Relevant Inspiration:
Deprived by The Crimson Lord
Vampire: The Masquerade. White Wolf Publishing, 1991.
Disclaimer: I am not British, French, Irish, Polish, Bulgarian, Portuguese, Indian, Filipino, Brazilian, South African, Chinese, Chilean, Saudi Arabian, nor Greek.
Enjoy.
-XIV-
"I've been thinking about the invitation…" Salomé said out loud, as she scooped a heaping of scrambled eggs onto her plate.
"Are you actually thinking about saying yes?" Fleur scoffed, doling a light sprinkle of powdered sugar across her waffles. Across the table, John finished chewing a mouth of cereal that he, much to Salomé's disgust, was eating dry.
"You haven't forgotten what his cousin did?" He raised a single eyebrow from behind his glasses. Fleur frowned, not making the connection. But her friend sighed, seeming to understand, before responding.
"Yes, but how can I talk of being a good person or forgiveness if I am not willing to overlook the so-called 'crimes of the father?' "
"Being a good person doesn't mean you have to be stupid." John pointed out.
"I know, I know. So I...er, I may have asked a professor for advice." She answered sheepishly. Fleur spewed her food, and began coughing. John idly plucked a piece of waffle off of his shirt, and flicked it back at her. The veela finished, gathered her breath, and turned to her friend.
"You did what? Why on earth would you ask a professor for advice? Most of them are half a century older!"
"Professor Vector is at most thirty. And if you weren't so smart, you could have had her for Arithmancy too." Salomé saw Fleur roll her eyes and open her mouth to comment, so she quickly continued. "Regardless, she has helped me all year when I have had questions, and I am getting an Exceeds Expectations, almost an Outstanding overall right now. I've never done that well at maths-based classes!" Salomé jabbed a finger at her friend, punctuating her argument. "And she still goes to parties and concerts, so not only is she literally smart, but she is more connected with our generation than anyone else I can ask that is not named Fleur or John." Fleur shook her head in amusement, a lazy smile about her lips.
"You could send a letter to Jezebel, you could ask your brother, you could ask Lucretia or anyone else on the Quidditch team… but I digress. Even if you found a young teacher to ask a question, the point still stands. A Malfoy? Isn't his father on the Board of Governors here. Can I just say she has to be biased?"
"Look, all I am saying is it was good advice…"
The doors to the great hall swung open and five men walked in, striding down the hall with all the swagger of prizefighters approaching the ring. They wore robes over suits, wands in hand, with the leader holding his hand out flat, a small wooden arrow floating above it, pointing to the Ravenclaw table. John recognized the point-me spell before it was cancelled, and the five walked directly up to the table behind him. However, they ignored the boy, instead all facing the girl across the table.
"Ms Delacour, I am Marcel Beldere of the Dague Group. There has been an incident back in France. We have already sent a team to collect your sister, and we would like you to come with us. Your father is in the ministry right now."
Fleur's eyes widened, and a thousand fears sprang to her mind. Dimly, she began to rise, mouth trying to get out even one of the questions she had.
"That won't be happening." The crowd of eyes turned to John. He stood, calmly stepping out from the giant table. Salomé saw that he had held onto his spoon, spinning it so it was held in a reverse grip flat against his arm. No one else seemed to notice. Her mind slipped to her training, and she planted her foot against one of the table legs, a sturdy piece of timber directly to her left. Her eyes flicked to Fleur, who was frozen half-way to standing.
"And why not?" The leader of the men asked, his head cocked and a smirk about his lips. "Surely the daughter of the French Minister of Arcane Defences doesn't need some boy's permission."
"Actually, she does. I'm her bodyguard." There was a brief speck of silence, but then the men laughed, and a whisper slid between the students. The leader choked back laughter to make a joke, but John interrupted. "There are several things that ring alarm bells for me." He gestured with an open hand to the assembled new arrivals.
"First, I met the leader of the Dague group, and I saw how he organized his men. Even after his death, I doubt his men would abandon such solid teachings this quickly." John pointed again. Salomé, more on the alert now that John was being confrontational, noticed his gesticulation had conjured a small rune on the ground behind the group. "Pathetic really. A cluster? Where is your flank security? Your rear security? If Ms Delacour is in as much danger as you claim, then surely even Hogwarts could be breached."
"We already cleared the room, foolish boy." A sneer covered the man's face.
"Really? None of your men checked the corners of the room when they entered, not even behind the doors. Furthermore, any one of the students here could harbour ill intent, and I don't see you watching them." The man was starting to get flustered, as he heard the children all around echoing the words to their friends.
"And you are watching them, Mr Bodyguard?" His words dripped with malice and venom. John nodded.
"Of course. I, unlike you, have been at this school for several months, and have gotten to know the students. Of the few that could be problematic, only three are currently awake and here. Two of them are turning half around in their seats to watch this conversation, and would have to get up to accurately throw a spell, and while the third is facing this way, he was easily in my sight where I was sitting. None of them are fast enough to beat me." He paused to let it sink in. Then, John continued.
"The most damning piece of evidence, however, is that man's boots." John pointed, and naturally all the men followed his finger. It was the oldest trick in the book. John struck.
His spoon slammed into the leader's eye socket even as his wand shot into his hand. The man screamed, hazel orb popping free and dangling from the optic nerve, but John's wand was already firing. A rose coloured beam sent the man still looking down at his boots into an epileptic seizure, flailing to the floor. The bodyguard's second spell was gold, and flung a second man over the Ravenclaw table and into a drooling heap on the floor. The cyclops of a man in front of him attempted to grab his wand, but John grabbed his hand, folding the fingers together and twisting, showing the man his palm and forcing him to his knees in pain.
The bodyguard deflected a spell back at its caster, and the man screamed as his blood began to boil. For the sake of the young children staring in horror, John counter-cursed the spell before blasting the would-be-kidnapper in the leg with an underpowered depulso. The spell knocked him flat, and onto the rune John had earlier conjured. The stranger found himself flung high into the air. The fifth and final of the fake Dague group saw his compatriots falling like threshed wheat, and went to grab a young Hufflepuff girl for a hostage. John shot him in the back of the knee with a bone-reversal hex, and he fell to the ground as his limb bent the wrong way. A blue spell sent him into oblivion.
The moment the violence had started, Salomé pushed off of the table leg. Predictably, being wedged in a line of thousands of kilograms of felled trees, the table had no give, so the athletic girl launched herself into Fleur tackling her friend to the floor like an american football player. Fleur squawked, but even her natural instinct to fight the sudden attack did nothing to slow her bigger, taller, stronger friend.
Ignoring the shouting students, John turned back to face the man at his feet, who was still blubbering in pain as he tried unsuccessfully to move. The bodyguard squatted down, forcing the limb he still held into further contortion. With the choice of following or snapping his own wrist, 'Mr. Beldere' fell nearly prone, eye now dangling mere centimetres from the floor. The boy with silver sunglasses spoke slowly.
"Are your men truly on the way to get Gabrielle?" John hissed.
"Yeah, and once they get her you know what they'll do?" Marcel began to chuckle, but John didn't waste a second, flicking his sunglasses up and grabbing the swinging orb and forcing it to look at him. Inadvertently, the man looked into John's mind. John slipped past the mental probe and into his captive's memories. It only took a few seconds to get what he needed from the man's mind, then John lowered his sunglasses back down. He placed his wand against the back of the man's eye socket, and cast obliviate. Standing, he saw the Headmaster, flanked by Professors McGonagall and Vector, approaching.
