Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

Chapter Thirty | The Usual Suspect

The six of us are chatting excitedly in the Hogwarts Express compartment, the newly christened Tracey Greengrass wearing a pristine grin, one that she's worn ever since she was brought into the family a few weeks ago.

"I can't believe that I'm finally a Greengrass," she mutters once again, a dazed look on her face.

"You always were, it's just finally official," Daphne says, smiling widely at her new sister. "It just took us a hell of a lot longer than expected."

Hermione claps happily. "It is exciting news! I'm so happy for you!"

Tracy just grins back at her, Luna smiling serenely in the corner of the compartment as she whispers to Ginny, the red-headed girl putting her hand over her mouth as she giggles at whatever absurd joke Luna must have just told her.

Lisa and Padma are hunkered down next to each other, Padma poring over the fourth-year Defence book. She looks up at me, noticing my gaze. "I want to make sure I'm ready in the case that we have another maniac as a professor this year, it's a shame that Lupin wasn't able to stick around."

I nod. Remus wasn't outed as a werewolf at the end of the year due to Severus being much less of a dour prick than he once was. Not that Severus isn't a dour prick, he's just a lot better than he used to be. No, Remus was hired by Sirius to help him with the incredible influx of parchmentwork he's been inundated with that he's become one of the biggest players in the Wizengamot.

After the attack on the World Cup, and many of the 'reformed' Ex-Death Eaters being found dead or arrested while still wearing their old mask and robes, nearly every neutral leaning member of the Dark bloc joined in with Sirius and Octavius. Many of them were more than happy to avoid being vilified for hanging around with the more unsavoury types that ran the political show in Britain for the last few decades.

Lucius Malfoy is understandably furious, having lost nearly half of his supporters, as well as many of his 'friends' due to my or the mysterious Albumancers murderous tendencies.

Speaking of the Albumancer, I wonder if I'll ever see them again?

I know that I'll probably run into them some day, but I'd like to get to know this person, to see if they'll be able to help me in the war against Voldemort. I got lucky, beyond lucky when I fought with Dumbledore, and I'm terrified at the prospect of Voldemort somehow incapacitating me permanently.

Sure, I may live to a ripe old age, but that doesn't mean that everything is guaranteed to be peachy. It just means that I'll pass away from organ failure, or some other boring natural cause. It doesn't mean that I can't be locked in a cage somewhere until the day I die.

No, this Albumancer, whoever they are would be an incredible asset to the war.

Hermione notices me getting lost in thought, tapping me on the shoulder softly to bring me back to Earth.

"Thank you," I whisper, smiling at her, Hermione returning the gesture.

"Just wanted to make sure you were still in there," she jokes, poking my forehead playfully. "You looked like you were worried about something."

I sigh quietly, glancing around the compartment quickly. Nobody else seems to be looking over here as they're already caught up in conversation, so I cast a quick muffliato over the two of us.

"I ran into an Albumancer at the World Cup," I say, Hermione's eyes widening.

"An honest to God Albumancer?" she whispers, hand clutching at her jumper just over her heart. "Really?"

I nod succinctly. "Yeah, and as far as I can tell they're just as powerful as I am. I'm just wondering whether or not I'll meet this person again, and if they'd be partial to helping me put down Voldemort for good."

"That would certainly make life easier. But do you even know who they are?"

"No, not a clue," I say, shaking my head sadly. "But, if I can subtly reveal myself to them without revealing my powers to the world, I may be able to get into contact with them."

"How would you do that?"

"Tri-Wizard Tournament, it's coming up this year." Hermione looks at me in confusion, her brow knitted into a frown. "It's a competition between three schools, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. It's taking place at Hogwarts this year, and I'm going to be participating."

"How do you know you're going to- oh, yeah. Time travel." Hermione smacks herself on the head for forgetting something so monumental. "How would you reveal yourself?"

I scratch my chin thoughtfully. "I could probably use my elemental powers in the First Task. We'll have to take an egg from a nesting mother dragon, and I could subdue it using earth and stone. The only other person I've seen with a handle over the elements was the Albumancer, and if it was published that I had some form of control over nature it would quickly be published in the Daily Prophet. Only the Albumancer would be able to make the connection that my powers are due to me being a Necromancer."

"That makes sense," Hermione murmurs, chewing her lip. "Wouldn't that be giving too much away though?"

"It's the best I can do." I shrug, not having any other thoughts come to mind. "And honestly, it's not the end of the world if it becomes common knowledge that I can control the earth. I won't use my powers over air, and I won't be using any of my more… grim talents in the tournament. I'm only revealing a small portion of what I can do, and Voldemort may come to believe that that's the extent of my unique suite of powers."

Hermione nods thoughtfully. "Actually, that's not the worst idea. He doesn't know you're, well, don't take this the wrong way, a lot older than you look. If he just thinks that you've got a unique control over the earth, then he's going to underestimate you when it comes to everything else."

"That's the plan," I reply, looking at Hermione pointedly as I lower the silencing charm, the pleasant noise of my friend's conversations quickly reasserting itself.

I sit back and ponder the last few weeks, namely how ridiculous the Ministry and Daily Prophet have been.

There's a bounty on my head for slaughtering the Death Eaters at the World Cup. Or, should I say, 'fine, upstanding members of pureblood society.'

Fucking ridiculous.

They don't know who I am, they don't even have a description of me, nor of any specific spells I may be partial to other than the bone-exploding hex. But, there's a bounty out for me all the same, and it's only five thousand galleons.

I really can't decide whether I should be flattered or disappointed.

Of course, Lucius Malfoy has been baying for blood, the Daily Prophet running a series of interviews with him in which he decries the 'savage monster that murdered his close friends in cold blood,' conveniently forgetting the fact that his friends were in the process of a very violent bit of muggle baiting.

I mean, his friends did happen to die in an incredibly macabre and creative way, what with many of them being burnt to ashes by holy fire, or having their bones turned into shrapnel. Still, I can't imagine it's half as bad as the shit that he's done for Voldemort.

God, I hate that man.

I lean into my seat, shutting my eyes so that I can catch a quick nap before we arrive at Hogwarts.

