and he let the boy on his way. Turning to Lord Delaguède and Commandant Pierre, he fielded his next question.

"Do we know any of the men?" Timofey chose to answer.

"None of the three dead by the front door were anyone we knew, but these two are. One is Marc Gaspard, a former Gringotts employed cursebreaker and rune-smith, the other is Gerrard Montblanc, third heir to the magical half of the family. Last I knew he was keeping his nose clean in Vichy." Sebastien looked next to huge man who scratched at the side of his blond head. Maximilien met his inquisitive gaze and sighed.

"He was a dueler in the underground leagues a few years back, then he dropped out when one of his siblings died. I hadn't seen him since."

"Who was his sponsor in the league?" Lord Delacour had a guess, and the answer fulfilled it.

"Count Flavius Malfoy." The three men were silent for a second, taking in the scene. Then Timofey broke the silence.

"So Gerrard here went from minor league duelist to a professional hitman."

"Looks like." The white-garmented giant grunted.

"What do you think of this?" Maximilien gave a mocking glare at Lord Delacour.

"They call me marteau not Poirot." Despite the situation, Sebastien chuckled.

"Timofey then, how did they die?" The commandant took another minute to look over the patio. He clicked his tongue, then stood up from where he had been crouching. In his hand was a wand.

"They hit her from behind, and she lost the wand." He shook the piece of wood in emphasis. "Then they grappled?" He frowned, and then winced. "I think that's when they tried to…well, rape her. She surprised them." He gestured to the crooked leg of one of the dead. "She broke his leg, and took his wand. It's missing. After that…well, she killed them both." Maximilien shook his head with a touch of respect.

"Tough girl."

"So I keep finding out." Sebastien shook his head, then, "Well, I'm going to go find Flavius Malfoy's corpse and kick the shit out of it." Timofey was quick to step towards his boss.

"Sir, I'm afraid I can't let you tamper with the—"

"It was a joke, Pierre."

"Ah, yes sir."


Salomé heard the firm knock on the sitting room door, and gathered her cracked composure. "Come in."

John was dressed as he always seemed to be, slacks, turtleneck, bare feet, and assured confidence. He shut the door quietly behind him, and moved to sit across from her. She watched as he leaned back in a relaxed pose. Chewing on her lip, she tried in vain to think of the right words to say. In her thinking, a long silence began to grow in the room, but to her relief, John did not break it, he just watched her. She felt his gaze, despite her own lowered eyes, and after one more deep breath, she raised her head to look at his face.

"Thank you." She kept her voice low, but infused it with all the strength she could muster without it failing her.

"For what?"

"Without…without you we wouldn't have made it. Without you, Fleur, Jezebel, Gabrielle, Apolline, and I would have been…would have been." She swallowed the word. Then she shook her head, and forced herself to say it. "We would have been raped."

"I recall you taking on two of them without me."

"That was luck." She spoke with a touch more volume this time.

"Bullshit." Silence.

"E-excuse me?"

"I don't know if you called me in here just to say thanks, or if you wanted some comforting, but I'm not going to let that pass. That's bullshit. Luck is a spell missing you by a hairsbreadth. Luck is hiding in just the right spot to not be found. Luck is tripping and a volley of bullets cutting the air where you stood." He paused for a split second, noticing no confusion on her face after the last example. A subtle validation of his theory. "Luck is not shrugging off a stunner. Luck is not targeting an enemy's weakness at the exact right time. Luck is not moving towards danger at the perfect moment to defeat it.

"You are just trying to hide from the fact that killing was reflexive for you. You are scared of branding yourself a killer." His words were not loud, but they hammered at the fragile walls that Salomé had raised to defend her battered psyche. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the thanks, but you need to realize that you aren't helpless. It may be hard to admit, but you must acknowledge that you have the killer instinct. Accept it. It helped you fight back, it helped you win." He leaned forward now, elbows on his knees, and stared at her with an intensity she hadn't expected. "So I have a question for you Salomé. You won when you were attacked physically, and you seem to be fighting your second battle right now. Your mental battle. So, are you going to win it?"

"yeah." Her response was pathetic, even to her own ears.

"Doesn't sound like it."

"I will win."