"Sir, these men tried to kidnap the daughter of a foreign dignitary. I believe the proper authorities should be made aware." The youth turned to face a wide-eyed Fleur, and Salomé who were getting up from the ground. John was proud that the taller of the two was scanning the room for any more threats. "Fleur, stay here. Don't leave the school grounds, not with anyone. Salomé, make sure she does just that. I'm going to get Gabby." Then he turned on his heel and sprinted out of the hall.
"Young man, I'm afraid I am going to have to-"
"Professor, he's not the enemy, they are." The three teachers turned to face Salomé who had gotten up and pulled Fleur to her feet. The strawberry blonde pointed to the stunned-or-groaning men on the floor, her chest heaving still from the small burst of adrenaline. For a second, no one spoke, then Dumbledore took a long breath and nodded. His eyes lost any sparkle that still remained.
"I believe you may be correct, Ms Bardot. Now, Ms Delacour, are you alright?" He asked, face a picture of concern. Fleur nodded mutely, still stealing glances at the carnage. "Wonderful. Minerva, please go to my office and Floo the ministry. I'm certain Director Scrimgeour will want to hear of this." The Head of Gryffindor house nodded and stalked off. "Professor Vector, please stay and ensure that these criminals do not go anywhere…" Dumbledore drew his wand and stunned the four men for good measure. "Prefects, please take your housemates to your dorms, and remain there until further news."
A moment of silence. The rune holding the fifth man against the ceiling winked out, and he fell earthbound, caught at the last second by the alert headmaster, before he let the man fall the last meter to the ground and stunned him as well.
"Now would be good, everyone." Spurred into motion, the prefects shot to their feet and got the students moving. "As for you…" Albus Dumbledore turned back to address the french girls, only to be interrupted.
"Monsieur Dumbledore." It was the tall girl, who had her wand drawn and at her side. "I am taking Ms Delacour to a classroom where I will keep her safe until her bodyguard returns."
A boy as tall as her, wearing blue edged robes and a fancy badge on his lapel, stepped forward. "Ms Bardot, the Headmaster is perfectly capable of making decisions regarding the safety of-"
"Really? And how did that go two minutes ago?"
"Impudent-"
"Mr Flack!" Dumbledore snapped. "A Head Boy should be courteous and civil even when provoked. Ms Bardot is doing what she thinks best, and given our pitiful track record as of late, I cannot fault her for it." The boy bit his tongue, bowed his head, and took a step away. The legendary wizard turned back to the girl who had stood up to him. "I apologize for this institution's failures at protecting our guests, I will personally see this rectified. Please take whatever measures you think appropriate to protect Ms Delacour at this time. I only ask that I be able to send a Patronus to you in the event that Mr Constantine or the Aurors are seeking you.
Salomé had no doubt that John would be able to find them, but she saw his gesture as what it was. She had no real authority to stand on, but the Warlock was giving her miles of leeway. Civility, she knew, should be answered with civility.
"Of course, Monsieur Dumbledore." She turned to go, taking a still shocked Fleur's hand, before pausing briefly. "Err...thanks." She added awkwardly, then walked from the hall, pulling her friend. A twinkle remained in the Headmaster's eyes until the two walked through the huge double doors, then he too turned to face the few people still around him. Vector was walking from kidnapper to kidnapper, stunning them again for good measure, so he turned to the Head Boy and Girl.
"Mr Flack, Ms Dunn, I will need your help," Dumbledore called. The Ravenclaw boy nodded, eager to make up for his egregious error. The Hufflepuff girl inclined her head as well. "First both of you escort our guests to their quarters. Then, Christopher, I will need you to go check on Professor Trelawney and make sure she is appraised of the situation. Elora, please do the same for Hagrid." He held up his hands to hold them back. "If on your way you see either Professors Flitwick, Snape, or Moody, please inform them that I need their presence at the great hall post-haste. Once you are done with this, you should be able to find me in my office. It will be a very busy evening." The two seventh-years departed, and Dumbledore turned to face the last remaining student in the great hall. "Ms Granger, I assume you wish to help."
"Yes, Professor." Her voice was firm. He regarded the brunette prodigy. She was a student, a perfect certainly, but not someone who should be saddled with the responsibility…
It hit him then. Men had just infiltrated Hogwarts to kidnap a guest. And this wasn't even the first time in the last decade that someone had done that. Not even the first time in the last half-decade. Someone was willing to risk childrens' lives, and he was failing to protect them. Despite his best intentions, his wards were at risk; certainly, he couldn't fault the more aware of them for wanting to help. Dumbledore found himself reconsidering the knee-jerk answer he had been about to give.
He reconsidered, then he smiled.
"Walk with me, Ms Granger. I have a Gordian knot of a puzzle I am trying to solve, one a mind of your calibre may be able to untie."
-XIV-
Salomé pulled Fleur out of the Great Hall, surprised to see a small crowd waiting for her. A crowd of all three schools. Luna, Neville, Hannah, Seamus, and Cedric from Hogwarts. The beater phenom Lucretia Botrel from Beauxbatons, and from Durmstrang, Viktor Krum...and Ginevra Weasley. For a few long seconds, no one talked, Fleur and Salomé just staring at the ensemble. Of course, it was Luna who broke it.
"Hi, Salomé! We want to help." Her voice held all the cheer in the world. The tall girl blinked in surprise.
"Uh, what?"
Neville smiled and spoke next. "Look, normally here, I'm the one who gets in grave danger every year, and my friends and I have somewhat comfortably been able to deal with it. But now, you guys are in danger here, and as always the teachers can't seem to do anything about it."
Hannah nodded and picked up where the Boy-Who-Lived left off. "So the four of us," She gestured to the Hogwarts students, "as professionals in dealing with dangers no student should worry about, want to help. This crazy tournament is dangerous enough without kidnappers breaking into the great hall and people attacking the quidditch matches."
Lucretia, the chatterbox that she was, seemed to have grown tired of staying quiet. "Fleur, you may have totally lied to me and made me lose some serious money, but even you don't deserve to be kidnapped by creeps. Plus, once I saw the other three Champions here, I figured I had to join the movement if only to have exclusive access to tomorrow's gossip!" She said it so casually, Fleur had to snort in amusement. Viktor spoke next, his own english less polished.
"And after we were able to be so, as you say, civil in ze tent before ze first task, I would not want to lose good competitors." The last word he said slowly, making sure not to butcher it. "I also think Ginevra might know something that could help."
Salomé, for her part, didn't know what to say. Thankfully, Fleur stepped up. Of course, she had never been in a situation like this before, but she chose to liken it to a Royal Court. That, she knew, was not unalike the high-brow politics her father had raised her to thrive in.
"Thank you all for the offer, but if we are to continue talking about this, we should move to a more quiet location. I would be foolish to not listen to my...guard's advice." Fleur winked at Salomé, and the girl felt a new sense of understanding blossom between her and her best friend. The strawberry-blonde smiled, and turned to everyone.
"Anyone know a quiet, out of the way place?"