-::-

Padma flinches noticeably at the entrance of Professor Moody, or Barty Crouch Jr., I should say. I will admit, the man is a dab hand at acting, what with the way he perfectly personifies the incredible paranoia that is Moody. He has it all down to a T. But, I can see that she's already resigned to the idea that our Defence Professor this year is going to be just as dangerous or insane as Quirrel or Lockhart. Poor girl.

I laugh loudly at the screams of outrage as Dumbledore announces the cancellation of the yearly inter-house quidditch games, the man looking relatively nonplussed as students stand up to holler abuse at him. In fact, I find it incredibly impressive that he manages to keep a straight face when confronted by a handful of Gryffindors loudly disparaging him, and calling him a, 'senile geriatric shit,' if what I heard Lee Jordan shouting was accurate. Gryffindors abusing Albus fucking Dumbledore to his face. What a fantastically rare sight. This must be how David Attenborough feels when he happens across a unique or unseen creature in the wild.

Looks like Dumbledore's really lost his place in society. It's a miracle that he's managed to hold on to his position here at Hogwarts, but I know Sirius and Octavius aren't making any efforts to have him removed. That, and he's still got enough contacts and people loyal to him that he's somehow held on tight.

Regardless, it's just a matter of time before the last vestige of power slips out of his grasp. The only reason he's still here is because I allow him to be.

The crowd of students explodes into cheers after the announcement of the Tri-Wizard tournament, instantly forgetting the fact that Dumbledore just traded one form of entertainment that many can get in on, with one that only three (or four, in this case) can.

I spy Cedric Diggory out of the corner of my eye, an excited smile on his face at the news, a flash of something more in his eyes as I watch him ponder joining the tournament. Doubt, fear, and anticipation all wrapped up into one emotional package.

"I'm not letting you die this time," I whisper, so quietly that even I can barely hear myself.

I'm going to do my damndest to make sure that Cedric lives. He's a stand-up guy. A bit naïve, but he had a normal childhood as far as wizarding lives go, so it makes sense that he's still impressionable.

No, if I have anything to do with it, Cedric is going to survive this upcoming travesty of a blood sport.

As dinner wraps up, the girls and I head to an unused meeting room near the library where we usually stay and spend time together outside of lectures. Tracey smiles at me as she grabs one of the slightly dilapidated sofas that we managed to clean up with a bit of handy use of cleaning and restoration charms.

I'm incredibly glad to have my friend, and now sister back. The tension between Tracey and I was tearing apart our little group, and it would have been awful if everyone split up because of that spat.

I flick my eyes over Ginny, happy to see that she's beginning to come out of her shell after Ron's death. It struck her hard, harder than I imagined it would. I didn't realize the two of them were that close, as the two of us weren't the best of friends in my last life, and Ron rarely spoke of her outside of the standard sibling rivalry complaints.

Ginny was always an object of curiosity for me. Not in a romantic way, but she was always an interesting person. The only girl in a family of seven, tomboyish yet feminine to a fault, and just as quick with her wand as she was with her tongue. She just has so much spirit.

I smile softly. It's good that she's beginning to heal, and although the death of a family member isn't something one just 'comes back from,' she's slowly coming to terms with what happened.

Daphne groans loudly off to the side, Astoria cackling at some awful joke that she must have just told.

"What's so funny?" I ask, tilting my head.

Sticking her face in her hands, Daphne runs her fingers through her hair, sighing in exasperation. "Astoria… she just said Draco Malfoy is… cute." She whispers the last word, a great shudder coursing through her body as the vile comment spills out across her tongue, Astoria giggling even louder.

"It's not like I'm interested in him. He's a prat, but you have to say he is cute," Astoria says, Daphne burying her face even deeper into her hands and looking as if she's about to fall over.

"That's… ugh," I mutter, shaking my head at the imagery of Draco and Astoria dating. "Wouldn't the fact that he's an obnoxious prick detract a little from how you see him?"

Astoria taps her chin thoughtfully. "Well, yeah. But have you seen his arse?"

"Oh, Circe and Morgana preserve me," Daphne curses, staring at her sister in abject horror, before turning to everyone else in the hopes of changing the conversation as quickly as possible. "So, everyone, did you get your dress robes for the upcoming ball?"

"A ball?" Padma shouts excitedly. "That's what those were for?"

"Yeah. At least, that's what I've guessed its for," Daphne muses, shrugging. "After Dumbledore announced the resurrection of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, I assumed that we were having a ball. It's a tournament tradition to have one around Yule."

"Oh. Oh shit, that means that we're going to get asked to the ball," Lisa adds, looking both excited and fearful, one hand flicking over her robes nervously, smoothing out imperceptible creases in the fabric. "Or not asked... shite."

Luna leans back into her seat, her normally dreamy look somewhat bashful as she quietly proclaims, "I do hope that Michael Corner asks me to the ball, he seems ever so lovely."

"I say Dean Thomas myself," Padma interjects, blushing nervously. "He's just so cute!"

I sit awkwardly, all of a sudden very unsure of how to deal with the route the conversation has taken.

Yeah, I've talked about dating before, but that was with the other guys in the Gryffindor dorms. That was… well, it was pretty laddish. Who wants to snog who, which girl has the most impressive… assets, that sort of thing.

This? Fuck.

I'm completely out of my depth.

My eyes flick back and forth, following the now outrageously bubbly girls as they work themselves into a romantic tirade, bickering back and forth over which boy is the closest to their image of prince charming, and which is a disgusting slob, before the dreaded question finally comes my way.

"Helene? Who do you hope will ask you?" Tracey bursts, looking a bit flustered from the sudden talk of boys.

"Knowing Helene, she'll ask him," Daphne pipes up, grinning broadly at her little joke. "She does tend to be assertive."

Good God. So… this is what I was worried about after finding out I was a woman.

The dreaded boy talk.

It's just as bad as I thought it would be.

I look around, nearly everyone on the edge of their seats as they lean forward, eager to hear what I have to say. Hermione and Ginny shoot me mildly apologetic looks, while Astoria looks like she's swallowed something rather unpleasant, her eyes comically bugging out of her face as she glances about wildly, obviously thinking of some way to direct the conversation somewhere else.

