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

Chapter Thirty-Three | Chocolat

I have a habit of stretching when I wake up, curling about on my bed like a tired cat, spine bent and limbs splayed as I attempt to get my blood flowing, like my contortions will somehow wake me up faster than if I otherwise didn't roll around like a demented circus performer.

Unfortunately, I seem to have forgotten the fact that a good portion of the right side of my body is layered in raw, burnt and knotted tissue.

I hiss loudly as my back bows from the sudden pain, hips lifting into the air as I struggle to escape my own skin.

"Fuck!" I groan, tentatively pressing my hand to my side and cursing once more at the burning sensation it brings. I summon my wand to my hand, the focus having fallen to the ground some time in the night, passing it over my wounded side and sighing lowly in relief as the overwhelming pain ebbs, slowly becoming more and more ignorable.

Now I understand why burn centres are considered one of the most daunting places to work in as a medical professional, be it either magical or mundane.

I push myself quickly through my morning ablutions, cleaned and dressed in record time as I set out to visit Severus for some burn remedy, making sure to pack the chimera's blood away in my bag before I leave. I trudge sleepily through the halls, passing through dusty fragments of light that cut through the many windows lining the stairwell, slowly working my way down the moving steps.

My un-caffeinated brain is short on the uptake as I find myself standing awkwardly in front of Severus' private office. I blink owlishly, knocking steadily on the door and kicking my feet at the floor, listening as the soles of my shoes scuff noisily off of the weathered stone.

The door swings open, Severus looking at me curiously as he invites me in.

"Is everything alright? You normally don't come to see me so early in the day," he asks, motioning to my usual seat. He tilts his head questioningly when I don't sit down. "What happened?"

"Managed to get burnt pretty badly," I say, gesturing at my side.

He purses his lips, squinting at me. "Were you the cause of the commotion in the forest last night?"

"Er- yeah? I thought you wouldn't have heard about that until later in the day."

Severus rolls his eyes dramatically, murmuring something quietly under his breath. "Well, when the DMLE comes knocking at three in the morning, it often gets all of the professors involved," he explains, shaking his head as he rummages through his private store of potions and balms. "Now, I've got some burn salve somewhere in here, but I'd like to know why you thought it would be a wise idea to attack the handlers last night. You did it for a reason, yes? Not just to keep yourself busy?"

I shrug emphatically. "I needed chimera blood for a ritual, so I went and got it. I did my best not to hurt any of the handlers, but I think I might have given the supervisor a good knock when I threw him into a tree."

Severus blinks slowly, holding a container of burn salve in one hand. He stands there for a moment, just staring at me, bewildered, before lifting his head back and gazing at the ceiling with a dumbstruck expression. "Gods preserve me, you're suicidal," he utters, puffing out his lips and exhaling loudly.

"Hey! It was necessary! Knowing my luck, I'm going to have to fight the fucking thing, and I'd like to have a chance at surviving my upcoming battle with an intelligent, man-eating abomination," I argue, sticking my hands in the air. "It's going to be a kick in the head to try and kill the thing. Keeping it tied up was nearly as exhausting as fighting Dumbledore."

"Kill it? Are you absolutely insane?" Severus gasps, nearly dropping the salve in his shock. "How on earth do you expect to kill a chimera?"

"Fiendfyre?"

He groans loudly, handing me the burn salve and trudging over to his seat, slumping into it tiredly and cradling his head in calloused hands. "You're just like your mother, always jumping into a situation headfirst, and damning the consequences." He rubs his eyes, before pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "You're going to cast fiendfyre in front of the judges and the press?"

"Well, it's classified as a dark spell since it's so difficult to cast, but… I thought it wouldn't be that big of a deal? I mean, it's still a big deal, but I can't get in trouble for it, right?" I muse, wondering aloud. "Would it be that big of an issue? I've heard of it being cast by aurors in the field before." I pause, my mind jumping back a moment. "You said my mother was reckless?"

Severus' eyes cloud over as he thinks back so many decades. "From what I can recall, yes, she was quite reckless. Always getting into some sort of trouble when it came to a new spell… Gods, she was probably responsible for most of Minerva's gray hairs." He runs his hand over his face, a nostalgic revealed underneath. "Your father and his hooligan friends could be blamed for the other half."

I smile at the mention of my parents, and even though I know Severus has nothing nice to say about my dad, it's still pleasant to hear something new about them. I've always heard a lot about my dad… but my mum? Well, the extent of my knowledge is that she had a temper as fiery as her hair and was devilishly clever.

"My mum? Really?"

Severus chuckles quietly, nodding and shaking his head at the same time. "Yes, yes she was. I seem to remember her working on an experimental runic sequence in seventh year… something for a NEWT project, I believe. She set fire to a good portion of the fifth floor and Dumbledore himself had to come down and put out the blaze while the students were evacuated." His eyes shine as he continues, a sparkling grin on his normally expressionless face. "She didn't even look ashamed! She just seemed frustrated that she managed to mess up the sequence, somehow forgetting the fact that she was working on a fire suppression matrix and had managed to fudge the numbers so badly that it turned into a fire-starting matrix."

I laugh loudly, able to perfectly imagine my mum with her hands on her hips staring angrily at the offending piece of runework. "Thank you," I say, another small chuckle escaping me.

"It's not a problem," Severus concedes. He taps his chin as his face turns serious once more, the sentimental mood having disappeared. "And speaking of fire-starting, yes, fiendfyre has sometimes been used by aurors. Aurors who got fired the instant they returned from their mission, if they weren't consumed by the fire in the first place." Severus pauses, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands on top of his desk. "Do you even know how to control the spell?"

I shrug once more. "Not really, and if I can't get a handle on it before the first task, I'm going to have to find a different way to kill the chimera."

"Well, I'd suggest you find an alternative, as well as outline a plan in the very probable case that you're vilified by the media if you do go ahead and use such a volatile and vilified spell. It is dark magic, and it is also incredibly dangerous and more than difficult to control."

I salute Severus playfully, two fingers bouncing off my forehead. "Can do boss. I've got an in at the Prophet, considering I have a large share in the company. I don't expect them to write anything poor about me, but I'll get in contact with them before they have a chance to publish anything so that I can make sure they don't publish anything… untowards."

I tap my fingers against my knee in a steady rhythm, pondering over whether or not fiendfyre would be wise to use.

