The example of the Lady proves that strange things might be found in the unlikeliest of places.

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

"Makes you wonder if he really thinks he's fooling anyone," Blaise muttered, his gaze fixed on Dumbledore's face. "I mean, really, setting them up to attack each other? In what universe does 'putting your enemies into the Hospital Wing' translate to 'cooperation'?"

"Well, I suppose if you're united against a common enemy…."

"You know what I mean, Harry." Blaise snorted.

"What's Gryffindor doing?" Goyle asked. The stocky boy had sat down next to Harry, much to his and Blaise's surprise, and neither of the other Slytherins had had the heart to turn him away. He'd looked so very sad and dejected as he sat down. Blaise and Harry had no idea why and wouldn't ask about it unless a very, very good and not-awkward opportunity presented itself (unlikely), but neither of them was mean enough to get rid of someone doing his best impression of a kicked dog. As long as he didn't start following them around like that Creevey boy did with Mark, he could sit with them.

Harry leaned forward. "Looks like they're going behind the Slytherin defenses."

Goyle frowned, brow furrowing. "But Dumbledore said to make defenses. He didn't say to sneak around."

"He didn't say not to either," Blaise pointed out. "Look at Daphne's face. She looks mad as a nest of hornets."

Harry chuckled. "I don't envy the lions who have to face her."

Blaise's pensive expression morphed into a grin. "Well, when you put it that way."

Goyle was on the edge of his seat. Any further and he would fall over. "Dumbledore's standing up," he announced. "Think it's time?"

"I think so, yes." Blaise raised an eyebrow, his natural suspicious nature reasserting itself. "You're awful chatty today."

"Uh-huh."

"The five minutes have passed," Dumbledore proclaimed. "Let the Final Task of the Tournament of Houses now begin!"

The spectators roared, screamed, ululated, and generally made a ruckus. Harry wouldn't be surprised if Hogsmeade residents could hear them. He whistled and clapped, palms stinging, shouting out Hermione and Daphne and even Mark's names. Mostly Hermione and Daphne, though.

Goyle bellowed, flinging his arms back in some wild gesture of approval. Unfortunately, that gesture of approval was rather too wild; his meaty wrist collided with Harry's defenseless nose. The slighter boy staggered backwards, body slamming against the chair. Spots danced in his vision as his glasses slid down. Liquid dripped from his nostrils.

"Ow."

Goyle looked ready to cry. "Sorry, Potter," he mumbled, fumbling in his robes to extract a monogrammed handkerchief. The big boy offered it to his fellow Slytherin, who took it even as he reached for his wand. Contrary to popular belief, Voldemort had once possessed a nose. His memories, transmitted through the Horcrux scar, told Harry how to fix it. Harry grumbled the spell, speaking it aloud for Goyle's sake. The vessels closed up, though blood which had already escaped them drained down his nose for another few seconds. Harry caught the drops with the handkerchief before handing it back to its master and casting a quick Scourgify on his face.

"Sorry," Goyle repeated, voice nearly breaking. "I'm sorry, Potter." He snuffled.

Harry sighed. "No harm done, I suppose."

If it had been anyone but a Goyle without Malfoy pulling his strings, anybody but a notoriously dim and thoroughly miserable weakling of a wizard, Harry would have demanded the handkerchief back so he could clean it of his blood. As it were, though, he strongly doubted Goyle knew anything that could be done with a wizard's blood, and he'd have the house-elves launder it soon enough. He had nothing to worry about, no reason to fear these few drops of blood falling into Goyle of all people's hands.

He would come to regret that.

Blaise had barely noticed the other Slytherins' interaction. All his attention was on the field. Specifically, on the section of field directly in front of his seat, where the Gryffindors (one engaged in hand-to-hand with Lisette Flint, one Jelly-legged, another with fur sprouting all over her face) and Slytherins (one whose hair had come to life and was trying to strangle her, one victim of the Bat-Bogey Hex, and Lisette Flint beating the snot out of the sixth year champion) were attempting to murder each other.