I'm sure I would find her expression of discomfort incredibly funny if I wasn't so tense.

I tilt my head back, gazing up at the ceiling and sending a silent prayer to whichever God is listening to make this as painless as possible.

Fuck this.

I can fight Dumbledore, Voldemort, and slaughter scores of Death Eaters while not even noticing the effects of a horde of dementors. I can handle this.

Looks like it's time to come out.

"I didn't really put much thought into it," I say, scratching the back of my head, my fingers getting somewhat tangled in soft curls. "Er- Penelope Clearwater seems quite nice?"

"Yeah, she really… huh?" Daphne splutters, blinking rapidly. "Clearwater? Head Girl, Clearwater?"

"Is there a different student here who goes by the same name?" I ask, trying to defuse the suddenly very awkward situation. "Yes, Penelope Clearwater. Head Girl, Penelope Clearwater."

"She's very friendly," Luna pipes up, smiling serenely, either ignoring the sudden silence that hangs over the group or just completely oblivious. I think Luna just choses to ignore it all. "I think you two would make a lovely couple."

I notice that Padma has an odd look on her face, and I turn towards her, concerned. "Is everything alright?"

She opens and closes her mouth a few times, wrestling with her thoughts. "Yes, everything is fine," she croaks, her voice thin. "I…"

She begins to trail off, a few indecipherable sounds sneaking out of her mouth, unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry, but I didn't see that coming."

Damnit. This is exactly what I was worried about. Fucking ancient wizarding values. "Be honest, does who I find attractive make you uncomfortable?"

She chokes on her throat, looking askance. "Uh… yes, a little," she answers truthfully, burning with shame and confusion. "I just… my family comes from India, yeah? I only moved here… three? No, four years ago, so that my sister and I could go to Hogwarts. If you think Britain is archaic, well… it's a bit more strict when it comes to stuff like… well, like that, back home."

"Lovely," I comment, breathing out slowly. I make eye contact with Padma, who quickly averts her eyes, still looking quite uncomfortable. "Is this going to affect our friendship? It's not like I'm about to come on to you or anything. You're lovely Padma, but you're just not my type."

Padma's eyes flit around, the other girls still silent.

"It doesn't really bother me," Lisa interrupts, glancing at Padma. "I mean, one of my cousins married a muggle man, and nobody in the family really thinks differently of him."

Daphne puts her hands up in surrender when I look at her. "Hey, I was just surprised. You know me Helene, the family isn't going to shun you because you're gay."

I sigh in relief, Tracey nodding her agreement. "That doesn't change my opinion of you."

"Same here," Ginny comments, tilting her head at Hermione, who gives her a wry look.

"I was the first to know," Hermione says, squeezing my arm. "Helene accidentally let slip in first year, and it's been a bit of a secret between us since then. I'm glad you can finally come out and tell us all," she adds, smiling kindly at me.

Huffing loudly, Padma rubs her eyes slowly. "It's going to take me a bit of getting used to, alright?"

"Hey, that's fine. Honestly, this is on the better side of how I expected all of you to react. Just… let's not let who I see tear everyone apart, alright? I don't want something as simple as who I date to split apart this little ragtag bunch of hooligans we have going here." I pause, stretching my arms out, my shoulders cracking loudly. Hermione flinches at the noise, a look of disgust crossing her face as I smile at her. Hell, she really hates it when I do that.

"I'm off to bed, it's been a long day," I announce, standing up and rearranging my robes. The girls nod at me, deciding to stay around and chat for a while longer. "I'll see you all tomorrow morning," I say as I walk off, feeling a touch hurt over Padma's immediate dismissal of me.

I really hope my preferences don't mess things up.

-::-

The first month of classes goes by in a maddening rush, Hermione studying her heart out as she prepares for her OWL's one year in advance.

That girl is insane.

Much to her chagrin, I'm still topping the charts when it comes to grades. She's taken to calling me a cheater in private due to my time travel incident. She's definitely got a hell of a competitive streak.

At least I won't be so bored with repeating classes, as the students from the other schools are arriving today. To be honest, I'm quite excited to see Fleur again.

Yes, a decently large reason of why is because I'm dumbstruck by how horrendously beautiful she is, and I'd hope that something could come from that, but I remember her calming down a lot as the tournament progressed the last time around. She lost the stuck-up façade and started to act more naturally around me and the other champions as the year went by.

I'd like to be friends with that Fleur. The one who doesn't have to pretend to be… well, French. That false aristocratic demeanour isn't exactly a selling point.

I'm assuming it's because of her Veela heritage that she acts the way she does. Makes it harder for people to get close to her, and harder for them to hurt her.

I would know, I've a habit of doing the same thing.

I watch as the incredibly large carriage careens out of the sky, six massive abraxan horses kicking their terribly large hooves as they fly towards the castle, the carriage jumping and nearly rolling over like a lorry in a collision as it strikes the ground, kicking up a great cloud of dirt and dust as it tears through the grass in its wake.

Dumbledore strides forward confidently, offering his hand to Madame Maxine as she descends the steps, the woman leaning down and kissing both of his cheeks amicably, loudly greeting the disparaged Headmaster.

"Why on earth did they not dress for the cold?" Hermione wonders aloud as the students make their way out of the carriage, shivering underneath their thin blue robes. "Better question, why don't they cast a warming charm?"

"Haven't a clue," I respond, shaking my head. You'd think that the students would have dressed for Scotland's weather, namely mist and snow. I notice a few of the upper year students beginning to cast warming charms, following Hermione's unheard recommendation as they begin to settle comfortably, momentarily staving off the frigid Scottish air.

I find my eyes wandering immediately to a flash of silver hair, somehow finding Fleur in the teeming crowd of students.

I barely even notice as the decrepit, seaweed and barnacle laden ship bursts from the middle of the lake, it's haunted mast shivering as the ship settles itself, tossing to and fro as it's directed towards dry land.

No, I find myself nearly incapable of thought as Fleur stares right back at me, pulling the scarf that covers her face down, revealing a playful smirk as she visually threads the needle. Bright blue eyes war with deep green, the two of us refusing to break contact.