Well, I know it's not wise to use, especially in such a public setting. So what could I possibly use instead?

There's always felfyre, but that could easily be much worse than using fiendfyre, not to mention the fact that it's literally a spell meant to channel flames from Hell itself. I'm sure nobody would be able to identify it, but would they be able to identify the signature of the spell? I'd imagine that it would absolutely reek of death, but the most important question would be if they would know.

Hmm.

Severus yawns widely, breaking my train of thought. "I believe it's time for me to get to breakfast. Will you be coming with me, or will you be off to apply your salve now?"

"I think I'm going to go do that and get this ritual done as soon as possible, should help me with the burns," I say, packing the small container into my bag. "Thanks for the help Severus."

"Any time. Now, I'm off to eat," he states, pushing me out the door and sending me on my way.

We split off after climbing up the stairs, Severus headed to the Great Hall, while I continue on towards the Room of Requirement. I forgo the usual trek, instead deciding to blink up to the seventh-floor and cut the trip down to a second, limping into the Room and glancing around.

I nod as I notice that the Room has already set itself up for the ritual I'm about to undertake. Stripping down quickly, I grimace at the webbed mix of stringy pink skin stretched over ochre burns, the tissue looking as if it's been roasted over a campfire. I tap the darker burns with one finger, cursing when I realize that it has been cooked, the skin crisp like roast pork.

Makes me wonder if I'd taste half decent. Honestly, I'd probably be a bit stringy, what with how little fat I have on me.

Forgetting my morbidly curious thoughts, I pop the lid off the container and begin to liberally smear the burn salve over the damaged tissue, sighing in relief as the cool to the touch paste quickly works away, the pain ebbing and the skin beginning to regain a healthy colouring.

After allowing the salve to do its job, I wash it off, as the magic of the poultice would potentially disrupt the ritual.

With a wave of my hand, I summon the chimera's blood and one of the many athame's in the Room, catching it deftly and stepping onto the usual dais. I kneel, the stone cold on my knees and rough on the top of my feet, scraping uncomfortably against skin and bone. I pop the tops off of the vials, the blood stirring slightly before settling once more, it's home too far away for it to reach.

I begin to cut, the motions now second nature, their memories seared into my mind and muscles.

It starts with laguz, the scythe etched onto my sternum and back, the identical runes mirroring each other. Healing and renewal. I move on, inscribing an othala onto both of my collarbones, the two runes laced into the centrepiece by diagonal lines cut over the modest swell of my chest. Inheritance.

Blood slowly begins to creep out of the self-inflicted wounds, crimson slowly peeking out between broken flesh. I levitate the knife, setting it by the small of my back and carving in a small sequence, eihwaz, a reversed nauthiz, as well as thurisaz. Strength, endurance, necessity, and regeneration.

I continue carving, variations of the runes beginning to litter my body. A few on my stomach, along my thighs, between my shoulder blades, and one at the base of my skull. Fehu, something won or earned, to represent the stolen blood and its assimilation into my body.

I levitate one of the vials, pouring the still warm liquid over my body, letting it run down pale skin, dripping noisily against the floor. I empty the next between my legs, letting it pool around my knees. The third I bring up to my lips, breathing in once before drinking the contents, thick bitter iron running down my throat. I do my best not to gag, the liquid fighting my efforts as it tosses and turns, trying its damndest to escape its new prison. I gulp loudly, the last of the blood trickling down my gullet and churning in my stomach.

Spreading my hands out, I let my magic suffuse the blood on and around me, the two intrinsically different energies warring for dominance. With gritted teeth, I continue to push, forcing my will upon the chimera's liquid life. It shudders in protest, spitting around my ankles before it suddenly gives, the blood settling into a still pool as its will to fight is extinguished.

Just as suddenly as the first ritual, it rises up from the ground, climbing across my body as it desperately searches for refuge, like liquid snakes coiling over my limbs and slithering their way into my veins. My muscles quiver as they're infused with new life, the skin along my thigh and hip sloughing off like the peel of a fruit, the muscle underneath bubbling and twisting as it reforms new flesh.

I grin in approval as I heal at an unprecedent speed. Not as fast as the chimera, but much, much quicker than any human would. It takes about half a minute for the burns to be replaced by clean skin, no sign that I was ever wounded apart from a slight discolouration where the outskirts of the burn once were.

"Brilliant," I whisper, climbing back up to my feet and flexing my limbs. I smile happily when I confirm that it's as if I was never hurt, having full mobility of my leg. "Fucking brilliant."

I go back to where I'd left my things and throw my clothes back on, slinging my bag back over my shoulder and heading off to breakfast, feeling completely and utterly revitalized.

I skip, skip, down the stairs towards the Great Hall, practically prancing my way over to the table where Hermione and the rest of the girls are sat. Fleur smiles oddly at me as I pass her by, looking slightly worried. I frown when I see that she's off on her own, and I suddenly realize that unless she's sat with us, she's always on her own. Hell, I don't think I've ever seen her hanging about with anyone from Beauxbatons.

I shake my head, continuing on and taking a seat next to Luna, who slides over to allow me some room.

"Hey!" I say, happily taking my seat and piling food onto my plate. Hermione eyes me curiously, before her expression changes to one of poorly hidden shock. She mouths 'silence' across the table at me, and I acquiesce, placing us into a soundproof bubble. "What's going on?"

"What the hell happened to your eyes?" she exclaims, nearly lifting her hand off the table to point at me but thinking better of it, keeping it glued next to her plate, fidgeting with her cutlery. "They… they look like cat's eyes!"

I blink a few times, remembering that the ritual could, and probably would change me genetically. Looks like it did. I wave my wand over my face, silently casting a glamour charm to make my eyes appear as they normally do, making a mental note to check them out later and see how feline they are.

"I did that ritual I was telling you about, and it looks like the chimera's blood changed more than my regenerative capabilities," I explain, taking a swift bite out of a sausage link and humming in pleasure as the spiced meat dances across my tongue. "Are they still green?"

"Yes, they are, and- well, it looks a bit… terrifying, but incredibly attractive at the same time," Hermione says, slapping her hand over her mouth and blushing intensely. "Oh my, I just said that out loud, didn't I?"

I chuckle loudly, waving my fork at her, a bit of egg dangling off the end of it. "Yeah, you did. Thanks for the compliment."

