On the fifth day of the negotiations, Alpha William of the werewolves suggested that wizards were not quite as much of a threat as the others suggested. "They tend not to think things through all the time." To which Grindstone of the goblins replied, "That hasn't stopped them before."

-Sayern nar-Hazozh (The History of the Treaty), translated from Gobblededook circa 1952

"It makes no sense!" Harry raged. "How are you supposed to prepare for the task if they don't tell you what it is? Blaise, Daphne, tell me how that's supposed to make sense."

"I wish I could, mate. I wish I could."

Daphne quirked a blond brow, "You seem rather more put out about the lack of information than the actual competitor does."

Harry met her eyes. "Of course I'm concerned. Two of my closest friends are in this tournament. I'd greatly appreciate it if they brought you out intact."

Daphne shook her head. "First years are involved, Harry. Dumbledore can't possibly have done anything too dangerous."

"Really." The younger Slytherin's voice was flat, cold. "Because I seem to remember Dumbledore manipulating my eleven-year-old brother into fighting Voldemort. Not to mention that Mark's gang was with him almost to the bitter end."

His friend flinched; then she went pale. Tori was competing! She had no doubt that she and Hermione, the only two of the prophesied five to compete, were more than capable of defending themselves, But Tori? Her sweet, innocent, rather naïve baby sister? She didn't stand a chance.

That was it. The moment this impromptu, unofficial meeting was done, she would track down her sister and start training her. Tori would protest at first, but it needed to be done.

Harry was not the only one who could obsessively overprotect a younger sibling. Poor Tori wouldn't know what hit her.

At the very least, it would help her in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"You okay, Daphne?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine." She schooled her face into a blank, neutral expression. Though she knew intellectually that she could trust the boys enough to show them her true feelings, old habits died hard. She was a Greengrass, and Greengrasses needed to hide their emotions at the drop of a hat; it would never do to lose the habit.

Blaise (who preferred to hide his own emotions under an actor's mask) rolled his eyes. One day Daphne would realize that her blank face only gave her away. His method, hiding laughter behind calm and calm behind laughter (at least around his enemies), was so much better.

"Maybe that's the point of the task," he suggested.

Two pairs of eyes, one green, one agate blue, stared at him.

"Think about it," he advised. "This is the Slytherin task, the trial to show cunning and ambition and street-smarts. How better to test that than making the students find out for themselves what their goal is? Obviously, only the smartest and brightest will be able to figure it out."

"That… actually makes sense."

Blaise pouted. "No need to sound so surprised, Harry. I do make sense once in a blue moon."

He was greeted by chuckles and nods from his friends.

Daphne stood. "I need to go inform Astoria and Hermione of this," she informed her friends. "Then I need to tell my own team. And yes, Harry," she added, cutting off his question, "I will tell them to pretend they've come up with the idea on their own."

The person who came up with this idea would get prestige on her team. On the other hand, if it became known that Daphne had told a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw before alerting her own people…. No, best to let Hermione and Astoria claim credit for Blaise's discovery, just as Daphne herself would tell the Slytherins that it was her idea. She and the male Slytherins understood this automatically, without the need for explanations.

Hermione quickly realized why her friend wanted her to pretend that she herself had come up with the idea. The two witches wished each other luck before Daphne departed to find her sister.

Tori was a social butterfly, very popular with her peers. She'd been a bit shy at first, but Hufflepuffs were nothing if not friendly. They'd quickly brought the young badger out of her shell, and soon Tori was laughing and joking with the best of them.

In Slytherin House, she would have been slaughtered unless Daphne protected her (which she would have done, of course). But protection or not, she would have been thoroughly miserable in the serpents' den. Harry was doing his utmost to change the House, but Rome wasn't built in a day. Neither was the new Slytherin.

Daphne was profoundly grateful that her baby sister was a Hufflepuff, even if their parents were less than pleased.

The sisters met in the library, which, despite a slight overrepresentation of Ravenclaws, was generally considered a House-neutral zone. "Hi, Daphne," the younger girl called, waving.

"Hello, Astoria." She always used her sister's full name when people were watching, and right now, Madame Pince was eyeing them suspiciously. Daphne glided over to her sister's table, pulled out a chair, and sat. "Congratulations on being chosen."

"You too," her sister replied. Something flickered in her eyes, so like Daphne's in color but so unlike them in content. "Maybe Mother and Father will be happy enough about that that they'll forgive me for being a Hufflepuff."

"I've told you before, Astoria, there's nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff," Daphne chided gently. "There's nothing wrong with learning how to work hard and long. It's certainly a more practical skill set than Gryffindor's chivalry and recklessness- though of course, not all Gryffindors are idiots."