Daphne was faring quite well, he was pleased to see. The witch was taking shameless advantage of the physical training she had undertaken with Firenze the centaur, dodging and ducking as she slung spells. Her hair had come loose from its practical braid and threatened to get into her eyes, but her accuracy was undiminished. Admittedly, it was rather hard to be inaccurate at such close range, especially as the others weren't nearly so good at dodging, but she was still putting up quite the fight. Even as Blaise and Harry watched, a Stunner from her wand collided with Jack Sloper, dropping him and setting Lisette Flint free to truly join the fray.

"Jack Sloper of Gryffindor is down!" Dumbledore announced. The Gryffindors booed; the Slytherins whooped their approval.

The headmaster's proclamation distracted Emrys Srijata, Slytherin's seventh year champion, at a crucial moment. Mark hit him with an expelliarmus that sent his wand flying clear across the pitch. Gryffindor roared.

"Emrys Srijata of Slytherin and Lucas Summers of Hufflepuff are down!"

"So Ravenclaw's winning," Harry muttered. Hermione's House had built fortifications above their head in an attempt to nullify the Hufflepuffs' brooms. He would have Summoned Ravenclaw's brooms and taken them on in an aerial battle, but supposed that none of the birds were real Quidditch fans. Except Cho Chang, he amended. She was the House team's Seeker. But they were doing well enough, shooting spells from the small holes in their roof.

The Hufflepuffs flew closer together, hovered. Apparently they needed to hold a team meeting. One of them, probably Cedric Diggory, Conjured a floating wall of water that covered their undersides and would keep Ravenclaw (and Gryffindor and Slytherin, assuming they ever stopped fighting each other) from hitting them.

Mark Potter went flying, his head slamming against the Slytherins' ice fortress. Harry jerked forward, heartbeat drowning out the Gryffindors' cry of fury. But his brother was fine; he pushed himself up, just barely missing the follow-up curse. The boy spat something. His wand tip flared, shot forth light. In this, at least, his aim was true, and then it was Philip Harper's turn to go flying. Unlike Mark, though, he did not get up. Smiling grimly, the Gryffindor cast a Disarming Charm.

"Philip Harper of Slytherin is out!"

The Hufflepuffs had finished their discussion. As one, they zoomed over to the Gryffindor-Slytherin combat zone.

Harry blanched. "Oh no. Tell me they're not going to—"

"FIRE!" Cedric Diggory bellowed. His Housemates fired, raining down Stunners and Disarming Charms. The Slytherins and Gryffindors tried to dodge, but the Hufflepuffs followed through with another volley. Wands went flying as the students collapsed.

Harry had never heard Hufflepuff House make such a ruckus. The wall of sound that washed over him was almost a tangible, physical force in its intensity. It threatened to deafen him.

"Huff-ful-PUFF! Huff-ful-PUFF!"

Dumbledore's magically enhanced voice was nearly lost in the din. "Don't celebrate so quickly, my dear students. Ravenclaw is still in the running."

The students in the blue stands took that as their cue. "Go, go, go, go ravens! Go, go, go, go ravens!" A few of them raised their wands, shooting blue and bronze sparks into the air. Not to be outdone, the Hufflepuffs hastened for their wands to shoot black streamers and yellow light.

"They're like a bunch of Howlers," Blaise muttered.

"Right you are," Harry acquiesced. "But can you blame them?"

"Not really, I guess."

"Did Ravenclaw give up?" Goyle answered.

Harry was about to answer him when the Ravenclaws beat him to it. Birds of all shapes and sizes exploded out of the mount, wings churning the air. They charged towards the unprepared Hufflepuffs, who suddenly found themselves under attack from birds and (though Harry hadn't seen these at first due to his distance and their small size) mosquitoes. Birds and bugs swarmed them, getting in their eyes, their noses, their robes.

Something shifted in the field below.

Harry nudged Blaise, directed his attention to the slight blur in the air. "Disillusionment Charms, I bet."