She can't help but smile in return, nodding her head at me to remove the silencing charm, which I quickly do.

I chat amicably with the other girls, Luna making an offhand comment about how I seem 'different.' Either she's being Luna, or once more, she's a lot more perceptive than she seems. I know she's a perceptive little lady, but I also think that she just likes to take the piss out of everyone.

"So, are you ready for the first task?" Lisa asks, nibbling on a piece of toast.

I let out a slow breath. "As ready as I can be, considering I have to go up against a XXXXX classified creature."

Ginny chokes on her food, Hermione quickly giving her a hand and slapping her on the back. She coughs loudly, eyes watering. "What? Are you serious?" she asks, looking more horrified as I nod my head in confirmation. "That's… shite! Those… those, those buggering fuckwits! Who do they think they are!?"

I cover my mouth with the back of my hand, stifling a laugh as Ginny begins to rant and rave over the stupidity of the Ministry, the Hogwarts faculty, and anyone and everyone involved in the Tournament.

"…and they think they can get away with that? The competitors are eighteen at the oldest! Why the hell would they bring in creatures so dangerous!?"

"Ginny…. Ginny!" I interrupt, snapping my fingers and halting her tirade. She blinks sheepishly, looking around frantically as she realizes that just about everyone nearby has heard her rant. "I get it. Really, I do. But there's nothing I can do about it now."

Her shoulders slump as she leans forward dejectedly. "I know… I just… gods. This tournament is going to be a bloodbath if that's the first task…"

"Well, you don't have to worry about me getting hurt too badly," I boast, puffing out my chest. "The great Helene Potter would never fall to something so trivial as a gigantic man-eating beast!"

She giggles quietly, before sighing. "I'll hold you to that. If you die, I'll kill you! You got that?"

I put my hands up in surrender, a mock terrified look on my face. "Awful lot of people threatening my safety lately, huh?" I ask, turning my gaze towards Hermione who smirks at me.

"It's for your own good, little miss reckless," she jibes, pointing at me with her knife.

"Little Miss Reckless?" I echo, nearly dropping my silverware.

She nods. "Yes. Little Miss Reckless."

"Not really an intimidating name, is it?" I comment, Luna turning her dazed eyes towards me.

"Would you prefer Morgana?"

I click my tongue in thought. "Huh, it's got a good ring to it, but the connotation is a bit too fire and brimstone for me."

"Little Miss Reckless it is then," Luna states unequivocally, returning her attention to her meal.

I shake my head, laughing quietly at the little bout of banter. God, I love these girls.

-::-

I blink from my room out to that same cliff face that looks over the North Sea, wrapping my coat closer around me to stave off the sharp autumn air. I continue blinking across the east coast of the Shetlands until I'm looking over an odd slant on the flank of the isle, a sea soaked diagonal cut of stone riding downwards and disappearing into the ocean. Behind me is a hill denoting where a broch once towered over the countryside, long crumbled masonry scattered over the protrusion of dirt and grass.

I get myself ready to blink out of danger in the case that my insane little venture into some of the blackest of magics goes awry. There's a good chance that it will, and I'd prefer not to be incinerated because of my own stupidity.

Rolling my shoulder, I take a few deep breaths, my nerves settling and my mind clearing as I lift my arm, wand pointed out over the roiling sea.

"Hiti á hel, standask við vel fjándmaðr," I whisper, my wand bucking as a torrential gout of noxious green flames erupt from the end of it. I know that it's hot, more torrid than even the centre of the sun, yet I don't feel a thing. The conflagration looks thick, almost corporeal as thin viscous strings of fire flicker off the steady stream like torn webbing, dissipating into the nights air.

I find myself starting in surprise, the sheer presence of the spell washing over me like the caress of a long-lost friend, the deluge of fire dancing across thin air, twisting in on itself and contorting into a whirl of feverous energy. It heaves as it curls into intricate patterns, signs and shapes recognizable for but a moment before they vanish, new images forming in their place.

"Incredible," I mutter, my wand moving of its own accord, my wrist following behind like a well-trained conductor, the tempo slowly increasing. The felfyre picks up, yearning to reach its crescendo, to wash over the untainted land and cleanse it of all life, a dominance that screams out to the world its intent.

To cleanse.

It's Black Magic, and it's nearly biblical in its intensity, its single-minded purpose. Felfyre is not meant for the world of the living, so it means to bring all back to the underworld with it.

I snap my wand down, the neon, otherworldly flames dissolving noisily, hissing and sparking as they're constrained, suffocated and brought to heel.

"Holy fucking shit," I gasp, breathing hard as my eyes swim with flashing lights, shimmering bubbles of indecipherable colour dancing across my vision.

That was… wow. That felt absolutely incredible! Like that spell was meant to be born of my wand, to be fueled by my magic, to be driven by my intent.

On shaking, excited knees, I sit down on the slightly damp Shetland grass, crossing my legs and closing my eyes. I reach out with my own magic, sensing the power in the air and trying to put a name to how it feels.

The magic is… it doesn't feel like Black Magic, which I find absolutely remarkable. Somehow the darkest of the dark comes across as… pure. It's wholly and completely pure, and even though it's so destructive as to worry even me, I can't find anything intrinsically wrong about it. It destroys, yet it's meant to purify. It does not kill, per se, but if what I'm guessing is correct, it ferries life to the other side just as the veil does.

It's not Hellfire, it's Unholy Fire.

I frown at that thought. Well, it's not the worst way to describe it, but it's still not accurate. Unholy just has this awful vibe to it, and the word reminds me a little too much of that Dementor Lord underneath Azkaban, what with its harping on of, holy this and unholy that.

It's the antithesis Holy Fire, an energy born of creation. Therefore, Felfyre is destruction in its simplest form. It has no bias, it just is.

I find it strangely beautiful.

I stretch my back as I climb up to my feet, a noisy crack emitting from the closely knitted flesh and bone. Taking another deep breath of crisp, salty air, I blink back to Hogwarts.

-::-

I walk into the tent, the quiet roar of the crowd of students outside suddenly silenced by whatever charms have been placed upon it.

I smile genially at Fleur, Viktor, and Cedric, the three of them giving some form of weak reply back. A worried smile from Cedric, a brisk nod of the head from Viktor, and a meek wave from Fleur.