For some reason, I feel like I would lose something if I look away.

"Bloody hell! Is that Krum?" someone shouts, breaking my focus and causing me to avert my eyes, a deep blush colouring my cheeks as the crowd of international students begins to mosey up the steps, heads held high as they follow Dumbledore, making their way to the Great Hall.

I fall in line beside Hermione, my bushy haired friend giving me a knowing look.

"Already set sights on one of the new students?" she asks as we take our seats, a quaint smile on her face.

I chuckle quietly. "Sort of, yeah. I knew her, well, you know when. She's a good person, and I'd like to be her friend this time around. If something comes of that? Well, I wouldn't complain."

Hermione nods her head, before a serious look passes over her. "Just be careful, alright? After that mess a couple of weeks ago, you know, the one where uh- Padma made everyone really uncomfortable?" she asks, glancing around before she says that to make sure that our friend isn't within hearing distance. "I did a bit of research on how… people like us are treated in Britain. It's not pretty, judging by the older news clippings that I've read."

"What do you mean?" I ask, brow furrowed.

Hermione sighs deeply. "People have been killed over it with little to no repercussions, especially if it's a pureblood committing the crime. What's even worse, is the concept of hate crime is completely unheard of here. I know the muggle world isn't much better in some regards, and you'd probably be able to get away with it because of your Ladyship, but me?" She rubs her face, all of a sudden looking incredibly stressed. "A muggleborn? I'd be surprised if I managed to live until I was twenty years old if someone found out."

I reach over, putting my hand over hers and smiling reassuringly. "I won't let anything happen to you, ever, got that? I think I'm going to shake things up this year, what with the Yule Ball and all the press that's going to be there. If anyone, that means anyone, threatens you... well, let's just say they won't be threatening anyone for long."

"Thank you... and God, I didn't even think of that," Hermione gasps, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just… stay safe, alright? I know you're powerful, but not even you could take on the whole of the Ministry. If they find a way to make you a scapegoat… well, let's pray that doesn't happen. I don't want to hear about you being attacked by a lynch mob."

"Eh, I've been the Ministries scapegoat more times than I can count. Might as well have been attacked by a lynch mob then, what with the hate it got me." I pause, throwing down a silencing charm quickly. "Did you know that in my fifth year, they literally started a smear campaign against me? Calling me a lunatic for professing that Voldemort had returned. Everyone avoided me like the plague. I was harassed constantly, and I wouldn't have been surprised if the few times I got ill that year were because of hexes that I didn't catch."

Huh, now that I think about it, I did get sick much more often than I normally do in fifth year.

Son of a bitch, I was cursed the whole time!

"That's awful!"

"Yeah. A smear campaign against a fifteen-year-old kid. Fudge is more than incompetent, and they sent a 'ministry approved teacher' that year who spent the whole time torturing me with a blood quill."

Hermione gasps loudly, obviously recognizing what a blood quill is as she puts her hand over her mouth in shock. "No," she whispers venomously. "That's not going to happen again."

"I'll probably end up killing her to be honest," I say, shrugging nonchalantly.

Hermione purses her lips, looking very uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"Sorry, sorry," I apologize, feeling a bit more than rude. "I just… fuck. You know that that break-in at Azkaban was me, right? This is something that I have to do."

Hermione nods sullenly, looking none too pleased. "I assumed as much. I just… it's so hard for me to wrap my head around you, you know? When you're around me and the other girls, you're this caring, friendly, and incredibly funny friend. But when you're fighting? The things you can do… it's downright terrifying."

I swallow heavily, my gut wrenching. "I… I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Hermione says, putting her hand up to halt the oncoming stream of verbal reparations. "I know that you're doing what you have to do. I just find it hard to equate the you I know to the one that can wipe out a couple dozen of Death Eaters in the span of an evening."

"Yeah, that makes sense," I concede. Just because it makes sense, it doesn't make me feel any better about it.

I bring down the silencing charm as the Ravenclaw table fills rapidly, the Beauxbatons students clustering together towards the middle of the table, Fleur Delacour sitting down right in front of me.

God damnit.

"Hello again Miss Potter," she articulates, smiling kindly as she takes her seat.

"It's good to see you Fleur. Is Gabby not here with you?"

She shakes her head, looking a touch sad, her silvery hair losing some of its ethereal luster. "Unfortunately, no. She may visit me later in the year, but she is much too young to come to Hogwarts with the rest of us. Only sixth and seventh year students were allowed to come and try their hand at the Tournament."

"That's a shame, but it makes sense," I say, know how close Fleur and Gabrielle were. God, I remember just how terrified she was when she couldn't retrieve her sister from the lake.

Fleur nods sadly, before clapping her hands excitedly and eyeing me in a dangerous manner. "Well, enough about me. How have you been, mon amie, if I may call you that?"

I smile at her, nodding, yet a little worried about her sudden excitable manner. From what I can tell, she seems to be a bit of a prankster. At least, she seems to like putting people on the spot. "That's fine with me." I turn to see a confused Hermione, as well as Padma and Lisa looking curiously at both me and Fleur, their eyes dancing between the two of us. A frown flickers across my face, as Padma looks a touch ill. "I met Fleur at the World Cup before everything went to shit," I explain, Hermione's eyes lighting up in recognition, a sly look passing over her face.

I guess she realized who Fleur is.

Clever girl.

"I didn't know you were going to be here, I'd assumed you'd already graduated."

Fleur's eyebrows raise dramatically as she holds her hand over her heart. "My oh my! Do I really look that old?"

I splutter for a moment, putting my hands up and attempting to explain that I didn't mean it that way, but Fleur just begins to laugh, her voice ringing out like a bell across the hall, rich and sweet as it graces my ears.

"It's fine! It's fine!" she chuckles, wiping her eyes. "I know you didn't mean it that way, mon amie."

Lisa sends me an odd look from across the table, a slight smirk crossed with an inquisitive frown.

Jesus Christ, does everyone know I fancy Fleur already?

I praise whichever God happens to be looking down on me as the tables fill with food, and I do my best to avoid speaking by filling my mouth with heaping amounts of the delicious array in front of me.