"And the battle after that? Are you going to cower from yourself the next time you are in danger? Are you going to let yourself and the people you love get hurt because you are too cowardly to accept that killing is the right choice? Don't tell me you are naive enough to think this is the last time you will have to fight for your life?" She hissed at that, and stood up, throwing off her blanket and taking a step towards him. He stood too, and met her halfway, eyes locked with only a pair of silver glasses in the way. She was surprised to realize he was shorter than her, but her momentary flash of superiority melted as his presence seemed to grow and fill the room. It took every fiber of strength she had to stand her ground.

"Je gagnerai. I will win. All of them."

"How?" It was just the one word that took all of the wind from her sails, and she sat down. Her head fell in her hands, but she quickly remembered her blustering guarantee, and raised her head up again, squaring her shoulders as best she could. This thing, this whole conversation, she was realizing, was itself a war. A test. She looked up at the still standing bodyguard and found the answer.

"I want you to train me. I don't want to be weak, but…but I don't want to lose myself to that instinct." She thought she saw his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but she wasn't sure.

"I won't take it easy on you."

"Because I'm a girl?"

"No." He gave a quick bark of laughter. "Because you are weak." He raised a hand to stall her scathing reply. "Mentally, you seem durable, perhaps even strong. But physically, magically, emotionally, you need more work."

Salomé bit her tongue to hold back from lashing out. The last thing she wanted to do was let some barefoot boy call her weak, but then she thought back to the skill he demonstrated at the chateau entrance. To how he kept a focused mind enough to make plans during the heat of the battle. She remembered his call about how the men would split.

"Wait…wait! You said they wouldn't go the long way around the house!" John shrugged the comment off.

"It was very unlikely that they would." Though she didn't like that simple answer, Salomé realized that it would be childish to throw the blame on someone for one simple, unlikely misjudgment. She closed her eyes and took a few breaths to calm herself down, as the memories of the short fight came back full force. She had only been there because she had volunteered. It wasn't his fault. She crushed the resentment hidden deep within her, the emotions that were making excuses for her own errors. When she opened her eyes, he was sitting again, and the tension in the room had faded into nonexistence.

"When do we start?"

"The training? Tomorrow." Her eyes widened at that.

"Demain? Already?"

"Got a reason not to start then?" She frowned in response, but then realized something.

"Why are you showing all your emotion all of a sudden? Just yesterday morning you wouldn't smile, shrug, or show your thoughts. Now…well now you are almost completely different." The corner of his mouth curved, but his response still seemed serious.

"I've proved myself." Noticing the blatant confusion across her face, he continued. "When I am first hired, due to my age, I am underestimated. Even when people hear the organization I represent, they still might think it a joke. Acting as cold and serious as I was, acting beyond my age, it makes them question their own preconceptions, makes them wonder. After the people that hire me see me in action, they never have reason to doubt, and then I can drop most of my shields." There was quiet for a short time, then Salomé managed a cheeky grin.

"You should smile more, it makes you seem, well, less like a statue." For some reason, that elicited an unveiled reply. Wide, and genuine, his wry smile changed the lines of his face. The cold mercenary became a boy her own age. But despite the smile, and the brief jump of her heart, Salomé didn't miss his choice of words. Shields.


Though frost coated the bristles behind him, and snow blanketed his vision ahead, Viktor Krum lay low on his broom and rocketed through the sky. A grey blur streaked through the blizzard, and he sloth-rolled on his broom, flying upside-down as the bludger battered snow where he had just been. A green streak shot parallel to him in the opposite direction. Green, with a touch of brown. Reaching one hand out further below him, Viktor snatched the quaffle from one of opponent's chasers, and swung back on top of his broom. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur of black and red, and without a second thought, he launched the quaffle side-armed, and the blur, his teammate, caught it, spiraling through a double-team that had materialized from the white void, and slotting a neat shot past the keeper.

He nodded to the chaser as she soared past him, rushing from the quick counter-attack back to help on defense. Viktor was proud of the team he had formed. Master Furan had informed him of the Triwizard Tournament midway through the previous year, and he had spent what time he hadn't already dedicated for training for the Quidditch World Cup and the Tournament itself drafting a team of the best players Durmstrang had to offer. Admittedly, it hadn't been easy to pick the best from across its' five school teams, but it was this one chaser that had shown up to tryouts uninvited that had surprised him the most. She had worked her ass off to beat Smolev for the position of third chaser, and had yet to make him regret placing her on first team.

The legendary seeker couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he caught a glimpse of gold in the white expanse. When Durmstrang played Hogwarts and Beauxbatons in the Triwizard's Quidditch Tournament, the other schools would have more than just one player to fear. He was still lost in his plans when his fingers closed around the snitch. It hadn't been difficult to catch, after all, he wasn't lauded as the best in the world for no reason.