"So, is everyone ready?" I ask, rubbing my hands together nervously.

I'm really not looking forward to what's to come. Binding the chimera was hard enough, but for me to slay the abomination? Well, that's going to take a lot out of me.

"As ready as I can be," Cedric croaks, fingering his wand nervously, rolling the focus over in his shaking hands. He clenches his fist against his trousers, the fabric bunching underneath.

"Da, our training group went as well as I'd hoped it to," Viktor adds stoically, arms crossed.

Fleur nods her assent, tilting her head as she looks me up and down. I can feel her incredible blue eyes dancing over me, almost penetrating in their intensity. "I quite like your outfit Helene, where did you get it?"

I take a good look at her, noticing that she's not wearing the same uniform she did last time. Instead, her clothing is much more practical. Slightly baggy gray sweatpants, a thick white tank top, and a pair of snug looking ankle high boots, those of the combat variety. Yeah, that looks much more useful than a little blue skirt and wispy blouse.

I run my fingers over my own outfit, the one that Severus had commissioned for me. I want to make an impression on the magical community today, one that tells them that I'm not someone to be fucked with.

The reason why I'm wearing this instead of something else?

I can't easily put Death's cloak on over this outfit, so since there's no chance that I'm going to go on one of my… escapades without that, this'd be better suited for something more public. It's made to intimidate, and it'll serve its purpose well today.

"It was a gift," I answer, popping the button on the top of the jacket so I can breathe a bit more easily.

"Well, it was lovely gift," she says, once more devouring me with her eyes. "You look fantastic in it," she adds, her tone complimentary rather than flirting. "A femme-fatale, I would say."

God damn if I didn't wish she knew my real age.

"Thank you," I grin, averting my gaze from her own and doing my best to quell the sudden need to be close to her, to hold and be held by her. Christ, she really doesn't know what she does to me, does she?

I hear a clap from behind me and nearly jump to the side, the other champions startled just as much by the sudden appearance of Bagman in all his pudgy glory, as I am. He's decked out in his old Wimbourne Wasps jersey, the fabric stretched over his beer and grease induced girth. I eye him distastefully, a familiar fire lit in my belly, urging me to wipe the overweight doppelganger of my violator off the face of the earth.

With gritted teeth, I push that feeling down, rolling my eyes when he grins cheerfully and prepares his little spiel.

"Well, how exciting this all is! The first task!" He claps once more, fingers locking together. "Now, to get straight to business. You'll all be required to collect a golden egg from each of your… guardians," he utters, eyes gleaming with excitement. I almost growl at his nonchalant manner, how utterly delighted he is to see us go up against monsters that just may kill each and every one of us.

Well, except for me that is, but I'm a special breed.

He draws a familiar plush bag out from seemingly nowhere, the theatrical maneuver having no effect on our current, dour mood. Scowling minutely at our lack of reaction, he holds the bag up to Fleur. "Ladies first, if you will."

She purses her lips, moving forward confidently and placing her hand into the bag, breathing a sigh of relief as she draws out the manticore, the miniature monster growling as it prowls over her open palm. She casts a guilty expression my way, know that there's a higher chance now for me to draw the chimera.

Not that I wouldn't have drawn it anyways.

Bagman continues on, Cedric relieved to end up with the Hungarian Horntail, and Viktor looking emotionless as he receives the quintaped.

Yep, I knew that would happen.

Wanting to get it over with as fast as possible, I thrust my hand into the bag and pull out the tiny little chimera, the animated replica hissing and struggling as I pick it up by the scruff of the neck, tossing it to the ground and crushing it beneath my foot.

Bagman's eyes bug out of his head at my gesture, but he quickly collects himself, throat bobbing as he gulps loudly. "The order that you four are in is Mister Diggory to start, followed by Mister Krum, Miss Delacour, and finally, Miss Potter," he states, running his eyes over us, his greedy gaze pausing on me momentarily.

Looks like the chubby cunt bet on me once again.

"When the cannon goes off, that means it will be your queue to enter the field," he finishes, bowing slightly and exiting the tent.

I walk lazily forward and collapse into one of the seats that's been scattered about, feet kicking up clumps of grass as I drive my heel into the ground, carving shallow furrows into the earth.

"Helene… are you going to be alright?" Cedric asks uncertainly, his face twisted with worry.

I put my hand up lazily, cupping my forehead with it. "Yeah, I'm going to be alright," I say, the other three frowning at my statement. "Trust me. If you want to see a good show, try to convince Pomfrey to let you spectate. I'm going to make a bit of an impression today."

"And what would that be?" Viktor asserts, arms still crossed, a hardened look on his face.

I grin madly. "You'll have to wait and see."

All of a sudden, the boom of a cannon reaches the tent. Cedric squares his shoulders, rolling up his sleeves before he goes to leave the tent.

"Hey, Cedric!" I call, the terrified Hufflepuff turning back to me.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Go kick some ass."

He grins nervously, shooting me a thumbs up before slipping out of the tent, silence once more passing over us.

We sit for a while, time going by slowly in our worried state. Viktor is meditating in the corner, legs crossed and his hands resting on his knees, slow shallow breaths slipping out of him. The cannon goes off once more, Viktor briskly standing up and striding out of the tent without a backwards glance.

Fleur on the other hand begins to pace as soon as he's left the tent, her calm façade crumbling away now that it's just me and her, her hands held behind her back like a general as she works herself into a fervor.

"Fleur, hey, take it easy," I say, walking up behind her and placing my hand on her back comfortingly, the taller woman freezing up at the physical contact. "You're going to tire yourself out before the task even starts."

Her shoulders raise and lower dramatically as she breathes in and out. I circle over to meet her and speak face to face, hand regretfully leaving her body. Fleur's eyes are shut tight, nostrils flaring as she continues to draw in air, mouth opening just a touch as it's let out over rosy lips.

"Oui, I know. I'm just… tense," she whispers, eyes opening a crack as she looks at me.

I smile reassuringly at her. "You're going to do fine, trust me. A witch like you? That manticore doesn't stand a chance."

She snorts, a wry chuckle escaping her. "It's not me that I'm worried about," she concedes, her gaze once more meeting my own. "It's you."

I swallow heavily, blinking a few times as her words register. "Oh?"