"Excuse me, are you wanting the bouillabaisse?"

I look up from my meal to see Fleur smiling at me once more, holding a bowl of the seafood stew towards me. Sadistic French woman. She must love to watch me squirm.

I shake my head. "Thank you, but no thank you. It's a bit too rich for my tastes."

She nods, scooping a large amount out of the bowl and into her own, handing it down the line to the rest of her classmates, who give her an odd look.

I manage to make it through the rest of the meal without making a fool of myself, Fleur taking every opportunity to try and embarrass or fluster me. She would have succeeded if not for my intensive occlumency training. Thank God for that. It helps that I can literally cordon off the part of my mind that finds her horribly attractive for a short while.

Dumbledore drags out the Goblet of Fire, the crowd screaming their applause at the incredible artifact, pearlescent blue flames licking at the mouth of the goblet as they dance within its depths. It really is an impressive piece of magic. I reach out with my own, realizing that it's very similar to Iolaire in how it's been enchanted, the magical equivalent of an artificial intelligence locked within the goblet. This one feels more quite rudimentary in comparison to Iolaire, something I guess would be better described as as virtual intelligence, obviously limited to simply finding out who is 'worthy' of something.

I loudly proclaim my disinterest in the death trap of a tournament to my friends and others that are within earshot, hopefully avoiding the whole 'fuck Potter' train that drove me close to insanity in my last life.

Dinner wraps up quite quickly after that, Hermione and Lisa ribbing me the whole way back to the dormitory, making comments about 'blonde seductresses,' and doing their damndest to torment me, while Padma is horribly quiet. Looks like I might be moving from one spat to another, but this time, it's completely unjustified.

Of course, my subconscious decides to taunt me as well, as I fall asleep to visions of a tall silver haired woman dancing across Scottish fields.

-::-

I walk into Severus' office, wanting to catch up with him as we haven't spoken since early June.

"Hello?" I call, knocking on the doorframe as I enter the office, Severus looking up from a stack of papers that he's grading, smiling at me.

"Come in, come in," he says, waving me forward and standing up to put a kettle on. "How was your summer?"

"Alright, apart from the mass murder and other shenanigans that I tend to get up to," I answer, Severus looking mildly horrified.

"Let me guess, Azkaban was your doing?" he asks, before shaking his head and cursing under his breath. "Don't even answer that, of course it was. Were you responsible for the World Cup as well?"

I nod approvingly. "You know me so well Severus."

He shakes his head once more, sighing loudly. "Unfortunately, I do."

I laugh loudly, Severus smirking wryly at me. He just shows his love through dry insults and mildly demeaning banter.

"So, what about you? Get up to anything interesting?"

He walks back and hands me my tea, sitting back down as he drums his fingers across his mug. "Well, I went on a trip to South America to retrieve a rare breed of moonshade, which was quite an exciting trip."

"Sounds like fun. Did it go well?"

Severus nods, taking a sip of his tea. "It went as well as it could have gone. I unfortunately didn't manage to harvest as much of the plant as I would have liked to, but that comes with the territory of it only being visible on the full moon and only being found in the Paraguayan jungle near… well, you wouldn't know of the town even if I told you."

"And you didn't manage to tan one bit," I laugh, Severus scowling at me in reply.

"By the way, I had something made for you," he comments, taking another deep sip from his mug and standing up, walking towards a cabinet in the corner of his office.

He had something made for me? What on earth could it possibly be?

He pulls the cabinet open, drawing out a pair of deep black boots, as well as a neatly folded set of equally dark battle robes that look to be made out of…

Oh.

"Is… is that?"

"Yes, it is. This came from our harvest in the Chamber," Severus says, nodding contritely. "They're more fashionable than functional, but the hide is still somewhat resistant to minor charms and hexes, but any physical attacks will still cut through it as it would a very tough leather."

"Wouldn't it act in the same way that dragon hide does?" I ask, wondering why basilisk hide isn't as protective as I thought it would be.

"Unfortunately, no. Dragons are an odd in creature in that they 'drink' in the magic around them, almost like a magical photosynthesis. Dragons can go without food for decades, and their absorption of magic in turn makes their hide incredibly strong even long after death. Basilisks don't absorb magic, instead simply innately powerful, so their hide quickly loses the majority of it's protective properties," he explains, handing the clothing to me.

I reach out tentatively, taking the battle robes and boots from him and finding myself surprised at how light they are.

"The inside is lined with silk, lined with featherweight charms, as well as heating or cooling charms that will activate depending on the weather," Severus clarifies, opening the robes and pointing out the soft black interior of the robes.

I pause to study them. The boots are simple, calf high and quite sturdy, flaring slightly below the knee. A combination of laces and clasps work their way towards the top, making them look quite functional, like a very fashionable pair of combat boots. They end in a soft point, and I tap the end of the boot, noticing that there's steel laced into the toe. Whichever cobbler made these, they must be their Mona Lisa.

I hold out the robes in front of me, my eyes passing over the incredible work of craftsmanship. The robes are single breasted, and the arms taper off towards the wrist, shoulders flaring out into an intimidating point, looking vaguely like a very chic form of leather pauldrons. The coat, not robe, looks like it only closes up over the chest, the bottom of the coat looking like it'll end just below my knees. There's a loose cowl near the neck of the garment that would easily cover my own, and can probably be pulled up over my mouth and nose to add a bit of mystique to the look. I roll the coat over, noticing a loose hood hanging off the back. Yes, there's definitely a running subterfuge theme to this whole outfit.

Tucked into the coat is a pair of snug yet flexible looking breeches, a few shades lighter than the coat. A pair of gloves that I didn't notice falls onto the floor, and I lean over to pick them up, gazing at them intently. They're simple gloves that are elbow length, stitching running across the wrist, once more flaring at the joint and ending in a point, looking dangerous yet distinctly feminine.

"I thought you'd like something to remember her by, as well as an… outfit to wear when you're off and doing whatever it is that you do. Maybe when you start publicly murdering Death Eaters and some such, just please try to avoid killing me if I happen to be brought along on one of those horrific raids."