"You mean your boyfriend Neville?"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You know quite well that Neville and I are not dating."

"Yet."

The elder chuckled softly. "If you insist."

"You should bring him to the ball," Tori declared.

Daphne frowned. "What ball?"

Her sister grinned; pleased to know something that Daphne did not. "I've been reading up on the Triwizard Tournament. Each year the host school had a Yule Ball. This isn't exactly the Triwizard, but it's based on it, so I'm pretty sure there will be a ball around Christmas. I hope so. It sounds a lot more fun than the stuffy Christmas dinner we have to go to every year."

Daphne was tempted to point out that she rather enjoyed the 'stuffy Christmas dinners,' thank you very much, but quashed the urge. A quick glance around revealed that Madame Pince had gone off to spy on other students. Good. She didn't want any witnesses, no matter how impartial. "Speaking of the Tournament, I have an theory about the first task…."

Tori's eyes went wide. "But how are we supposed to find out?" she demanded. "I don't even know where to start."

"Neither do I," her sister confessed, "but I'm certain that someone will eventually make a plan."

"I'm guessing you want me to claim credit?" Tori posited after a moment's contemplation. She might not be a Slytherin, but she had been raised in a Slytherin household.

Daphne smiled, nodded. Her sister had learned well.

The Slytherins took to Blaise's theory (though they of course thought it was Daphne's) like fish to water. Their first strategy was to go to Professor Slughorn, ask him if he knew what the task was. The direct approach, Blaise called it. But Slughorn told his students that none of the Heads of Houses had been told what any of the tasks were. Dumbledore evidently believed that the temptation to cheat would be too much for them.

The potions master seemed rather put out about that, actually.

Daphne and her fellow champions were sent away with an invitation to a Slug Club dinner in their honor that would take place on the thirtieth.

Harry was positively thrilled by the news. "Remember what else happens on the thirtieth?" he asked gleefully.

"My choir practice?" Blaise guessed innocently.

Harry shot him a withering glare. "No. The first issue of the VV is coming out, that's what!" The boy looked ready to burst with excitement.

So of course Blaise had to burst his bubble. "Oh, right. That. Yeah, I supposed that's nice enough, but it has nothing on choir practice."

"I thought you hated choir?" Harry shot back.

"It grows on you," the other boy shrugged.

The younger Slytherin elected to ignore him. "My point is: the VV is due to come out that morning. That means that it'll probably be the topic of conversation that night."

"I think that choir practice will be the topic, actually."

"That stopped being funny five minutes ago, Blaise."

"Please be quiet," Daphne suggested. "I'm trying to make some notes here." Sure enough, Harry and Blaise could see the latest issue of Better than Binns peeking out from under her arm.

"You sure you want to do that this year?" Blaise asked. "You, Harry, and Hermione are all busy. Neville and I should take over the notes."

Daphne considered for a moment before ceding the notes to Blaise. "Just be aware that Hermione will never surrender her right to proofread these before they go public."

"Of course she won't. She's Hermione."

"True. But Harry, don't you think it would be a good idea to ensure that the partygoers will talk about the VV?"

"You mean carefully guide the conversation to the articles? Of course."

"I don't think the conversation will need any help, honestly," Blaise replied. "People still remember the great and magnificent heroes who saved all the poor innocent girlies from Lucius Malfoy's evil clutches."

Daphne flushed slightly. As one of the poor innocent girlies who had been rescued from Lucius Malfoy's evil clutches, she really ought to have thought of that. But everyone made mistakes once in a while.

The conversation became a repetition of which articles would appear in this particular issue of the Vox Veritatis, the newsletter which Hermione had cooked up and which Sirius had helped edit.

Just under a week after that talk, Pollux Ophion Riddle Apparated to Founder's Isle with his four human companions. Sirius and Saysa were waiting for him.

"Wotcher," he greeted, having picked the expression up from Tonks. Then, worriedly, "Saysa, are you all right?"

The serpent-woman smiled faintly. "Yes. I'm quite fine, thank you."

She didn't look fine. She was paler than normal and a bit skinnier too. Considering how pale and slender she normally was, that was saying something.

"Have you been having nightmares again?" Hermione-as-Pallas queried gently.

Saysa's jaw tightened, which was answer enough.

She didn't like to admit it, but she had been haunted by nightmares since Dumbledore's appearance in the Department of Mysteries. Not that anyone blamed her- she had been tortured and hit with the Imperius Curse, forced to fight against a phoenix and Harry's own brother. She had every right to nightmares.

She just didn't want to admit it.

Daphne-as-Bianca, deciding that if Saysa didn't want to talk, then nothing they could do would make her, changed the subject. "Do you have the paper, Sirius?"

"Which paper?" was his innocent response. "The Prophet?"