"You're a close friend of mine… one of my only friends if I'm being honest. I… I don't want to see you get hurt."

My sudden flash of hope is quickly dashed away at her words, but I can't help but nod knowingly.

God, I've really got to stop getting ahead of myself. She rejected me, it's not going to happen. "That wasn't an empty boast earlier. Trust me when I say that I'm going to come out of this in one piece, and there's going to be one less chimera in this world when it's all done and over with."

"Don't joke around!" Fleur shouts, grabbing me by the shoulders, tears in her eyes. "Do you not realize how dangerous this creature is? C'est des conneries! You're going to get yourself killed!"

I push her away, Fleur stumbling backwards. "I'm not going to get myself killed," I clip, lowering my hands.

"You're fourteen-years old! I know you're smart, I know you're powerful, but you're still fourteen!" she argues.

I sigh loudly, holding my hand out in front of me. Fleur goes to open her mouth at my defiant gesture, but I turn my hand over, palm up, and lift. A hand of stone breaks from the ground, Fleur shouting in fright as she's gently lifted, her eyes widening at the casual display of wandless, elemental magic.

"I… what?" she croaks, hopping off the granite replica of my hand and back to solid ground, staring at me in wonder. She looks like she's about to say more when the third cannon shot goes off, Fleur cursing loudly. "When this is over with, you and I are going to talk," she says. She doesn't do so aggressively, but there's an unspoken promise in her words, a calm demand to know what just happened, accompanied by an indecipherable look in her eyes.

I nod, accepting her request. "Stay safe."

She clenches her jaw, inclining her head in reply as she sweeps out of the tent, the canvas fluttering in her wake and leaving me to stew in silence, suddenly realizing how very claustrophobic my surroundings are.

I let the fist crumble, sitting down in the middle of the tent, my eyes closed as I listen to the quiet murmuring that reaches me from the outside, a cleverly fashioned silencing charm muting all but the cannon. I absentmindedly pick away at the grass that pokes up from the earth, allowing the blades to flutter noiselessly to the ground.

Quicker than I thought, the cannon goes off for a fourth and final time.

Damn Fleur was speedy.

I brush the dirt from my knees, calmly exiting the tent and doing my best not to flinch away at the sudden roar. It's just as I remembered it, a large stone pit surrounded by sports bleachers, the entirety of the school and then some clustered about, a sea of Hogwarts colours interspersed by the familiar red of Durmstrang and pastel blue of Beauxbatons. The pit looks a bit different from last time, although that might be because much of it has been reduced to rubble, great gouges in the earth where there once were boulders, grayish tufts of fur matted in blood interspersed throughout the arena.

Looks like Viktor did a number on the quintaped. At least, I hope he did.

"Last, but not least, we have our youngest champion, Helene Potter!" Bagman shouts, his magically enhanced voice carrying well across the grounds, the crowd bellowing in approval. "Let's see how she does going up against the most fearsome beast brought in today, the chimera!"

A sudden hush falls over the audience, a few muted cheers being quickly silenced as the students who aren't in the know look to their seatmates for an explanation. The others just stare in horror as the chimera is herded into the organic theatre, resting on its haunches next to the golden egg, its intelligent eyes locked on me, a feral grin on its face.

I stretch my legs out, laboriously going through the motions as I relieve the tension in my muscles.

Wouldn't do to get a cramp in the middle of slaying a monster.

The crowd watches in silence as I venture into the pen, the intense magic of the wards that surround it washing over me.

Quite impressive.

The chimera doesn't hesitate, leaping towards me with a furious growl, thick strings of saliva curling out from under its sodden lips.

I duck and roll, narrowly avoiding the swipe of its claws just as the snake's head strikes at my shoulder, thin fangs glancing off the basilisk hide and hissing furiously.

:Damned human!: it screeches, tongue flicking out and tasting the air, it's eyes widening in recognition. :I know you! Thief! Disgusting little thing!:

It roars, charging again. I throw myself to the ground, gravel crunching loudly underneath me as it bites, jaws noisily clamping on thin air. I try to roll away, shocked as the goat's head suddenly unfurls out of the chimera's body, its impossibly long neck having been hidden within the creature's ribs and innards. Lunging at me, it wraps its teeth around my forearm, crushing it in its grip.

I howl in pain, pulling my wand up and casting a high-powered cutting curse at the animal, severing the head from its body. With another flick of my wand, I send a jet of fire at the bleeding stump, hoping that that's enough to halt its regeneration.

As the creature rages, I jump backwards, the bones in my arm cracking loudly as they rearrange themselves, painfully climbing back into place. I can feel the healing draw on my magic as my skin twists and shifts to accommodate the moving bone. It's slight, but it's there.

Bugger.

So that means that it's not as foolproof as I thought it would be.

Fuck me sideways.

I cast a torrent of cutting and explosive curses at the chimera, the beasts hide bursting from the onslaught, chunks of viscera flying every which way as bits of it are torn away, others sliced neatly in long, straight furrows, rivulets of blood dancing across its hide and dripping thickly to the ground, the steady pitter patter clear as day to my magically enhanced ears.

"You hurt me! You hurt me again!" it screeches, the goats head twitching and jumping on ground, thick, glistening ropes of gore snaking their way up and over its body, firmly attaching themselves to the disembodied head. The long strands of muscle flick around as they thread back into their home, the head shuddering as its stitched back in place. It screams its fury to the sky, tongue lolling out of its hideous mouth as its eyes dance wildly in its skull. I notice in horror that the chimera's already regenerated most of the damage, blood racing back up it's patchy fur and disappearing into knitted muscle and skin. "I will rip the flesh from your bones! I will start with your feet! Little chunks, small slices, bits and pieces flitting across my tongue!"

The crowd, Bagman included, is silent as I slowly begin to sidestep around the chimera, the creature never straying too far away from the egg, staring at me challengingly, hackles raised. The fight pauses for a brief moment, the two of us dancing around each other. I continue to circle the arena, eyes flicking about as I try to find an environmental advantage.

I hiss in anger. Unfortunately, the arena has been too thoroughly destroyed for me to get the upper hand through my surroundings, and I curse heavily under my breath.

"Well, looks like I have to resort to this early," I sigh tiredly, flicking one finger forward and watching as a massive chunk of stone lances out of the ground, impaling the chimera. The moulded ore cuts right through it, exploding out of the back of the creature along with fragments of pearly white bone, muscle and skin folding out of the wound and laying across its spine like a twisted, sanguine flower.