"I believe we know a place or two." It was Neville's turn to smile, exchanging a glance with his own friends.
John appeared on the rolling green hills just east of Beauxbatons in time to see a group of six men escorting a familiar girl to the edge of the apparition point. John grit his teeth. He was tired of being gentle. The first man opened his mouth to claim he was on ministry business when John hit him in the face with a whispered Kourévo, the greek spell shearing off the top half of the man's head. Before the rest reacted, he transfigured a nearby pebble into a spear, and flung it into the second man's stomach. John ducked an entrail-expelling curse, and sidestepped a killing curse, before castrating the third man with a dark purple curse from an infamous Portuguese torturer. He had to give them credit, their next reactions were smart.
Man #4 grabbed Gabrielle and began booking it diagonally to the wardline, away from him. Man #5 ran beside them, erecting shields and wards that he seemed to be anchoring on his own person. Clever, John had to admit, and annoying. He could break the wards and force all the generated thermal energy into the man who chose to be the anchor to his own runes, but not while Man #6 poured an impressive amount of explosive spells his way. "Defodio. Expulso. Reducto. Relashio. Deletius." At the same time, the man pulled something from his pocket and began speaking into it. No doubt calling for reinforcements. John found himself with few options, so he went with the most audacious idea he could think of.
John twisted his hand into a fist, and pulled the earth up to block the newest salvo of spells. Then he conjured a flaming whip, and snapped it towards the treeline. The cord of molten magic lashed around the limb of an oak and held tight, slowly searing a black ring around the ancient tree. Then John let the earthen berm fall, and braced for pain.
It came in the form of the next spell that would have been absorbed by his shield, a powerful banishing charm cast with all the frustration of his attacker trying to obliterate the dirt wall. John was flung off his feet, flying backwards like a cannonball. He flew only a few feet before his infernal whip pulled taught, and his trajectory changed to an arcing loop with the lashed tree as its epicentre.
Jaw hanging, the kidnapper dubbed as Man #6 could only watch with amazement as the boy with silver sunglasses continued his arc, only for the body of the whip to impact a second tree. John felt his body yank to a new course, as he began spinning around the new tree, and he let his magic abate, the whip disappearing, and his body now on a course intercepting the fleeing men. John ignored the blur of the trees and focused only on the men who dared to kidnap Fleur's sister. The force of the banishing charm, though it had got him this far, failed to propel him anymore, and he fell several feet to the ground.
The bodyguard rolled, coming to his feet, and he shot a shield-reaver towards the man still conjuring shields and small wards. Fast on his feet though, the man summoned an iron plate just in time to block the beam of light that cracked through his wards and shields and rendered them null. John growled.
The man still on the path reentered the fight, but with trees now between him and the barefoot mercenary, he was no longer the effective counter to John. John ducked out of cover, and hit the man in the face with an iridescent curse, ending that particular threat. He then charged the still-shielding man, whose eyes widened comically when John's wand seemed to flow like liquid into a sword.
He was lucky, that at that moment, a series of pops heralded the reinforcements his now-dead comrade had called. The new arrivals appeared outside the wards, and saw their two surviving friends holding at bay a boy with a sword. Unfortunately for the shielding kidnapper, his friends blinked at the absurdity of the sight.
John slid the blade under the floating disc of iron and between the man's ribs, piercing and collapsing a lung. Wheezing, the kidnapper fell to his knees, and John spun behind him, the blade a wheel of light, and the man's head fell to the floor. The last of the original men backed away towards the edge of Beauxbatons' wards, clutching the hyperventilating Gabrielle to his chest and shaking his head violently. He had been paid to kidnap a little girl, not to fight off this demon in a boy's body. His wand snapped up from his victim's neck to point at the boy, and he began screaming the one curse that killed everything.
John began to raise his hand to levitate the decapitated head to block the killing curse, but he didn't have to.
-XIV-
Gabrielle had been told that these men were here to take her to mama and papa, but they had begun to be too rough when they had left the gates of her school, and she had seen some of them giving her strange looks. They felt wrong to her, somehow. But she knew her papa had to work with some people who did bad things to make people safe, so she had dismissed the worry...
Until John had appeared, his face full of anger. The first spell hadn't left his wand before she had realized things were wrong. John didn't hurt good people, he wouldn't. So these men must be bad. Things got scary really quick, and there was a lot of blood and screaming. One of the men grabbed her around her middle and began carrying her away from John. Another was covering them with waves of blue and purple magic, stopping John from saving her.
Her fear momentarily abated when she saw John swing around a tree on a rope of fire and come back for her, even hurting two more of the men who were hurting her. But then more men arrived, and the man grabbing her started saying one of the bad words.
Her father had warned her about bad words, and several he had warned her about more than any other ones. This man wanted to hurt….no...to kill John. They were going to kill her friend and she was going to be taken away. She couldn't allow that.
Gabrielle felt all her breath return at once. She wasn't hyperventilating anymore, she felt...angry? Yeah, really really angry.
-XIV-
John saw Gabrielle explode, the fireball all but immolating her captor and blasting the new arrivals off their feet. She was wreathed in flames, skin seeming to flake off to reveal burning plumage, face half stretching into avian features. Her fingers grew claws, and some sort of intensity blazed in her eyes. But as suddenly as she changed, her eyes dimmed, and she seemed to deflate, looking down at the man moaning at her feet.
He was staring at her in fear, flesh blackened where it still remained on his writhing, mewling char of a corpse. Something in the little girl broke through the primal reaction, and her flames extinguished, the feathers disappearing under the skin. John's wand morphed back from being a sword as he sprung to catch the slumping child.
"I...I...I killed someone John...oh God, mon dieu." She began shaking, tears forming in her eyes. "Papa and mama will hate me...oh no no no...St. Peter will turn me away…" Her shaking grew, but John just held her, tightly pressing her face into his chest.
"Petit Gabrielle, you did nothing wrong. You defended yourself and me from a very bad man. Listen, listen." John pointed his wand at the smoking thing still moving on the ground and cast a reducto, ending its life. "I killed the bad men, not you. You have absolutely nothing to fear, no worries. Your mama and papa will be very proud their daughter saved a life today. They will love you as much as always. As for St. Peter…" John didn't really believe in God, or at least the Akadimía hadn't told him what to believe, but he knew the little girl did, and so he answered as best as he could with anger burning through his soul.
"I'm sure he will meet you one day with a smile on his face and arms outstretched, but first, little one…" John raised his head to stare at the reinforcements slowly getting to their feet. "I have to send some bad men to meet his judgement."
Three minutes later, John appeared with Gabrielle within the wards of Chateau Delacour, surprised, but not upset to find the wards had been set to their most restrictive, with only him and the Delacour's permitted free entry. It wasn't long before Apolline had run out of the mansion, and quickly scooped up the teary-eyed Gabrielle. The woman's eyes met his, a silent question in their cerulean depths, and he shook his head.
"I made it in time, but she underwent her first change." His voice was grim. Apolline's eyes widened, but instead of jumping into full mama-bear mode, as John had expected, she smiled. A bright, wide beaming smile that diffused what little fear still remained in her young daughter's eyes.
"You had your first transition?" Apolline sounded genuinely excited. Her daughter looked hesitant.