That afternoon saw the Delacour family, John, Salomé, and Jezebel, still in their main sitting room, but this time sitting on the floor in a loose circle. Jezebel and Gabrielle had both been informed that there had been an attempted attack on the chateau, but that it had failed and that the legion of Ministry employees crawling around the property were the result of an overreacting Commandant and were finishing up their police work. Timofey had quickly, and willingly, agreed to the slight deception, and shouldered the 'blame' to keep little Gabby and the chatty Jezebel from panic. He had agreed with Sebastien that there was now a definite need to delegate some human security for the chateau, and was filling the paperwork to have a squad of the Department of Arcane Defenses' enforcement branch, le Dague Groupe, deployed there indefinitely.

While the Commandant was busy with bureaucracy, and Ministry employees were examining and marveling over the wards that had seemingly fallen to the attackers only to pop back up once the team had passed through. And so, to avoid the wave of visitors, all carefully watched by a white-clad titan of a man, the residents of the Chateau sat in a circle, and played a game to pass the time.

Currently, Gabrielle was giggling, Jezebel was snickering, and rest wore smiles. The rest, save for John, who sat in contemplative thought, drumming his fingers together in a steeple in front of his mouth, as his eyes flicked between the others.

"Am I American?" This was met with a chorus of negative responses. "Asian?" Again, negative. "European, then?" This time, the others nodded. John made to idly tousle his own hair in thought, but then remembered the card stuck to his forehead, and stopped himself, instead continuing the drumming of fingertip on fingertip. "Am I still alive today? No? Then…was I alive before the fall of Rome?" The response was slower this time from the Delacours and co, but affirmative. John grinned. "Was I alive during the fall of Rome?" This time there was an exasperated sigh from the family.

"Who was it this time?" Jezebel huffed, indignant that, yet again, someone had told him with their reactions more than he had asked. The boy in silver glasses smirked.

"You actually. You moved your hands like you were about to make a comment, but only said yes. Because I know you are a very…enthusiastic conveyer of information, I figured that you had wanted to add more, but stopped yourself." Jezebel glowered, but Gabrielle let out a musical laugh.

"Oh no! John is right! You talk as much with your hands as you do with—ow!" She was cut off by her sister's elbow, and a laugh was shared by all but Jezebel, who tried to pretend the perceived slight was beneath her. A diplomat as always, Apolline continued the game.

"Oui, you were alive during the fall of Rome." John considered this.

"Am I an orator?" There was quiet, and when the responses came, they were less than comprehensive. "I was more famous for something other than speaking." At that, there was uniform agreement. "Am I a general?" Again, confirmation. "Am I Roman?"

"Definitely not!" Gabrielle smirked, only to be battered by both Jezebel and her sister for the telling response.

"So I aided in the fall of Rome?"

"Oui, c'est vrai."

"Am I Carthaginian?"

"Non."

"Hungarian?"

"Non."

"German?" Silence. John sighed. "Germanic?" The elder Delacours looked to each other and grinned.

"I supposed we can say yes to that." John gave them a withering look.

"Would you prefer I said 'Am I a native of the region of central Europe to one day be considered a part of the Holy Roman Empire that was perhaps the first demonstration of Germanic unification for the purpose of conquest?'" Fleur took a bite of a particularly crunchy apple from the platter of snacks in between the group.

"Yes. Yes we would." She said between crisp bites. John's glare turned to her, focusing his feigned indignation on her and tuning out the smiles around.

"Fine. Was I instrumental in the leadership of a consolidation of the Vandals, Alans, and the multitudes of barbarian forces that would march into Italy and hold Rome itself hostage?"

"Yes. Yes you were." Fleur kept the humor off her face, but it was clear in the perfect imitation of her previous answer's dry undertone.

"Am I Gaiseric?"

"Yes!" The rest cheered as John removed the card from his forehead, and wiped off the dry-erase lettering, before writing a name of his own choice. The set of erasable cards and markers had been a quick purchase by the Delacours after learning of the game from Salomé several months prior, and had been among the family's go to games ever since.

"Here." John said, passing the card face down to Fleur, who quickly stuck it to her head with a flick of her wand and a softly spoken charm. The rest of the players read the card quickly, and while all of them smiled, as was usual in such a game, Sebastien and Apolline looked quickly at John. They, unlike their younger companions, thought they got the less obvious reason for John's choice. Jezebel too, seemed to frown in thought. Fleur didn't see the look, and scrunched up her nose before deciding on her first question.