"Dear God! Miss Potter has just done the impossible! Wandless transfiguration!" Bagman shouts excitedly, having collected himself. The previously silent crowd roars in excitement, somehow suddenly forgetting the incredible danger that I'm in.

Fucking blood sport.

I open my hands wide and push both up, fingers splayed and palms to the sky. The earth boils, a wave of dirt and stone pouring upwards, wrapping around the chimera. It fights, great muscles flexing, quickly breaking out of the makeshift prison.

"To try that a second time? You wound me!" It cackles, a hideous sound, the sharp whine of metal on metal.

It pulls back, standing on its hind legs. It sets its paws on the pike and begins to push, sliding itself off the makeshift spear. A thick, wet slurp announces the exit of the spear from its body, the gaping hole in its chest quickly reforming in front of me, blood no longer spewing from the foot-thick gap, instead oozing quickly across its belly and shuddering as it snakes its way back into bluish veins.

The chimera loudly slams back to the ground on its two front paws, a great cloud of dust billowing out from under it. It cocks its head to the side as it slowly begins to march forward, pushing me back and attempting to fence me in against the wall. I shuffle quickly, ducking and dodging the lazy swipes of its claws, the goats head snapping and growling as it tries to take a bite out of me, spittle dotting my cheeks as it flickers past my head.

Before I can react, there's a sudden flash of green, the chimera's tail whipping around at an incredible speed and wrapping round my waist. My wand falls out of my hand, and I choke as it begins to constrict me, screams of fear echoing from the stands and pounding on my ears. I gasp and splutter, scrabbling desperately at the thick coils that slowly tighten, the air being forced out of me as the chimera, swaying its head from side to side, gloats as it tries to crush my ribs.

"Tasty, tasty, tasty, tasty! Guts and blood and bone! I'll mash and scrape and taste and taste and all you'll do is moan!" it sings, licking its chops greedily.

I cough as a couple of my ribs snap. I can feel it break through the skin, and instinctually try to breathe in sharply, incapable of the feat with my chest bound so. I start in horror as a thin trail of blood slowly dribbles down my chin as something inside me pops, causing me to scream in pain. In the background, I can dimly hear Bagman crowing fearfully about the predicament I've found myself in, but I can't really make out a word of it, only the tone.

Feeling the last bit of air trapped in my lungs squeezed out, I clench my jaw. Slowly, my vision begins to swim, my head lolling as my neck can no longer support its weight. I can feel myself losing consciousness, flickering gray snow at the corner of my eyes, the world losing focus.

Huh… is this how I die?

Did Death lie to me? Do I not live to a ripe old age? Do I not defeat Voldemort?

I groan silently as my body folds over the massive curled snake, its smooth skin digging painfully into my belly.

Was this all some sort of sick joke?

"No… no no no no no. I can't die… I won't die," I mutter desperately.

With a sudden rush of strength, I summon my wand, turning it up at the neck of the snake and shooting a powerful rotting curse at it, one that will hopefully act faster than the creature can regenerate. The scales begin to peel off, revealing thin and bent ribs underneath, the flesh melting and bubbling as the curse gets to work.

It drops me, and I draw in great heaving breaths, holding my hand to my chest and loving every minute that the cold Scottish air graces my throat, ignoring the incredible aching pain deep inside me. Summoning up my magic, I pull my hands up, a veritable tsunami of earth flowing up and over the chimera, who's still fussing with its melting tail. With another flick of my wrist, long jagged spikes burst out of the curtain of sediment, and with a triumphant grin, I slam my hand down, the massive wave crushing the abomination.

I collapse to my knees as blood and muscle gush out from underneath the mound of earth, waving my hand and peeling back the natural mask, a contorted mish mash of viscera and bone twitching sporadically as it tries to tie itself back together. I grimace when I see that the chimera's life has already begun streaming back towards it, a river of grainy crimson mash coursing over thin channels in the ground like a grisly river, the heap of gore still spasming.

I extend my arm, wand pointed at the creature as I whisper, "Hiti á hel, standask við vel fjándmaðr."

Just like atop the cliffs, a vibrant burst of green fire pours forth from my wand, greedily lapping up the hideous mess of entrails that lays quivering on the ground. It all but vanishes underneath the torrent of cleansing flames, a whirl of ashes bursting forth and scattering across the stadium.

I hold the spell, allowing the exhilarating burst of ethereal flame to work its magic, the ground baking and crystallizing underneath the incredible onslaught, cracked, glassy obsidian shining upon the outskirts of the emerald geyser.

When I can feel the last of my magic ebbing away, I cut off the spell. I let out a great choking breath, wheezing harshly as the dust settles, nothing but a crater in the wake of the felfyre. I grin triumphantly, stumbling forward and picking up the golden egg.

I throw my head back and roar in triumph, egg held aloft, my hair plastered against my brow, sticky with dirt. Thick gashes litter my clothes, and a thin river of dried blood sticks to my chin and neck, making for what is probably a ghastly sight.

The crowd is mum, reticent, staring in awe at what has just happened.

Then, they fucking explode.

An outright clamor of screaming voices, stamping, and clapping, Bagman unable to get a word in edgewise over the fanatical audience. He gives up as the handlers pour into the arena, gawking at the bowl of glassy stone where the chimera was incinerated, eyes flicking back and forth between me and the impossible sight in front of them. I stand there awkwardly, too tired to move, my very bones aching from the beating I've taken and the sheer amount of magic that I've used.

Hermione comes rushing out of the stands to my rescue, aggressively pushing other students out of the way as she stampedes forward, scooping my limp frame up in her hands and supporting me on her shoulder.

"You're an idiot, you get that? An idiot!" she cries, Daphne, Tracey, and Astoria suddenly popping up in front of us with tears in their eyes.

Astoria rushes forward, nearly crushing me with the strength of the chimera as she draws me into a hug, bawling her eyes out. "I thought… I thought you were going to die!" she blubbers, head squashed against my chest.

I tiredly lift my arm, patting her on the head. "I'm alright, I'm alright," I cough, spattering the back of my hand with blood. I frown at that. "Well, not as alright as I think I am, I guess."