I look up at Severus with teary eyes. "Thank you… thank you so much," I choke, holding the robes close to my chest like a lifeline. "Thank you."

"It's the least that I could do," he says, putting his hands up in protest. "I'm glad that you like them. Just know that that is the only gift that I will ever give to you, understood?"

I chuckle through my tears, wiping them away with the back of my hand. "Got it. I'll make sure to never mention this to anyone as well, correct?"

Severus smiles at me, white teeth shining in the dim candlelight. "No one would ever believe you. A gift from the bat of the dungeons? Impossible. Hell would sooner freeze over."

-::-

"Are you excited for the Tournament?"

I look at Fleur, shaking my head in adamant denial. "Sort of? Isn't it a bit of a blood sport? That seems a bit… primitive, even by wizarding standards."

She laughs heartily, garnering a smile from me. "That is very true. Unfortunately, many of our people are stuck in their ways, no?"

"Truer words have never been spoken," I say, as Dumbledore strides into the middle of the room, everyone and their mum crowded about the goblet, eagerly awaiting the reveal of the champions.

A galleon says the Hufflepuffs lose their mind when my name gets tossed out of it.

Hermione glances at me nervously, knowing what is to come but not at all excited about my participation in the notoriously dangerous tournament. I really shouldn't have told her about the dragons, nor about the imminent duel with Voldemort at the end of the year. If worrying was an Olympic sport, Hermione would easily take gold.

Dumbledore calls for silence, hands held out theatrically as he captures everyone's attention.

As much as I detest the man, I have to hand it to him. He does know how to put on a good show.

"May I have everyone's attention?" he calls, his voice echoing powerfully throughout the Great Hall, a tinge of bravado lacing his words. "Tonight, we are gathered to learn who our champions will be! One from each of our prestigious schools. Our guests, the masterful students of Beauxbatons," he announces, gesturing towards those adorned in robes of baby blue, a cheer ringing out from them. Dumbledore sweeps his arms over to point at the Durmstrang students, cloaked in heavy garments of deep crimson, fur lining the necks of their coats. "The scholars of the North! Durmstrang!" With another grandiose wave, he spreads his arms wide. "And last, but not least, you! My wonderful students of Hogwarts. A champion will be chosen from each, and those three will compete for eternal glory!"

The students roar, a deafening cacophony that seems as if it will shatter the great windows lining the Hall, the heavy din reverberating through my bones and throughout the rest of the excited throng.

Yeah. He's a hell of an entertainer.

Dumbledore claps his hands once, a singed piece of neatly folded parchment shooting out of the flames and into his waiting hands. He slowly opens it up, dragging it out as much as possible as he glances over the sheet, lazily, yet with extreme intent, turning his eyes back towards the eagerly waiting students.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is…"

He pauses, a smile tugging at his lips as he scans the crowd, shouting his announcement to the world. "Fleur Delacour!"

My silver haired friend of only four days stands up proudly, smoothing out her robes as she marches towards the far room, being beckoned in by Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman.

Speaking of which, has anyone ever told Barty that his moustache very closely resembles that of the most horrific dictator to have ever lived?

The prick probably knows that and decided to keep the whiskers cut that way anyways.

Another paper bursts out of the goblet, Dumbledore cleanly snatching it out of the air and unfurling it, clearing his throat loudly. "The champion for Durmstrang… is Victor Krum!"

The normally stone-faced Quidditch professional grins widely, balling one hand into a fist and punching the air in celebration, Karkaroff, the sleazy two-faced bastard, slapping him on the back and loudly proclaiming how, 'he knew that he would be the one chosen.'

What a brilliant way to alienate the rest of your students and put Krum on the spot at the same time.

Arsehole.

The goblet erupts for a third time, Dumbledore once more retrieving the parchment and reading it loudly. "The champion for Hogwarts… is Cedric Diggory!"

Cedric bursts to his feet, a bashful smile on his face as his housemates congratulate him emphatically, the Hufflepuffs bursting with pride as one of their own is chosen for a tournament that nobody expected a Hufflepuff to compete in, what with their unfortunate reputation of being the house of 'leftovers.'

Dumbledore glances in my direction, a sour look momentarily crossing over his previously cheerful features as a fourth piece of parchment flies out of the goblet and into his hands.

He takes a deep breath, casting his eyes over the students before settling his steely gaze on me, quietly intoning, "Helene Potter."

I feign shock, eyes wide as I glance around at my classmates surrounding me, a sudden hush falling over the Great Hall. A few of the students begin to mutter amongst themselves, the Hufflepuffs directing venomous looks my way.

"I didn't… what!?"

"Helene Potter!" he repeats, much more forcefully, his voice reaching a tone of anger that I thought he only reserved for when I was attempting (and succeeding) to kill him. I look over the staff table, most of the teachers looking curious, yet scared, Flitwick tugging at his hair as he stares at me fearfully.

Christ, I completely forgot to keep visiting the little guy.

"Come up to the front of the Hall, Helene Potter!"

I get up shakily, eyes flitting about nervously as I walk forward. "I didn't put my name into the goblet," I argue, clenching my fists in what I hope looks like righteous fury. "Is there any way to get me out of this?"

Barty Crouch intercepts me, his moustache bristling as he squares his shoulders. "Whether or not you did put your name in the goblet, you're now involved in a magically binding contract. There's no way out of it."

I flick my wand out its holster, raising it to the ceiling as I loudly intone, "I, Helene Lily Potter, do swear on my life and magic that I did not knowingly place my name in the Goblet of Fire, so I swear, so mote it be." My wand blinks brightly, and I quietly cast my patronus, the threstral leaping from the end of my wand and skittering noiselessly across the stone floor, a soft puff of fog emitting from its nostrils as it surveys the room.

The crowd immediately goes silent, any of the students who understand what I've just done probably wanting to bang their heads against the tables for such a risky display.

Oh! I think I hear Hermione's head thudding loudly against the table behind me. She happened to read up on magical vows after I explained the whole time travel fiasco to her, sending me a couple of incredibly cross letters calling me a 'pig-headed selfless moron,' amongst other things.

She's very creative now that she's become accustomed to cursing.