"Am I fictional?"

"Nope."

"European?" John answered this time.

"Of course. I didn't think you would know someone from anywhere else." There was a chorus of laughter at this, and Fleur reddened. She chose to pretend that she had somehow not heard the lancing jibe, though her face betrayed her. Her weakness in History was a sore spot to her, understandable considering her excellent grades in all other classes.

"As John said, am I alive today?" The answer was a definitive no. She copied her bodyguard again. "Was I alive during the fall of Rome?" Again, negative. "Before its fall?" This time, affirmative responses. "Before Rome was founded?"

"Yes." John said.

"Are you sure I know this person? I'll admit that my knowledge of ancient history is not as solid as Jezebel's." Everyone smiled at that.

"I am certain you know this person." Apolline assured her daughter. Fleur clicked her tongue in thought.

"Am I a girl?" Several responses seemed imminent, but John waved them silent, and stared at her, a smirk on his lips.

"No." He said. She frowned, but then realization hit and she scowled.

"Ok, smartass, am I a woman?"

"Yes, yes you are." Fleur decided that the snarkiness was not nearly so amusing when she was the one on the receiving end.

"Am I magical?" To this, there were different answers. Gabby said no, as did Salomé. Fleur's parents both said yes. John stayed silent, but it was Jezebel who gave the most comprehensive reply.

"I read somewhere, I forget where actually, it might have been in Professor Giuseppe class when he was going over the answers for our third exam…yeah, that was when I read it. I remember because I aced the exam and got the bonus too, so when he was going over his grading with the rest of class, I think you got an Acceptable on that one Fleur, anyway as I was saying, I had nothing better to do than read from the textbook, and I think it said that she was not commonly thought of as being a magical, but there were some rumors…" Jezebel looked to Sebastien and his wife. Though oblivious to Fleur's face having just hit a record level of scarlet, she seemed to be seeking the counsel of Mr. and Mme. Delacour about some other thing. Sebastien nodded, answering Jezebel, and spoke quickly so his daughter wouldn't burst in anger.

"I do not think we need to hear more of Professor Giuseppe…" he began looking apologetically at his elder daughter, "…but you are right, Fleur, your person was indeed magical." The silver haired classmate of the mouthy Jezebel took several deep breaths before she began flinging fireballs, and then smiled to hide her grimace.

"So I am a magical…if I wasn't famous for my magic…hmmm." She mentally began cycling through the names of women who were famous before the rise of Rome. "Was I made more famous by who my children were?"

"A good question." Sebastien smiled. "But no." Salomé saw where her friend had been going.

"You are not from the Old Testament." She added helpfully. Fleur deflated at that.

"Well there go half my ideas…let's see…was I—" There was a knock at the door, and Timofey stuck his head in.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Monsieur and Madame Voller are here." Jezebel shot to her feet, and gave her friends their customary hugs in farewell. She gave her thanks to the elder Delacours, and made sure to wipe the lettering off of Fleur's card ("No peeking! We will finish this game later!") on her way out the door to return home with her parents. After the morning that all but Gabrielle had had, Jezebel's disappearance seemed so sudden, as if they hadn't had enough time together. Quickly thereafter, the family decide to abandon the game for now, and prepare an early supper. Though Gabrielle could feel the strange tenseness amongst the rest of her family and friends, she couldn't make sense of it, and resolved to be a cheering force for the rest of the evening. And, though they couldn't acknowledge it without revealing the veracity of little Gabby's feelings, the entire house enjoyed the seemingly limitless joyful energy that the youngest Delacour exuded.


"I think you misheard. I said, Give. Me. Your. Wand." Lucius hid his shock well, though to her trained eye, Voldemort's Shadow saw his confusion make way for fear. However, pride still blossomed in the depths of his soul, pride that she saw as easily as she saw the stars in the dark sky. She continued. "Or…do I need to add willful disobedience to my report?" As if it had tried to bite him, Lucius all but flung his cane to her, and she felt a flush of pleasure flood through her at the taste of his fear on the night breeze. "Good." She pulled the wand free of its sheath, and admired the silver snake. "This is your primary wand?"

"Yes."

"Where is your secondary?"