Must not have enough magic to regenerate. Shame.

"Everyone move out of the way! Now!" Daphne bellows, helping Hermione out by taking my other side, the two of them ushering me past the wide-eyed students that are fighting amongst themselves to get a close up look at the teenage girl who just slaughtered a chimera. At least, that's what I think those blurs are, I can't really tell through the haze that seems to be settling even thicker over my vision.

I find myself in a daze as I'm led to Madam Pomfrey, the wizened Medi-Witch immediately falling into line, ordering everyone to make way as she quickly brings me aside. I splutter and cough as she pours potion after potion down my throat, running her wand over my body, muttering quietly under her breath as she stitches me back together.

"Dear God girl, what happened to you?" she whispers frightfully, lifting my chin and shining a light in my eye.

Huh, isn't it a really bad sign for your doctor to be scared?

"Your liver and… a few other organs have been split open or heavily bruised, nearly every rib shattered, and your pelvis is cracked. You're going to need skele-gro, and a lot of it."

"Oh my, what fun," I reply sluggishly, eyes flickering open and shut as I try not to succumb to the ever-present pull of unconsciousness.

I hear Madam Pomfrey clucking disapprovingly at my nonchalant dismissal of my injuries, and I can still hear the intense worry in her voice as she berates me. "None of that from you, you damn near died out there. Now drink this, or I'll knock you out and send you to St. Mungos."

I nod tiredly as another vial is pressed to my lips, the familiar bitter tang of skele-gro scorching my throat. I nearly gag, but I fight the instinct, swallowing heavily and allowing the last dregs of the potion to pour down my gullet.

Spluttering, I roll over to my side, no longer able to resist the efforts of Hypnos.

-::-

My eyes flit back and forth beneath heavy lids, the absence of a dull orange shine through the thin layer of skin denoting that it's the middle of the night. I slowly peel them open, gummy with sleep as I acclimatize myself to the dim candlelight that flickers off the polished, off white walls.

"Jesus Christ, that was a hell of a day," I mutter, pulling myself up to a sitting position and rubbing my eyes tiredly, every bit of me still aching dully.

I wonder how many days it's been, or hell, whether or not I've been out for a week. That chimera did a hell of a number on me, and it probably doesn't help that I used every last scrap of magic that I had in me to take the fucking thing down.

Well, at least I now have bragging rights.

I hear light footsteps to my right, off towards the entrance of the Hospital Wing, and turn my head over to see who's coming. Slowly, the great doors swing open, a familiar silver shine appearing in the open doorway.

I smile, the expression faltering as Fleur approaches, her normally pale skin looking ghostly, heavy bags under her eyes. "My God… are you okay?" I ask, holding my hand out and inviting her over.

She juts her head forward, eyes wide and an astonished look on her face. "Me? Me? You're asking if I'm okay?" she whispers angrily, sitting down next to my bed and turning the chair to face me directly. "Are you insane? Maudite anglaise, you selfless idiot!"

I weakly put my hands up in surrender. "Hey, you just looked really stressed out. I was just shocked to see your normally angelic features so… well, less than angelic," I smirk, Fleur scoffing quietly.

She reaches over and laces her fingers through mine, rubbing the crook of my thumb with her own as she stares at the floor, deep in thought.

"So… you wanted to talk?" I say, raising one eyebrow. "Although… I don't know how long ago that was. How long have I been out?"

Fleur takes a deep breath, turning her gaze back towards me. "Five days," she utters. "Five days you've been unconscious, two of which you were in danger of dying. After you passed out in the first-aid tent, the Medi-Witch, what is her name… Pomfrey? She immediately put you on a stretcher and had you rushed here." Fleur chews her lip, brow knitted in consternation. "You looked so frail… so terribly hurt… merde, I was demanding that they take you to a hospital immediately, but you were too injured to transport."

"Really? It was that bad?" I gasp, not realizing the extent of my injuries. I remember Madam Pomfrey saying something about my liver, as well as my ribs… Gods, I can't really remember what happened.

Fleur nods solemnly, wiping a tear from her eye. "It was touch and go, but you made it," she says, smiling weakly. "Just… don't you dare go off and do that again, understand?"

I salute her tiredly, grinning lopsidedly. "Understood captain, I'll be in tip top shape soon enough."

She sighs playfully, shaking her head at my antics. "Well, if you're up for it, could we discuss what happened in the tent?" she asks, a suddenly serious look on her face.

I nod, scratching my cheek. "Well, I'm feeling quite awake right now, so let's."

Fleur fiddles with my hand, her ministrations becoming a touch more fervent. "I… you- that… thing that you did with the fist, with the stone in the tent…" she pauses, nibbling on her thumb. "What I want to know, is how you fought it, how did you use the earth in the way you did?"

I frown, not quite prepared to tell Fleur everything about me. I know her, but I don't know her. And as much as I'd like her to know that I'm not just this little kid, I also don't want to risk her telling anyone.

"I just found that I could do it one day," I lie, shrugging my shoulders emphatically. "It just… it sort of comes to me, I can't explain it."

Fleur suddenly closes the distance between us, pulling me towards her sharply and putting her hand over my mouth, stifling my cry.

"So… you didn't get it from Death?"

"…what?"

I freeze, eyes wide as I look at Fleur in a whole new light. How pure she is, the way she seems to radiate compassion even through her normally stoic moods, beauty and grace in every step she takes. The way her hair shines, so similar to a familiar white robe, its wearer's face shrouded in darkness, voice disguised the same as mine.

I find myself breathing heavily, Fleur removing her hand from my mouth as she looks at me seriously, a graveness in those blue eyes that I've never seen before.

"You… you can't be," I murmur in disbelief, unable to tear my eyes away from hers, entranced.

"I am."

I inhale sharply, the air whistling through my teeth. "You're… you're the Albumancer?" I ask, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of my lips, hope brimming deep inside me, my mind racing at the speed of light.

Fleur… Fleur is the Albumancer? Fleur? I mean… it makes sense, really, it does. She's acted a bit differently around me… at least, from how I remember her in my first life. The way she looked unsure of something when she first saw me at the World Cup, how quickly she approached me here at Hogwarts and started our friendship, the way she supported me when I was once more forced into the tournament instead of decrying me for my age.

"I can't believe it."