"Well, that settles that," Crouch murmurs, looking at me with a hint of amazement. "Come with me Miss Potter, we're going to be explaining the Tournament to you and the other champions."

I nod succinctly, glancing briefly in Severus' direction and nodding imperceptibly, the grim man lifting his finger in response as I stride confidently into the room that the other champions have been brought into.

The other champions turn as the door opens, all of them standing silently next to their Heads as Crouch, Dumbledore and I enter the room.

"Are we needed in the Hall?" Fleur asks, looking slightly confused.

I shake my head furiously. "No, but I seem to have been dragged into this travesty of a tournament."

Ludo Bagman takes that moment to clumsily barge into the room, unadulterated excitement gracing his chubby, boyish features.

I can't help but flinch away from him at his incredible likeness to Lockhart, restraining myself from reflexively cutting his head off as the man doddles about. I breathe in deeply, closing my eyes for a moment and attempting to relax.

He's not Lockhart. Lockhart is dead. I'm safe. I'm fine.

"Well, isn't this just fantastic!" he cries, breaking me from my mantra as he rubs his hands together gleefully as he stares at me like I'm a prize horse at the races. Honestly, he probably sees me that way, what with his awful gambling addiction. "We have a fourth champion!"

"No! Her?" Maxine interrupts, blustering. She waves towards me haughtily, nose held high in the air. "What is this nonsense? Dumbledore?"

"I'd like to know that as well," Karkaroff says, his normal frown much deeper than it usually is, thick owlish eyebrows pulled together angrily. "It seems Hogwarts has two champions? Is this what you think passes for good sportsmanship on this awful little island Dumbledore? I demand a second champion of my own."

Fleur glances towards me sadly, thankfully not calling me a 'leetle girl' this time, instead looking resigned to the situation. Krum stands primly, not a hint of emotion on his face as he holds eye contact with me, huffing once before turning his attention back to the argument at hand.

Cedric? Cedric just looks disappointed.

I think I'll have to tell him about the vow as we're leaving.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Crouch argues, hands held behind his back. "Once the goblet has gone out, it will not be relit until the next tournament. There's no way for us to add second champions to the mix for each school, nor can the young Miss Potter here get out of the tournament," he adds, eyes flicking over me.

"This is… this is absolutely outrageous!" Maxime shouts, her face contorted in fury. "This little girl cannot compete! She's just going to go and get herself killed!"

I spin towards the half-giantess, my lip curled in a sneer. "Little girl? Little girl?" I hiss, venom coating my every word. "I don't think you'll be saying that when I crush the rest of the competition," I boast, quickly sending an apologetic look Fleur's way. "I may not be competing willingly, but I'll be damned if I don't try to win this thing."

Maxime sniffs loudly, lips pursed in contempt. "Crush the competition? I would like to see you try."

I let my ego get the better of me, once more intoning expecto patronum, allowing the macabre Prongs to burst from my wand and rear its head angrily in Maxime's direction, the incredibly tall woman looking shocked at the casual display of notoriously difficult magic, from the wand of a young girl no less.

I wave my wand, dispelling the patronus charm and smirking at her, Dumbledore finally deciding to break up the argument and send us on our way.

"If we could get back on topic?" he asks, looking about the room, the Heads averting their eyes in embarrassment at their childish display. "Thank you. Now, the first task will be occurring on November Twenty-Fourth, and while I would love to give each of you a hint of what is to come, the first task is based upon courage. As such, you will not be notified of what challenge you will be facing until the day of." He pauses momentarily, brushing his fingers through his long and wiry beard. "Do any of you have any questions?"

All of us shake our heads, filing out of the room as quickly as possible to get away from the stifling atmosphere left within.

I feel a hand gently grasp my shoulder as I leave. I immediately pull my arm up and tearing the offending hand off of me, twisting the wrist painfully as I spin around, finding myself face to face with Cedric Diggory.

"Gods! Helene! Let me go!" he cries, cradling his wrist as he looks at me with a touch of fear.

"Sorry about that," I apologize sheepishly, rubbing the back of my head. "I was a bit tense, and I don't uh- I don't really do well with physical contact. Are you alright?" I add, looking at him with no small amount of concern.

He nods shakily, shaking out his wrist and flexing his fingers, obviously finding the quick test of his limb to his satisfaction. "It's alright… things got heated in there," he says, glancing back at the room with distaste. "I just wanted to wish you good luck, and tell you that I believe you when you said you didn't enter your name into the goblet."

"Thank you. Well, I would have told you about the magical vow I took earlier anyways."

Cedric's eyes bug out of his head, mouth hanging open. "Magical vow? Are you insane?"

I laugh at his reaction, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear. "Maybe a touch mad. I think I was born that way."

He chuckles loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, I guess you've got no shortage of courage. I think I may have to worry about you a bit more when it comes to this upcoming task."

I stick my hand forward, Cedric shaking it enthusiastically. "Good luck, and may the best student win."

"Sounds good to me," Cedric effuses as he wanders off, probably to go and celebrate with the rest of the 'Puffs.

What an unfortunate name for a school house.

"Helene! Helene!" I hear a voice call, one easily recognizable.

"Yes Fleur?"

She walks forward and pulls me into a hug, laughing quietly as I squeak in surprise.

"I'm so sorry that you've gotten roped into this," she says, looking at me sadly. "It's… I don't believe that this tournament is going to go well for anyone. I have a bad feeling about it."

I nod. "I feel the same. There's just… I dunno', something wrong. Well, what with me being brought into it without consent, I'd say it's already off to a rocky start."

"Just stay safe, oui?" she says, lowering her head and looking at me kindly.

I can't help but stare up at her, once more lost in a deep ocean of blue. "Oui, I can do that."

Fleur smiles widely. "C'est bon," she exclaims, turning around and glancing behind her shoulder. "I have to be going, as it seems that Madame Maxine is having a... how do you English say it? Tiff?"

I snicker at that, covering my mouth with my hand before waving her off. "Go take care of your Headmistress, and please tell her that I apologize for what I said earlier. I don't appreciate people looking down on me."