Bianca scowled. "I rarely appreciate that sarcasm coming out of Apollo, and I certainly don't like it coming from you."

"Yeah, I've got it, Ms. No-fun." He handed her a thick stack of papers. "There. Issue One of the Vox Veritatis."

Bianca scanned it. "I don't see any errors offhand," she murmured. "Can any of you?"

A chorus of no answered her. "I have looked it over already," Saysa added.

"And she couldn't find any mistakes either, could you, Saysa?" Sirius chuckled.

She smiled slightly. "I could not."

"You really need to have more faith in me," Sirius teased.

"We do have faith in you," Pollux assured him. "Blame me. I'm the paranoid one."

"He admits it!" Padfoot and Apollo cried in tandem. They fell silent, blinked at one another.

"Kindred spirits, those two," Bianca groaned.

Pollux, Pallas, and Alexander exchanged amused grins before schooling their features into impassivity. "Shall we get started, then?" he asked, voice carefully neutral.

"Let's," Sirius declared. One hand slipped into his pocket, touched the object he was storing there. "And before you ask, Bianca, I have those ones too. It took forever to shrink all those papers."

"Just be glad you didn't have to cast geminio on them all," Pallas advised.

"Believe me, I am. How did you get your hands on blueprints for a printing press anyways?"

She grinned, thinking of Luna. The younger Ravenclaw had been more than happy to share her father's design with her best friend. "I have my methods, Padfoot. Now come on. The night's not getting any younger."

Acting as one, they Apparated to a certain glade in the Forbidden Forest (Saysa, of course, was carried along by Sirius). A centaur awaited them there. "Hello," she greeted, pressing her hands to her stomach in her people's gesture of respect.

The six humans and basilisk returned the gesture. "Thank you again for the use of this land," Pollux said. "May the stars smile upon your generosity."

"May they smile upon your destiny," she retorted. "You have the materials?"

"The materials and this conversation too, archer," Sirius butted in. "And we can see that your people too have kept their word- not that we doubted. Your people's honor is legendary."

The centaur beamed at him before trotting away. The humans and basilisk gawked. "What was that?" Apollo demanded.

"What?" Sirius was defensive. "I had to have picked up some manners, if only through osmosis. I just don't use them much."

They continued to stare.

"Everyone knows how prickly centaurs are," he continued. "That's almost as legendary as their honor. I'd rather overdo the politeness thing now and have them like me than underdo it and have them hate me. It's basic common sense."

An impatient hoot put an end to his monologue. Grateful, the Animagus looked up. His eyes went wide. "How many owls did they say they would get?"

"As many as they could," Bianca answered.

"Must be that honor thing," Apollo mused.

Every tree along the perimeter of their clearing was covered with owls: big owls, small owls, black and brown and white; branches sagged under their weight. A few of the birds, unable to find a perch in a tree, had lighted on the ground. They and their treed brethren stared at the humanoids with large, luminous eyes.

"I didn't realize there were this many owls in all of Britain," Pallas breathed.

"I guess there are," Apollo replied, bemused. "Or maybe they imported them from France. Or something. I don't know."

"The point is," Pollux said, dragging them back onto topic, "there should be enough owls to deliver a copy of this paper to every magical family in Britain, even the Muggle-borns' families."

Pallas smiled slightly as she imagined her parents' reactions.

"Yeah," Apollo deadpanned, "there really should be. That's a good thing, I admit, but right now, it's bad."

Pollux scowled. "What d'you mean it's bad?"

"We have to tie letters to all of them, just the seven of us. All night."

The humans and basilisk looked once more at the huge flock of owls and groaned.

In the end, it wasn't as bad as their Seer had predicted. Their four house-elves came to help, as did a trio of very bored young centaurs who spent most of the time chattering about obscure astrological principles that no one else understood (not that they said so). Still, they would all be very tired the next day. Sirius, Saysa, the elves, and the centaurs would be able to sleep it off the next day. The five students could not.

That was actually why Dudley hadn't come. He had apparently wanted to help- which was still surreal to Harry- but Sirius wouldn't let him. "You wanted to go to school," he reminded the Muggle. "That means you have to be awake for classes."

"But tomorrow's Sunday!"

"Which means that your sleep schedule will still be messed up on Monday."

But the Hogwarts students couldn't sleep in, much as they wanted to. The reasons for that were twofold: they had to maintain an appearance of normality and their roommates would wake them up anyways.

Blaise chucked a pillow at Goyle's head. It missed. "How is it," the exhausted Slytherin moaned, "that those two are practically mute, but they still make enough noise to wake the dead every single time I'm trying to sleep?"

"Because gorillas are clumsy?" Harry suggested. "I dunno." He yawned, jaw cracking.