"Oui, maman, but I burned some-"
"Non, this is a good thing! Even Fleur didn't have her first change until her third year at Beauxbatons! I am so so so proud of you!"
It was exactly what Gabrielle needed to hear. The young Veela burst into tears, and held her mother even more tightly. John waited a few moments before speaking up.
"Madame Delacour…"
"Call me Apolline, please. You might as well be family." The Lady Delacour saw his confusion and gave a wry smile. "Fleur has been sending me letters. Apparently, someone is a pretty good kisser."
Gabby froze, before turning red-rimmed eyes to look at John. Her mouth worked a few seconds before she realized no sound was coming. The little girl swallowed, and tried again.
"You...kissed….Fleur?" Silence. But only for a second. "Does this mean you are her boyfriend now? Are you going to propose to her? When are you going to? Where is the wedding going to be held? When is the wedding? Am I going to know first? Can I see the ring before you show Papa?" John held his hands up, but nothing could stop the little girl's onslaught of excited questions.
Apolline allowed her daughter to interrogate John, happy that her girl was of stern enough stuff to overcome the trauma that must have happened to cause a transition at such a young age. But, a minute or so later, she knew that John needed a rest before the normally stoic bodyguard short-circuited.
"Gabby, beautiful, go inside and wash up, I need to speak to this roguish boy for a minute." Apolline walked up to John and placed her hand on his shoulder. Gabrielle relented, but stuck her tongue out at John before disappearing inside. The elder Delacour watched her daughter leave, then turned to the boy. "Teasing aside, I trust you to be good to her."
"Of course, Madame."
"Good. Unfortunately, with you now here, you should be aware that my husband has been arrested on false charges." John blinked. "They are accusing him of being a muggle killer, and now they are roping me into the blame." John blinked again. "Because there are eye witnesses to both, I must assume that we either have polyjuice to blame...or something similar. I can take care of myself, but clearly, my family is under greater and greater threat, and you should be aware."
John took a second to consider this. He weighed his mission with his feelings, considering what he wanted to do with what he should do. Similar courses of action, but with a major split in the road. He let go of the chaos in his mind, and allowed for the first time, his feelings to have a say. He considered them as well. Then he took a long breath, letting it out slowly as he made his decision.
"Mme. Delacour, I promised to protect Fleur and those who she cares for. I will not desert my duty just because things got tough. Allow me to contact my handler, and I will get back to you after I find out what he says."
Apolline nodded, so John turned away, and walked down to the beachfront where he had first seen Fleur all those months ago. As he walked, he considered how he wanted to deliver his report and the following request he planned to make. After working the conversation he would have several times over in his head, he pulled out the gold livre, and activated the enchanted coin. Prepared for the authentication process, he was caught off guard to hear a voice he had only heard on one occasion before. His graduation from training.
"0762, cut your finger and allow a droplet of blood to fall." The voice held no room for argument. John didn't question the command. He complied immediately, and took a step back. The blood bubbled on the ground, before glowing. Brighter, and brighter the red droplet shone until, just before the boy thought he would have to turn away, the light faded and a man stood where the blood had been.
He was an inch or two shorter than John, but his pristine black suit barely concealed his physique. His white dress shirt had the top two buttons undone, and a crimson upside-down V graced his lapel. The Director stood before him, le grec in the flesh.
"What the fuck is your problem, 0762." The words came as almost a physical attack. John recoiled in surprise.
"Sir?"
"Don't fucking 'sir' me! I saw you during the first task. You couldn't keep the lust in your eyes from shining through those face-mirrors you call glasses!. Let me guess, you realized you were lucky enough to get to guard a Veela and you've been just trying to embarrass the Akadimía ever since."
"No, sir! Not at all, I…"
"You what? According to your reports, she has been almost kidnapped twice, almost hit with unknown curses, her family in constant danger, and you are doing what? Barely stopping each tragedy from tarnishing our name? Or are you too busy staring at her ass to watch your surroundings like we trained you to?"
"Sir, that's not at all what…"
"That's not it? So you're saying I'm wrong! I'm fucking wrong? I'm blind and stupid, is it? I'm some Athenian scholar too busy beating off to books to know a fucking teenage infatuation when I see one?"
"Sir, no sir. Please let me explain-"
"Oh, so you're begging now. Still pleading like the pitiful boy you were when you were locked out of the barracks for that one winter night? You couldn't complete your evening run in time! You broke your ankle or some shit, so you lay begging for help, crying like someone gave two soggy fucks. As if a broken ankle is reason enough to not finish a run. Did Lochagos...shit you probably forgot your Greek lessons you pathetic sack of stem cells, did Sergeant Thucydides fuck up in letting you live through training?
"I've seen boys who didn't beg for death at the Hot Gates, not even when their wounds were turning gangrenous. They still joined the shield wall and held the fucking line till their lungs collapsed from exertion. Those were real fucking warriors, not the pitiful cretin I see in front of me simpering over some avian whore!"
"SIR!" John stood straighter than he had ever stood before, raising a finger to jab into the Directors chest. "I will thank you to-" He found himself face down in the sand, one arm straight and twisted away from his body, pinned by one of the directors feet on the back of his tricep. The man's other knee was planted in his back, right hand yanking John's head up by his ear, and his left hand holding John's wand in sword form at the boy's throat.
"You'll thank me for holding my tongue? You dare? Give me one pathetic fucking reason I shouldn't let your worthless blood seep into this sand and throw your body to the sea." The Director wasn't panting heavily from his inhumanly fast movement, nor was he now, pinning John to the ground so thoroughly that even breathing was hard for the boy. For a few long seconds, John considered everything he had ever learned, trying to find a way free. There wasn't one. So he gathered all his few good memories to the front of his mind, cherished them, then gasped out the truth.
"I...I love her, sir." He expected a laugh, and to feel the cold metal draw across his throat. He expected to be killed.
He wasn't expecting the pressure to lift, the Director to rise to his feet, nor the man to drop the sword-turned-wand at John's side. Certainly, the boy wasn't expecting to hear the words.
"Ah...love. That is something I know." The voice sounded almost wistful. Carefully, expecting a trick, John rose to his feet. "Tell me, boy, what do you know of me?"
"You're the director, sir, le grec. The greek. You are a Vampire, sir. An old one. One old enough to not fear the sun." John tried to keep his answer concise. The man snorted.
"Mostly correct." He turned away from the boy and regarded the burning star that was slowly making its way towards noon. "Even ancient Vampires still fear the sun. But I am of a bloodline, of a family of Kindred that do not burn beneath the sun. I was born of Sparta, during her free days. I survived the agoge, thrived even. I proved myself in that training, and proved myself again in combat for many years thereafter. I earned respect, and then earned the hand of a beautiful woman. I loved her. She was not greek, but she embraced our culture, and was more a Spartan than many of the women my friends married. When her people came to our shores for war, my King called me to arms, and I left. I never saw her again." He turned back to John, and continued.
"I lay dying at Thermopylae, one of those fabled men immortalized. But I was brought back by a man who worked in Xerxes's court, a vampire…" The Director stopped himself...and cocked his head. "Lower your glasses." When John did, he met black eyes with his own pale green. He saw a flash of bloody battlefields, a beautiful woman, and a house amid fields of flowers. Then the Director broke eye contact, and John donned his glasses again. "I did not think I heard a lie in your words, and I did not see one in your mind." The Director's voice was barely a whisper, as much to himself as to John. With the silver shields once more in place, the man looked again to the bodyguard. His voice was calm.