"Locked away. Until I am called to go hunting, of course, as per our Lord's orders." She smiled at his answer. He knew he was in trouble. He only ever switched to a formal 'our Lord' when he knew that. With a nod, she leaned slowly towards the outwardly stoic blonde man, and tapped him on the nose with his own wand.

"Ascendio." Lucius shot up into the sky with a cry of surprise. She reveled in his cry for help, for her to slow his fall with magic. She enjoyed his shrieking all the way until he accepted his fate, and a few seconds later, gravity brought him crunching back into the ground. His silent acceptance didn't survive his legs breaking on impact with audible snaps, and his wails brought lights flickering on in his Manor behind where he lay.

The Shadow crouched beside the broken lord, and tapped her wand to his left leg. "Ossus Mendum." She whispered, and watched his eyes bulge as his bones clicked and cracked back together. It was an old spell, one invented long before the first healing spell that accounted for pain. Perfect. Though she kept her eyes on his, she saw in her peripheral his wife and son emerge from the Manor to find the source of the screams. When she saw that the daze of pain had receded enough for him to focus on her face and words, she spoke again. "Because our Master is generous, he permitted me to magically heal the one leg. The other? You may splint it, but not mend it with magic. Let it heal naturally." She cocked her head as if something had just come to her. "Naturally…like a muggle! It's only fitting for someone who outsourced a task that he had been given directly by our Lord…fitting for a pathetic Pureblood who asked for help from his Mugglefucking cousin….oh wait…" She patted his cheek condescendingly. "But that's a chat we can have another time…"

She stood at last, ignoring his pathetic mewling. Sheathing Lucius' wand, Voldemort's Shadow threw the cane off to the side, and walked towards Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. "Hello darling! Hello dear." She addressed each in turn. Clearly happier to see one than the other. Narcissa's mask was one of happiness at the surprise visit. Draco's false countenance was not the perfection that his mother effortlessly mustered, so he hid his fear behind a mask of curiosity. Ever the paragon of her art, Narcissa gave a deep curtsy.

"Welcome to our Manor, Lady Carrow. How may we best be assets for our Master and his Shadow this evening?"

"Oh hush Cissy, it's always Amycus to you darling! After all, our Lord has no displeasure with you. I came to bring a message to your husband, and to bring…young Draco to meet our Lord." Draco couldn't hide the shock in his eyes, but his mother did.

"This is a wonderful message indeed! Draco, go along. Remember, it is never prudent to keep the Lord waiting." Draco nodded his acknowledgement, throat thick with swallowed words. He fell into step behind the Shadow as she turned on her heel, face now devoid of the carefree attitude she had directed towards his mother, and she strode towards the apparition point.

She made sure to step over his father, where he was pitifully crawling towards his cane.


N/B: \Maximilien comments that he is called the hammer not Poirot. Poirot is a legendary Belgian detective written by Agatha Christie.

\Yes we are adding a Dueling and Quidditch Events to the Triwizard Tournament. This is both because my boyfriend wants more excuses to write action scenes, and Quidditch is cool.

\Dague Groupe translates as Dagger Group. It just sounded like an awesome name for the french Aurors.

\So, Amycus Carrow….that's my fault. I somehow completely forgot that he is a he, and Alecto is the she. [B/N: I told her, but she wouldn't listen.] Regardless, Imma keep it, so now Amycus Carrow is the sister of Alecto Carrow.

\Ossus Mendum is bullshit latin (my go-to choice for spells) for Mend the Bone. I tried to have it be as simple and brutish in word as it is in effect.


Authors Note:

Here is a chapter much more quickly than my standard upload, and there should be another up in a few weeks. Unfortunately, there will be a three month gap after that before chapter six. I know my promise to not do that to y'all, but the Marine Corps doesn't permit phones, computers, or otherwise at Basic Training. After that, however, I should be back to a one or two chapter a month schedule.

Additionally, a shout out is necessary for a Guest and 'Zicou' who corrected my poor French in the previous chapter. In the wise words of a legend, "You are breathtaking!"

[B/N: While not everyone will like the tough talk John has for Salomé, it is what he as a character would say considering his experiences, and it will have a fun impact on her development as a character.

Also, we have tragically realized that due to Basic Training, Vi and I will not be able to see the new Star Wars together on opening night, a violation of our tradition with the new movies. So no spoilers in the reviews! I will lose my cool if I check them and find spoilers... I might even add some more characters to the GRRM list!]

May the Force be with Y'all,

Semper,

Vi