Fleur laughs once more, the sound music to my ears. "I thought her head was about to explode when she saw your patronus charm." She turns to walk away, waving at me as she leaves. "Take care mon amie!"

"Same to you!" I call back as I begin the arduous journey to the Ravenclaw common room, and hopefully to bed.

I'm not too interested in joining whichever impromptu party has probably been started there. Much too tired for such a thing.

After tackling the many, many flights of stairs, I lazily give the answer to the knocker's riddle, opening the door to the common room and muttering, "Oh shit," as I look out upon what seems to be an ocean of drunken teens cheering in my face.

How in the hell did they already get this pissed?

Penelope fucking Clearwater herself pushes her way through the crowd and picks me up excitedly. "Ravenclaws Champion everybody!" she announces as she awkwardly holds me to her chest, the sharp tinge of alcohol wafting over my nose and causing me to wrinkle it disapprovingly.

The Ravenclaws echo their support, a deafening roar bursting throughout the common room.

I blink, feeling a bit dazed by the sudden onslaught of noise.

"Could everyone calm down for a moment?" I ask, holding my hands up. "I'm going to say it once, and I won't say it again. I did not enter my name into the goblet, and I have no real interest in competing in the tournament."

The crowd goes silent, some quiet mutters sneaking their way through the intoxicated students.

By quiet, I mean stage whispers.

They are drunk.

"But!" I add, holding one hand up in the air, finger pointed to the ceiling. "That doesn't mean that I'm not going to try my best to win this thing! I promise you that Ravenclaw is going to take home the Tri-Wizard cup!"

I almost clap my hands over my ears at the sudden outpour of support, the students screaming their hearts out as they cheer for me, a group of seventh-years looking like they want to do nothing more than lift me up and have me surf across the drunken sea.

Of course, I don't allow that, as I'm wearing a skirt at the moment.

Like a whisper, I sneak my way through the party that seems to now be in full swing, trudging up the stairs towards my dorm where Hermione is resting peacefully in bed, a book propped up on her chest.

"Thank you," she says as I put a silencing charm on the door, the raucous din from downstairs no longer reaching up to our room. "You know, that was incredibly stupid of you earlier."

I can't help but laugh at her reaction, Hermione scowling at me. "What? I knew you were going to say that!" I manage to get out between chuckles, Hermione attempting to hide a grin. "You're awfully predictable."

"Well, you are too," she says, setting her book down. "Be careful, alright? I don't want to see my best-friend roasted by an angry dragon."

I cross my hand over my quiet heart, Hermione rolling her eyes in reply. "I promise that I won't be roasted. Really, do you have such little faith in me? That dragon isn't going to leave the pen in one piece."

"Do you really have to kill it?"

I look at her like she's grown a third head. "Do you know how expensive dragon hide is? If I get the Hungarian Horntail again, that's enough to last the next three generations if I someday have five kids, and they manage to have five kids as well," I argue. "Not to mention, dragon hide looks quite dashing."

"Ah? Looking for a way to get into Fleur's good books?" Hermione says playfully, one eyebrow raised. "I didn't know that she was into women in leather."

I groan in exasperation, Hermione laughing at me. "Oh, come off it. If something happens, it happens, but I'm not going to chase her down. I'm sure I'd love to be in a relationship with her, but I've got a lot on my plate this year. Hell, I always have a lot on my plate, and I probably always will."

"So why not pursue her? I don't get why you're so opposed to asking her out. I thought you wanted to make waves, didn't you?"

I scratch my head. "I mean, yeah, I do, but I don't want to take any chance of losing an already growing friendship."

Hermione rolls her eyes emphatically, deciding to put her book away for good, tucking a mark over her page and closing it, setting it upon her nightstand. "You know, you really act like a boy sometimes, you know that right?"

"You have no idea," I reply, laughing at Hermione's description of me.

God, she would lose her mind if she knew I used to be Harry instead of Helene.

"Well, think of Shakespeare. Better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all."

"Really? Shakespeare quotes?"

Hermione huffs, crossing her arms. "I'm named after one of his characters, you think I wouldn't have read his entire works?"

I shake my head, stifling a smile at Hermione's expense. "Well, I'm going to get to bed, but I'll think on what you said, yeah? Relationships aren't exactly my forte."

"Just keep it in mind," she says, yawning loudly. "Looks like I should get some rest too. Goodnight!" she adds cheerfully, pulling her blinds closed and settling down for the night.

I cast a quick charm, cleaning my teeth as I crawl under the covers, wondering what would happen if I approached the intimidating woman that is Fleur Delacour.

Bit of a filler chapter, but I can't exactly skip everything, now can I?

DarkySunRise: It was predictable, but I think it adds a bit of spice to the story. And thank you, I haven't studied French in… a decade now, so my grasp on the language is shaky at best. I'm glad that it actually makes sense to a native speaker.

nauze18: I read the series a long time ago, and I remember what you're talking about. I tried to capture more of an occult theme with the dementors, along with a touch of that Lovecraft macabre, this ancient being that is completely unpredictable, basically a living riddle.

No, there's going to be no cloning in this story, so don't expect a second Harry/Helene.

Yooodiesdas: Gotta' keep reading and see!

Angelusica: The story will get a touch darker as it progresses as it will deal with the psychological consequences of war, so be ready to be horrified even more.

I'm terribly glad you enjoy it, thank you.

xArtehx: So, I've had a lot of people comment on the Lockhart incident, and I think I should put down my reasoning as I imagine the question is going to continue to come up in both reviews and PM's.

Lockhart is a self-obsessed, textbook narcissist with a penchant for memory charming anyone who gets in the way of his thirst for fame. That in itself is horribly creepy. Add on to the fact, the man happily surrounds himself with students that adore him for his apparent fame, many of the girls having unabashed crushes on him that he does nothing to dispel. That in my mind is an absolute recipe for disaster.

I did my best to approach an understandably awful topic in a responsible way. First, by not describing the horrific act in any way, shape, or form. Secondly, I didn't gloss over it and the aftermath. It's an incredibly traumatizing experience that has long lasting effects and Helene will still be seeing remnants of the attack in the story, what with her aversion to sudden touch, attention from older men, as well as other things that may come up later in the story.