"You survived the agoge my program put you through, you have performed admirably in your mission so far, against odds many of your fellow graduates would have struggled with...and you stood up to me, to certain death. That is...impressive. No matter what the world of today says, you are a man. A man who passed my test earlier. That means you are ready for the truth."
"Sir?"
"It is a dangerous thing to know the truth. Not everyone is ready for it. Many of your fellow graduates never wish to learn it, and they choose to remain a mercenary under my direction until the end of days. A few are willing to know where they come from, if they were royalty, or a nobody. They go back into the world and make something of themselves, regardless of where they were born. So which are you? Merely a mercenary, or someone with the potential for more?"
"Sir, are you offering me freedom?" John kept his voice guarded. The Director laughed.
"In a sense. If you wish it, you will face the world as yourself, and I will no longer hamper you with missions or contracts."
"What's the catch?"
"The catch? Loyalty, young man, loyalty. I care not if you like me, but you will respect that which made you what you are today. You have the weapons training of a soldier, the athleticism of an olympian, the knowledge of languages and history to rival a researcher at the Louvre. Even as one of the few magically gifted thekna to make it through the initial stages of the agoge, I found those to teach you that which you know now. All of this you have because of the Akadimía. Because of Me.
"If you ever betray our secrets, my secrets, I will kill you and all you care about. I will burn your world to the ground, lay total war against all memory of you, and then salt the earth where the ashes fall." He smiled, fangs sharp and feral. "There is no force you will find that can stop me, no mage, no vampire, no garou, no thing." He spread his arms. "That is the price of knowledge, the cost of the Truth." John didn't hesitate.
"I want the truth. I want to make my own way." John knew he was damned if he did, damned if he didn't. But he knew he wanted a chance for joy, for actual happiness before the Devil came knocking. The Ancient being before him smiled wider than ever, and for a second, John wasn't sure if he had made the right decision.
"Good. Now conjure chairs, for there is much to speak of, Mr. Potter."
Neville watched as Salomé closed the door to the abandoned classroom that he and his friends had chosen, primarily for its proximity to the kitchens, yet it's relative isolation from any major thoroughfares. The tall french girl faced the door fired off a bevvy of security charms and two runes that John had taught her. Fleur, for her part, went to the window and cast her own series of spells.
Neville raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. "You expecting a war?" Then he shook his head. "Sorry, dumb question."
Hannah quietly walked up to him, briefly laid a hand on his shoulder, and spoke a soft question as she moved to sit on one of the desks, smoothing her skirt beneath her and crossing her ankles.
"How are you holding up?" It was directed at Fleur, and as the french beauty took a second to actually think of her answer, deciding not to go with just any old snarky quip, the rest of the students all found places to sit.
"Honestly? I am tired of being a target for madmen, and I am equally tired that adults can't seem to do anything about it. Even the good ones either turn out to be utter imbeciles, or hindered by...well, something." She ended, unsatisfied. Viktor frowned.
"A target for madmen? You mean zat you were attacked before zis?" His face held curiosity.
"Oui, earlier this very summer." Fleur nodded, grudgingly. Luna smiled, and piped up from where she lay on the ground, head tilted back to view the Veela.
"No need to worry about silly adults not adulting properly...I brought the experts." Here the airy girl gestured in the general direction of her other friends, arrayed on desks around where she lay. Neville smiled ruefully.
"Yeah….we have some experience with danger here at Hogwarts." Neville and his friends chuckled. Salomé cocked her head, and her eyes met the Boy-Who-Lived.
"You mentioned that earlier, want to elaborate?"
Neville looked from student to student. It was one thing to try and help someone, after all that was just being a good person. However...he took a deep breath. He trusted Seamus, had been friends with the boy since their first day together at Hogwarts. Hannah had been the girl that had broken through his awkwardness and become the first girl other than his grandmother he had ever really trusted. And Luna? Well Luna kind of forced her way into the friend group the following year, not that he could complain.
But could he trust these people? Cedric, sure. His friends, of course. But the rest? Then, Neville considered what he had seen. Tiredly, he had been eating his breakfast when a group of men had arrived, approaching the Beauxbatons contingent and claiming that they were some kind of law enforcement. Then, a small conversation and spells were flying. Sure, he had seen John duel in the tournament, but he had obliterated five grown-wizards in as many seconds. The kid was something else.
It was looking at Ginny that solved his angst. Neville blamed himself for everything that had happened in her first year at Hogwarts, and that if he had only done better in finding the mysterious threat, she wouldn't have been forced to switch schools and move far away from her family. The Boy-Who-Lived took another breath, and let it out slowly.
"Okay, everyone. I agree that the adults who are supposed to care about and protect us have utterly failed time and time again. I don't think we can trust them to solve the very problems they have allowed to fester."
"Fester? Are ye tryin' to get into Oxford?"
"Shut up, Seamus. I'm trying to make a point."
"You talk like old people f—" Seamus yelped and stumbled back as Luna shot him in the inner thigh with a stinging hex. "Slow and painfully…" He quietly ended.
"Continue, Neville." Luna smiled, leaning on her elbows and her wand in hand.
"Er...thanks. As I was trying to say," He glared half-heartedly at Seamus. "I think we should take things into our own hands. Fleur, you, Cedric, Viktor, and I are already in a lot of danger with the Tournament as is, much less with barking madmen trying to kidnap you. I think we should all work together to figure out why you are in such great danger, why someone put my name in the Goblet, and what the hell is going on in general." Another breath, another rueful smile.
"I understand even though we say that we want to help, you might not believe us, so I figure a gesture of faith is needed…" Neville saw everyone was leaning forward with the exception of the strawberry-blonde, who was taking this all very seriously and was wedging a chair beneath the classroom door-handle and into the gap between stone tiles. He figured as long as Fleur and the other champions were listening, he was content, so he began.
"For us, the British Wizarding World as a whole, our troubles started when the Dark Lord Voldemort rose to power. He was unstoppable, and he and his masked followers would attack anyone who opposed Pureblood supremacy, and would kill any who tried to stop their reign of terror and torture. Many great wizards fought against the Dark Lord, and only a handful ever survived.
"Then All Hallow's Eve of 1981, Voldemort attacked the Manors of three old families. First were the Potters. James and Lily Potter had fought him many times, forcing his forces to retreat several times, and buying targets time to flee many others. James Potter was a wealthy and good man who wouldn't let prejudice take over the Wizengamot, so he had to be made an example of. Lily Potter was a muggle-born, and one of the most powerful magically of her generation. Then in the midst of the fighting, they had a kid. Not only was this child literally a symbolic message that people could still live their lives in the shadow of Voldemort, but as the child of a Pure-Blood Lord and a Muggleborn, he was the antithesis of the Dark Lord's ideals.
That night, they were killed, and the house blown to pieces. They couldn't even find enough of the baby for a coffin. But that wasn't satisfying enough for the Dark Lord, so he and his followers went to the Manor of Padraig and Mairead Bones. While they were a notable family on the Light side, their son Edgar Bones was responsible for killing many Death Eaters. He even almost killed Fenrir Greyback…" Seeing a couple blank looks, Neville realized that name wasn't well known outside of England. "A werewolf...anyway, they all needed to be killed, so Voldemort went to their Manor next. Only Edgar's sister, who somehow escaped, survived.