She smiles, a wide, sparking thing, her amazingly white teeth glimmering softly. "Oui, I am the Albumancer," she confirms, pursing her lips, the tip of her tongue flicking over them for just a moment. "How… how old are you?" she continues, once more smiling at me, my eyes widening at the familiar question. "You have the silhouette of someone young, but I imagine you're quite a bit older… just as I am."

God, I think I'm going to cry.

I hold her hand with both of mine, cradling it softly. "I died at fifteen, although, you probably know that if you're from the same world that I am." I pause to scratch my chin, forgetting for a moment how old I actually am. "I arrived back here just before my eleventh birthday. So… that makes me nineteen years old."

Fleur tilts her head, looking down and studying how our hands lace together, just the slightest and softest curve of her lips showing that she's still smiling. "I was… nineteen when I died. A year after you died in the ministry," she says, a slightly haunted look passing over her. "Things… things changed after you were gone… not for the better."

I nod, knowing that something like that may have happened if that universe continued on existing. Apparently, it did.

"I was killed in a skirmish in some quaint little village that I don't know the name of while fighting for the Order of the Phoenix. Someone got me in the back with a killing curse… I was gone, just like that," she states, snapping her fingers for good measure. "I came back when I was, well, I think at the same time as you. I was thirteen, turning fourteen."

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, unable to imagine the things she must have gone through after I went and got myself killed.

Fleur shakes her head, pressing one slender finger to my lips. "Don't apologize, mon amie. It was not your fault."

"But it was!" I argue, hands clenched into fists. "I fell into the veil because I was being a goddamned idiot! If I didn't do that, you wouldn't have gone through whatever horrors you did!"

Fleur lets go of my hands, gripping my shoulders and pressing her forehead against mine. I draw a long, strangled breath, closing my eyes against the soothing feeling of her skin against my own, the intimacy of it suffocating.

"You can't blame yourself for that," she argues softly, her voice gentle, like a steady, trickle of water. "It wasn't your fault, there's no need to apologize."

I open my mouth to argue, but my world very suddenly bursts, fireworks dancing behind my eyes as Fleur presses her lips to mine.

She runs her nails over the back of my neck, causing me to shudder as she draws me closer, panting softly, the taste of her breath sweet, robust, like the dark chocolate she loves to eat. I close my eyes, inhaling sharply as she tangles her fingers in my hair, slowly moving her mouth, caressing me, coaxing me.

I return the kiss, my mind melting from my ears and my body reduced to a puddle. My hands snake around her waist as hers scrape along my spine, caressing the small of her back as her fingers dance across my scalp, her tongue flicking over my lips as the kiss grows more heated, needy. I mewl softly, the sound bubbling up and out of my belly without direction, guttural, and driven by instinct. It creeps out and over my mouth and into her own, and I can feel her grin against my lips at the sounds that she's evoked from me. She crushes her body against mine, pushing me along the bed and cradling me tightly, lips mashed hungrily together.

I can't help but notice that we fit together perfectly, my legs wrapped around her waist like they were always meant to be there, a simple arm around my shoulder never having felt so incredible, so monumental. I shiver, deliciously exhilarating shocks coursing down the back of my neck as her hips press into that secret place nestled between my legs, eyes fluttering as I suddenly realize that Fleur- Fleur Delacour, is passionately kissing me in a hospital bed.

And I'm loving every fucking minute of it.

I gasp, eyes closed, hungry breaths shaking my body. "What… what was that?" I utter, dazed and stumbling over my words, my thoughts contorted and bewildered.

Fleur cups the back of my neck, rubbing softly as she puts her mouth to my ear. "That was me kissing you, ma dulcineé." Her breath tickles over my ear, warm and oh so amazing. I shudder, leaning into her touch. "You have no clue how distraught I was for you to be so young when I felt so drawn to you… how frustrated I was to find myself turning you away. You've no idea how elated I was to find you were but a few years younger than me, and the very person I've been trying to figure out since the World Cup. How terrified I was when your broken body was taken here, not knowing whether or not I'd ever be able to speak with you again."

"I don't know what to say," I whisper, unable to wipe the grin off my face. "Gods… you have no idea how much I wanted that. I tried to bring things back to how they were between us… but I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. There's something about you Fleur… you're magnetic, hypnotizing, and I can't help but find myself entranced."

She laughs, the sound magical, so close to me that I feel it, our happiness mixing together, bubbling up and bouncing off one another, a swirl of elation as we sit there and bask in each others presence. We just lay there, cradled together. I have no recognition of the time passing, of how long we've been holding each other. It feels like it's been minutes and hours at the same time, the soft hum of her breath against my ear and the steady beat of her heart, a reminder that she's there, right next to me and so full of life.

I fall asleep in her arms. Soft kisses pressed to my forehead, and strong, yet gentle arms wrapped around my waist.

I've been working towards this chapter since I first started the story. The Tri-Wizard Tournament has always been my favourite arc, and the beginnings of it was a delight to write.
Also, looks like our ship has sailed! To the sappy romance fans who very rightfully guessed my half-assed foreshadowing and not-so-subtle hinting towards Fleur being the elusive Albumancer, have fun. This is when the good shit starts.

Hiti á hel, standask við vel fjándmaðr: Flames of hell, defy your enemy. (Old Norse)

DALucifer13: Sorta' kinda? The regeneration will be similar, but not as insanely overpowered. Sure, the book said that she could maybe get her head cut off and survive, but that's a big maybe. She's going to heal rapidly, but since Helene is already such a strong character, I don't want to have it as powerful as Noro's would be.

Kira007Goddess of Chaos: I'll check that out! I'm always happy to see some Fleurmione, and it's one of my favourite pairings.

ClearSilver: Sometimes I make characters do slightly silly things so that I can have interesting stuff happen later on in the story, like having a fun to write conversation with Severus.

tacomaster0928: Homo-shit, best shit. It is known.

thatwtas: I'm glad you enjoyed it! I had a delightful time writing that, and I thought it would make for an interesting twist on what can normally be a very overused plot device.
Please, take an anti-histamine in the case of allergic fan-girling.

skylights7: Thank you! I'm happy to hear that I've actually got a cohesive and interesting story going on here, and that everything ties together properly.

Commando2341: It ain't no thang.

Guest: Well, you can get your romance pants on, because it's happening! Didn't need to wait long for that next chapter either, huh?