Blaise stretched, cracked his joints. He did that every morning- he had a theory that cracking his back regularly would ward off spinal problems later in life.

"What time is it?" Harry wondered.

"Dunno," Blaise slurred. His vertebrates popped. "I don't have a watch."

"We need to get one for the dorm," Harry muttered. "All the dorms. Think I could convince Slughorn to set aside some Galleons for that?"

"You could. Slughorn loves you. Me though… nope. Therefore I must beg you to do so on my behalf."

"I'll pencil it into my schedule. Are you done yet?"

"Yeah." Blaise dragged himself out of bed. "I wonder if the others are up yet?"

"Probably," Harry answered. "But I think I need to shower before going to breakfast. I'm not awake yet."

"Suit yourself. Me, I'm hungry. Besides," he lowered his voice, "I don't want to miss the show. If we haven't already, that is."

Harry grinned, weighing his shower against the potential show. "Why not. I figure that food can wake me up just as well as hot water, don't you?"

"That, and the gorillas usually shower right after getting up. You're not going gorilla on me, are you, Harry?"

Harry just looked offended. "I most certainly am not."

"Keep telling yourself that, mate. Now come on. I'm hungry."

The Great Hall was packed with early risers scarfing down their breakfasts. Harry and Blaise could smell today's entrée even before they arrived in the hall itself- the mouthwatering scent of bacon wafted through the school, making them salivate: bacon and the first issue of their paper. This was already shaping up to be a great day, despite the lack of sleep.

Daphne, true to character, was already at the table. She even had a newspaper in her hands and was reading it avidly. The boys made a beeline for their friend, grinning ear to ear. The grins died when they got close enough to see the title. Daphne wasn't reading their work, just that day's copy of the Daily Prophet.

"We did tell the owls to come here last," Harry sighed as he seated himself. "Better for us to wait a while than for Dumbledore to know so soon."

"Yeah." Blaise helped himself to some bacon. "And I wasn't lying when I said I was hungry. Anything interesting in the paper, Daphne?"

"Not really. That awful Umbridge woman is up to her old tricks…." Daphne flipped through the paper, occasionally stopping at a particularly interesting article and telling her friends (mostly Blaise. Harry focused on eating) the highlights. She was about halfway through when the owls arrived.

The students started, stared. "Didn't we already get the post?" asked a seventh year Slytherin. His companion nodded.

These were not the glossy pets and professional working animals which frequented wizarding households. These were the denizens of the Forbidden Forest, dirty and wild and inexperienced with the art of delivering letters. But they had been asked to do this by the centaurs, and so they would. Owls weren't the most magical of creatures, but they could sense the call of destiny.

That, and many of them had the blood of post owls running through their veins. Their ancestors had dallied many a time with Hogwarts's birds.

The five hadn't known how many students would be interested in having their own copy of Vox Veritatis, so they had opted to send fifty copies to each House table and ten to the Head Table. That ought to satisfy everybody. If it didn't, students could use geminio to acquire their own copy. They were wizards, after all.

Harry, Daphne, and Blaise plastered expressions of surprise onto their faces as they joined their fellow Slytherins in scrambling for a copy. They didn't try hard, of course- they already knew better than anyone else what was in those papers- but appearances must be maintained.

"What interesting articles," Blaise said loudly, peering over Palmer Parkinson's shoulders. "The Truth about Lord Voldemort."

"Don't say that!" the older student hissed, shuddering involuntarily.

"Muggle Sense. The Horrors of Hogwarts. About the Authors. And then there's the mission statement: 'To speak the truth at all costs. To expose the lies whenever we can. To bring down the high but unworthy and raise up the lowly but worthy. To promote peace for the peaceful and justice for the evil.' How very interesting."

"They should have put the staff article first," Parkinson growled. "I want to know who these people are." He flipped to the back of the book and froze.

"Will you look at that," said Blaise, tracing a name that had been famous for almost a year. Pollux Ophion Riddle.

Rage. Burning rage, all red and fiery. His master had been slandered, called the son of a filthy Muggle.

The rage was hot as the sun, hotter even, hot enough to burn through the bindings around him. He could move- not well, but enough.

Take his father's copy of this so-called Voice of Truth. Grab the family owl, force it to obey. It hesitated, unused to the son's demands, but gave in. His father had grown cocky. He did not believe that his son even could use the owl.

Hands shaking, he wrote a simple message on the paper's margins. Come to me, Master.

The owl accepted the paper. It leapt into the air, wings flaring, and flew off to its death.

Oh noes! Poor birdie.

Thanks to everyone who gave me suggestions last chapter. I've figured out the Slytherin task, but suggestions for the other three would be great, please. *puppy eyes*

-Antares