"Not done, Voldemort then...well...then he went to the Longbottom's...he…" Neville felt something warm against his shoulder, and broke out of his memory to see that Hannah had gotten up to sit on the desk beside him, resting her head against him. He silently thanked her.
"He and his Death Eaters tortured my parents, killed my grandfather, and was going to kill me, but something didn't work. Most stories say he shot the killing curse and it reflected hitting him, and his minions fled in terror thinking I was somehow, from my crib, going to kill them too.
"And just like that, the whole of Great Britain celebrated the death of the Dark Lord, certain that any danger was gone. But my Grandmother didn't believe that everything was safe and sound, so she took me away from the burning Longbottom Manor and to some extended family near Blackpool. She raised me there, content to hide me from any danger until my first year of Hogwarts started, assured that I would be safe enough here."
Luna snorted, and the Golden Quartet all smiled. Lucretia raised a delicate eyebrow.
"I can guess that there was danger?"
"Just a bit. First year there was a professor possessed by the Dark Lord who tried to steal an artefact, he let a troll in and Seamus and I had to deal with it. Second year there was everything with you Ginny...I'm sorry. I should have found you." All eyes went to the redhead, who shook her head. Her voice was low for a girl her age, and had a faint throaty timbre.
"Don't be, I'm stronger for it."
"Still," Neville maintained, "I wish I had been able to help in some way." He turned back to the rest of the students. "A whole bunch of students started being petrified by something, and no one could figure out what. Whatever it was, it came from a place called the Chamber of Secrets, a local legend of the school."
"It was a basilisk," Ginevra said. Silence took over for a few seconds.
"Well do ye want to explain that remarkable revelation? Fookin' 'ell, are ye not going to elaborate?" He yelped as Luna shot him with another hex. Ginevra shook her head.
"I'll tell more once Neville finishes."
"Errr, sure Ginny. Well, second year was mostly Hannah, Luna, Seamus and I running around not able to solve the mystery but rushing students to the infirmary whenever we found them. Luckily, we had a new not-possessed Defence Against the Dark Arts professor who was much better. Third year we had the same teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but we found out that he was a Werewolf, and he was forced to quit when parents found out.
"However, while the school year was still going on, we found out that a man named Peter Pettigrew was a rat animagus masquerading as your brother's rat." Neville said this last bit to Ginny, and her eyes widened. "He, Pettigrew that is, was an obsessive follower of the Dark Lord, and he tried to kill me in the showers after a quidditch game. He tried to kill Hannah later that year, but Professor Lupin the Defense Teacher and the Auror Sirius Black stopped him." Hannah stiffened, but didn't say anything. "
Then," Neville continued, "Lupin transformed because it was a full moon, and the Rat got away. According to the Auror, Pettigrew is the same man who betrayed the location of the Potters in 1981, and also found out where my family's manor was as well.
"And finally, of course, we have this year where someone put my name into the Goblet and I have to compete in this ridiculous tournament even though we already have Cedric representing Hogwarts."
Cedric smiled wanly. Even though he had always considered himself a confidant for Neville, and an older student that the boy could trust, it was appalling all that the heir to the Longbottom family had endured. Ginevra cleared her throat, deciding it was time to input what she knew.
"As for the second year, I found a strange diary in my bags after shopping for books. The diary wrote back to me, as if it had some personality within. Foolish that I was, I trusted the book and it became a place where I could vent. Slowly it learned more and more about me until, realizing I was a seventh born child to a seventh born child, decided I had some magical potential.
"One night a bunch of shadows pooled from the book and engulfed me. Next thing I know, I'm watching my body move around and do a bunch of horrible things like I'm some sort of sick marionette. Then it all dimmed and I awoke inside the chamber of secrets. There was a massive basilisk, and a shadowy figure standing above the open diary on the floor. It...he...introduced himself as a young Voldemort and tried to convince me to join him in eradicating the filth and weakness in the school. I told him to fuck off." A few people snorted, and Ginevra spared a weak smile. "So his eyes flashed, and then he was trying to fully possess me. One of my brother's is a cursebreaker, and he taught me a few things. Before it showed itself as evil, the diary encouraged me to read ahead in my textbooks. I guess you can say it was also at fault for my spur of the moment idea.
"I had been working on my occlumency, so I had this mental layout like my home to organize my memories. I fled to my room and shut the door. The mental attack focused on breaking into it and searching for whatever I was desperately fleeing to. I let the door be opened before I could 'lock' it, slipped out and locked him in, and in the second I had before he broke back out, I cast Arresto Momentum at the snake with everything I had. I got lucky and hit it in it's hissing mouth, and it fell forward like someone hit by a body-bind. It landed fang-first on the diary, and then the ghost screamed and died. What little didn't die survived in the room in my mind."
The redhead saw some heads shaking in incredulity. She shrugged. "As I said, really lucky. Anyway, I was spent and all but unconscious. But I was scared of dying alone, and I crawled my way out of the Chamber before blacking out. I woke up in the hospital wing, and the rest is history." Cedric's jaw was hanging loose, but he was the first to audibly respond to the incredible tale.
"So you had the childhood diary of Vol-Voldemort and still you wrote in it?"
"Yeah, because the very first thing it did was introduce itself as Dr. Dark Lord." Ginny's words were dripping with sarcasm. "He...It...whatever, introduced itself as Tom."
"Hold the fookin' phone…" Seamus ducked a stinger from Luna. "His majesty the dark dork has a real name….and it's Tom?" He was askance. Ginevra shrugged.
"He could have been lying, but I don't think so."
"Wait, wait, wait." Lucretia interrupted. "I understand that is some sort of revelation, but can we first focus on the fact that the Dark Lord is still alive? When did that become common knowledge."
"It's not," Neville said calmly, "Until today, I hadn't told anyone besides my friends in this room and my 'Nan." There was quiet for a second, then Fleur nodded once before leaning forward where she sat, and clearing her throat.
"Thank you Neville, may I call you Neville?"
"Of course."
"Merci, well first we should set the baseline for what we know." She saw nothing but interest from the other students, so the Veela continued. "We are now certain that the Dark Lord somehow survived whatever happened in 1981, and his followers have been working to regain the power they once had, probably to find a way to bring him back as more than just something that possesses a person every year.
"His people, however, are also trying to gain power in France, because my family has come under great threat from pureblood-supremacists with close ties to men who used to serve Voldemort. Thankfully, they haven't yet succeeded in ousting the existing party, of which my father is a powerful member, nor in kidnapping me.
"Finally, through our Durmstrang friends, we now know that the Dark Lord also may have more things like the diary that allow him to interact with his followers and even innocent bystanders. This all means that the previous so-called Wizarding War has not really ended. Am I correct?" She had made sure to speak slowly so that she would not butcher her second-language, and from the unconfused expressions around her, she had succeeded.
"I think that all sounds correct to me," Neville responded. "The next step, if we are still in agreement that we should work together to stop these threats, if only to keep ourselves safe, is to find out what is going on this year. Rather, what comes next."
Salomé nodded, noticing that it seemed the group was still in agreement. "My brother would always tell me that it was okay to hope for the best, but one should always plan for the worst. What is the worst thing that the Dark Lord could be trying to do this year?"
"Oh, that's easy." Luna chirped. "Trying to resurrect himself." The room grew quiet as the other nine students considered.
"Yeah…" Hannah mused, "That would be really bad." Then she blinked. "I'm sorry Viktor, but I know everyone's motivation here but yours. I doubt it is as simple as wanting a fair Tournament."
"You are correct." He clenched his teeth, like what was coming next was neither palatable nor enjoyable. "My family in Bulgaria...we are old family, old values. Ginevra Weasley saved me from something...something I could not save myself from." Those words seemed painful to say, but he powered on, becoming more confident. "I owe her gholyam dulg...a great debt. I work to pay it off, starting with helping her with zis hell situation.
"Hellish." Ginevra corrected quietly. Viktor waved his hand, accepting but not fixing the correction.
"She has bright future, if storm clouds can be made to go away. Smart man once said, "Demons of ze mind are not easily killed"...but if zis demon is Dark Lord, maybe killing him will work also."
"Even if killing him once didn't work?" Neville asked.
"Yes. Just kill him better zis time, living-boy." It took a second for everyone to recognize his butchery of Neville's moniker, but it brought laughter when the connection was made. Dark humour, certainly, but such was what was needed in times like this, Fleur thought, smiling.
Fleur and Salomé sat in the room, talking quietly, when a knock came to the door. "It's me." John's voice. Fleur started to leap up, but her friend raised a hand, drew her wand, and approached the door.
"What did we talk about when we went to Saint-Germain-de-Prés and Gringotts?" She asked. The response was immediate.
"We hardly talked. However, you and Jezebel talked ad nauseum about chocolate and girly things."
"Are you implying that chocolate is girly?"
"Shut up. I'm coming in." He did, easily bypassing the wards she had so painstakingly made, and levitating the chair blocking it even before he opened the door. To Fleur, he looked...different somehow. John looked around the room, taking in the desks turned to form a misshapen half circle. "Did you host a debate while I was gone?"
"Well," Salomé began, "On our way out of the great hall, a group of students including Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Viktor Krum, and Ginevra Weasley stopped us saying they wanted to help. Seeing how all the adults are useless around here."
"True, but do you think we can trust them to help?" Salomé and Fleur shared a glance, before the veela answered.
"I think so, yes." She held up a finger. "The Hogwarts students are in this to support Neville, and to an extent Diggory as well." She raised a second finger. "Viktor is in this for the Weasley girl, and she is loyal because she wants revenge for something that happened to her." A third finger. "And Lucretia wants gossip. She's a gamble, but I think she and her network of ears will be valuable."
"Good, I was starting to consider recommending your father to send a contingent of the Dague Group here to supplement what I can do, but I don't know who all we can trust."
"Speaking of which," Fleur cut in, her face a mix of interest and concern, "What did you find?"
"A lot. Take a seat, this could be a while."
Sebastien awoke to some intrinsic sense that something was wrong. It took a second of blinking before he realized that the lights of his holding room were out, and the only light in the room was filtering through the paper-thin slit beneath the locked door. He stood up from his chair, wiping a small line of drool from his lips. Sleeping while sitting, even resting his head against his arms on the table, was less than comfortable. Just as he cleared the desk, walking to listen at the door, he saw the magically reinforced wood swing open, and a huge figure filled the opening, a looming shadow backlit in soft yellow.
"Lord Delacour." The Hammer of Magical France inclined his head slightly.
"Lord Delaguède?" Sebastien was surprised.
"Good luck on the outside solving this political bullshit. I'll see what I can find from the inside."
"Excuse me?" Sebastien, though certainly wide awake now, was not following the conversation. The giant white-clad man rolled his eyes.
"Cherevaux called for a vote using the Gilles de Rais Clause, saying that you were an active threat to this country, a madman." The huge lawman pulled two items from his pocket, enlarging both. He dropped a pair of manacles on the ground, then threw the other at Sebastien, who barely caught the stick. Dumbly, he realized it was a wand. "This is the only chance I'm giving you. Professional courtesy." Then, before Sebastien Delacour's wide eyes, Maximilien Delaguède brought his wand up, and shot himself in the side of the head with a confident, "Depulso."
He fell like a log, slamming into the ground. Sebastien blinked once. Then again. Then he was moving, casting a weak Tempus both to check the time and to see how well the unknown wand responded to him. Three in the morning, the witching hour. As he approached the end of the corridor, intersecting to form a 'T' with another hallway, he calmed his nerves, and turned the corner, wand up.
The hallway was clear. Sebastien hated this. Not just having to break out of the French Ministry, but that he hadn't been forced into this madness by Lord Delaguède blasting himself into unconsciousness. The man had said that Mance Chervaux had truly grown too powerful if he had been able to get the Assembly to vote him an active threat. The Gilles de Rais Clause had been constituted after the man of the same name, prior holder of the office that the giant man now held, had been discovered to be summoning and studying Inferni, using children as the sacrificial requirement.
The French Magical Government had realized they needed a way to eliminate corrupt officials and dangerous members of their own body, so they instituted a clause that permitted an emergency session of the Assembly to be held with a minimum of half the main body. If every single Lord found the suspect guilty beyond a shred of doubt, the suspect would be found an active threat to the Nation of France, one who should be captured and brought to the executioners immediately. Never had he thought he would be the man in question during such an event.
Sebastien considered everything one last time. As far as he could tell, all of this deceit and darkness had gotten worse since Lucius Malfoy had come from Great Britain to meet his cousin and Chervaux. A man who should have been sent to that British prison for being a Death Eater...was that what this was about? Former loyalists of the Dark Lord Voldemort banding together to reign terror again?
That seemed possible. But no matter the reason, Sebastien knew he had to flee, and then send two letters...rather, a letter and a text.
Voldemort sat in a simple wood chair opposite his Seneschal in Dolohov's office. The man had stood to greet his dark master, but he had been dismissed with a casual wave of the hand. So he worked, quill scratching across the paperwork needed to run a quasi-terrorist organization.
"Antonin… why haven't I killed Lucius yet?" The dark lord drawled, lazily spinning one finger in slow circles, pulling the flames of the fireplace into a small circus of immolent orange. The man briefly glanced up, dipped his quill in an inkpot, and went back to his work. The question had been rhetorical. Voldemort continued.
"I had to officially rebuke him...again." The hand not playing with the flames gestured to the blood that lay across his own features like a Pollock painting. "He had men try to kidnap the Delacour girl again. After I explicitly told him to stop with his foolishness."
Antonin did glance up at that. "The girl you said is being protected by Potter?" He, of course, knew the dark secret. He knew more of his Lord's secrets than anyone. Seeing his master nod slightly, Dolohov went back to writing.
"Yes. Quite frustrating. I obviously can't trust an imbecile such as Lucius with why I don't want the boy thirsty for our blood, so I told him to stop hunting the girl."
"He didn't listen."
"Precisely. He didn't listen. But the Malfoy family is too important to kill him now, so he must live."
"His son?"
"Can't take the mantle just yet. After the girl folds, then is the right time to play that card."
"The muggleborn?"
"Yes."
"How are things on that front?"
"Slowly, but that is as it should be. Too quickly and she falls off the hook." Voldemort noticed his Seneschal raising an eyebrow at the metaphor, and smiled. "Too quickly and she will see the Wronski, as I believe you'd put it."
Dolohov nodded. He placed the quill in a dish on the side, and rolled up the letter he had just written. As he was tying it to his owl's leg, his master interrupted.
"Any news from Paris?"
"Lord Chervaux is taking full control of power under the guise of his Pureblood superiority movement."
"Good. And the other countries?"
"Planting the seeds of dissent."
"Good job."
"Of course, my Lord. Unfortunately there have been several...negative developments within Hogwarts itself." Dolohov let the owl on it's way, then turned to face his master, hands steepled on the desk. "Our spies report that Severus and Flitwick have been speaking in private."
"About?"
"Unknown, as of yet."
"Inform me when you know more. Next?"
"It has also been reported that Dumbledore seems to be breaking free of the curse you placed during your interview."
"Truly?"
"Yes, my Lord. His reticence to include others in his deliberations has ended. He has reached out to someone, and seems willing to trust them with at least some of what he knows."
"An apprentice, or a Seneschal of his own?"
"Still unclear, but he had a conversation with a Ms Hermione Jane Granger, and now she is browsing the Restricted section with his eager support."
Voldemort closed his eyes, delving into his own palatial occluded mind. Granger. It only took a few seconds. "The girl in the dueling tournament. Isn't she a muggle-born?"
"Yes, but Bartemius believes her to be the next Lily Potter." Antonin hid his trepidation. He knew the woman was a sore subject. His master considered himself a mind without equal. The fact that the Potter woman had almost outsmarted the Dark Lord, almost killed him, was something Voldemort would live having to acknowledge the rest of his days.
Voldemort bit back a hiss, and gathered his loathing into coming up with a solution. He found one, even if it wasn't the most eloquent.
"Antonin, find where her parents live. Send some men there, ones who can blend in with muggles. Half-bloods looking to prove themselves, if possible. Her family will be a pressure point we can use if necessary."
"I will, my Lord."
"Good, anything else from Hogwarts?"
"One last thing. Neville Longbottom has gathered a group of students together and founded a resistance group against you and your followers."
"More than just his three friends?"
"Yes, my Lord. The spies report the Tournament Champions are part of it, along with Ms Delacour's friend, another Beauxbatons' girl, and Ms Weasley. I can assume Mr Potter will be a part of it wherever Ms Delacour is."
"Eleven students?"
"For now, sir."
"Keep me updated. To think, half of our problems would not exist without Lucius interfering…" The Dark Lord stood, but his words trailed off as he saw a new owl fly in, landing on the stand beside Antonin. He watched as the man took the letter it brought and read it. He saw his favorite Lieutenant's face darken. "More bad news, Dolohov?" Last name, not first.
"Yes." His Seneschal stood, grabbed his coat, and shrugged it on. "But it is bad news that I can deal with. By your leave, my Lord, I will return with good news."
"Fix the problem, Antonin. I have not labored this long only to be ruined by incompetent minions." First name, not last.
Voldemort watched with a hidden smile as Dolohov strode from the room, wand already in hand, and murder about his eyes. A motivated servant. A great servant.
He needed more like him. But if things worked out as they should, the next generation of skilled, loyal minions were less than a year away. He just needed to play the right cards, play the proper roles, and play the game as well as he had these last ten years.
They would all serve him.
The cartels of the Americas had a saying, plata o plomo. Silver or lead.
They would serve, or they would die.
N/B: \It was noted by a wonderful beta reader (Live Long and Prosper you incredible person) that I switch from British English to good old American in my story. While not without error, I try to keep Brits and people who would likely have learned english from Brits speaking one way, and we savage North Americans the other.
\A couple of things were hinted at why John/Harry recognized the fake French Aurors as being fakes...other than the 'boots.' See if you can figure what they were? Answers will be in the next chapter!
\The 'wrist-lock' pain-compliance technique is a real one. It's difficult to get in an actual fight, but if you do it is very effective. Mostly it is used as a counter to someone trying to throttle you.
\Christopher Flack and Elora Dunn are, again, two real but obscure students at Hogwarts. I used them to fill in for the unnamed Head Boy and Girl for the 1994-1995 school year.
\The Gordian Knot is a legend. Alexander the Great was presented with a knotted ball of rope so large that it was said only a man smart enough (destined) to conquer all of Asia could unravel it. He cut it in half with a sword.
\Tried to write the fire-rope-swing trick well, but if it is still confusing, imagine a yo-yo. Swing it. What happens if someone pokes a stick into the path where the string will pass?
\St. Peter is said to greet people at the gates to heaven in Catholic ideology. He turns away the bad, and allows in the good. Protestants don't think so. The difference comes down to interpretation of the 'Keys of the Kingdom' [Matthew 16] and the Great Commission [Matthew 28], where Jesus said, "Yo, go preach." (I'm oversimplifying, obviously.) In other words, we can all agree to blame Matt for being too vague. Thanks a lot, Matt.
\Military folks: picture the director as a DS, MTI , RDC, or DI yelling at you in training. For anyone who doesn't get that; R. Lee Ermey, Full Metal Jacket. Enjoy.
\Athenian is used as an insult. The Spartans and Athenians were frequent rivals.
\A Lochagos was in charge of about 144 men in the Spartan army. I equated this to a Sergeant, but it would more likely be a Captain by modern translations.
\Thucydides was the first name that popped into my head when I was naming the Lochagos. Turns out, he was a famous Athenian general and historian. Whoops.
\The Hot Gates, or the place of hot springs, was Thermopylae in Greece, location of the famous battle between Leonidas of Sparta and Xerxes of Persia. It was further immortalized in the movie, 300.
\The agoge was where Spartan boys at the age of seven were taken to be trained. Many died. Those that didn't became part of the greatest warrior culture in history. (In my humble opinion.)
\Most of you won't care why the director was willing to let Harry go, but he does have reasons. Pinky promise. The director will also probably not appear again in this story, as the plot transitions to Harry and away from 'John.'
\Based on where Neville was thrown from a pier as a child, in an attempt to force a bout of accidental magic, and because that same area (Blackpool) is part of the Danelaw (Danish land) established by Saxon invaders, Long-bottom could be a reference to the deep-water-faring Longships of the Vikings. Cool background for a kinda dumb name.
\I've mentioned Gilles de Rais before. Nasty piece of work.
\Longest series of Nota Bene's to date...I got carried away. :/
-BONUS-
\A pretty subtle reference can be found in this chapter for which of the Houses I have most often been sorted into. Shout out to anyone who figures it out! It's rather devilish. Answer will be in the next chapter.
Author's Note:
Sorry I didn't get to the Ball or a Task, but the story took me in this direction, and I figured a bunch of answers (and more questions as always) would be cool too. Also, Harry is now Harry, the heroes are getting their act together, and even some adults are finally pulling their heads from the sand!
Y'all have been crazy supportive, and it's incredible. Thank you so much for giving me 1400 reasons everyday to write.
(Also shoutout to the Flowerpot server on discord. It's awesome, and full of some great people. Extra shoutout to the dragon. Live, laugh, and love you hooligan.)
With love,
Semper,
Vi