The upper year Hufflepuffs began casting Aguamenti, drenching the skeeters and irritating the birds. Even angrier than before, squawking their indignation to the skies, the birds redoubled their attack. The insects, though, were neutralized, at least until the Ravenclaws conjured more of them.

The Hufflepuffs took full advantage of the not-quite-a-respite, forcing their brooms to the maximum speed possible. The birds, confused, fluttered this way and that, not knowing where to go and unable to catch their prey even if they did. As the Hufflepuffs flew, zigzagging to avoid both the birds and the spells which Ravenclaw had started shooting into the sky, they fired back at their rivals.

"Stay close to the stands!" one of them, a female from her magically enhanced voice, shouted. "Stay close to the stands so Ravenclaw can't shoot!"

Whoever it was, she had a good idea. The Hufflepuffs widened their flight pattern, circling near the student-filled stands. The non-participants erupted into conversation: were the Hufflepuffs, whom everyone still thought of as abnormally lucky duffers, really using people as human shields? Really? The Hufflepuffs? That was almost Slytherin of them. But would it work, or would the Ravenclaws continue to fire?

The Ravenclaws responded by Conjuring more creatures. Ravens, to be exact. Harry idly wondered if that was a statement about their House or if Hermione had had anything to do with it. Probably the former—the latter was just plain arrogant.

But their fate had been sealed the moment the female Hufflepuff had ordered them to circle. They knocked out two badgers, one with a Stupefy and another who couldn't handle the birds, but the Hufflepuffs had too many advantages. Their brooms granted them greater speed and agility, and though the Ravenclaws were Disillusioned, a quick coating of dust rendered that edge moot.

Finally Hermione fell, Stupefied and bleeding, and the Tournament of Houses was over. The Hufflepuffs screamed and whooped and hollered loudly enough to make their previous enthusiasm sound quiet. The Ravenclaws didn't help. Several had burst into tears; others were booing or shrieking profanities or both. The Slytherins and Gryffindors were actually very quiet as they tried to figure out how Hufflepuff had won, and did this mean that they were all duffers?

Dumbledore waited a few moments for the hubbub to die down before he rose to his feet. For once, the students (at least the ones in black and yellow and blue and bronze) ignored him.

"The Tournament of Houses is complete! Congratulations, Hufflepuff. Now, let us adjoin to the celebration feast and the awards ceremony!"

"I'll second that," Blaise chuckled. "The feast, that is."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to go check on Hermione and Daphne?"

"Oh." The other boy flushed. "That seems rather obvious now."

"Quite," Harry deadpanned.

They practically had to fight their way through the crowd. Everyone else was intent on heading to the feast, or maybe they were just going to cash in their bets. There were quite a few of those. Either way, Harry and Blaise were going in the opposite direction of pretty much everyone else in the entire school save for the champions, who were being treated in a tent by the furious school matron. Pomfrey muttered under her breath as she bustled about the tent, wand flicking, interrupting her monologue only to ask students if they were still in pain. A half-dozen house-elves scurried about, rendering whatever aid they could.

Almost all the champions were conscious; ennervate had probably been the first spell Pomfrey had cast on them. They waited in makeshift cots or milling about near their teammates, exchanging condolences on losing to Hufflepuff of all people. The common consensus seemed to be something along the lines of 'seriously, it's bad enough that we lost, but to Hufflepuff? HUFFLEPUFF? What madness is this?' The three badgers in the room all looked rather affronted.

As the boys made a beeline towards Daphne (Hermione had been commandeered by the medi-witch and they had no desire to fight Pomfrey for her prize), the tent flap opened once again. The rest of the Hufflepuff team charged in, faces alight. "You did brilliantly!" Cedric exclaimed.

Daphne glanced over at Astoria, who had followed her Housemates and was chattering away in excitement. A tiny frown marred her features before she turned her attention to the boys. "That was fairly embarrassing."

"Well, they had brooms."

"I know. But still." She shook her head in bemusement. "We had Summoned a set of Bludgers that we were going to set loose on them. Then the Gryffindors arrived, and we had to deal with them." She grimaced. "That did not work out well."

"Yeah, but if you look at it strategically, it makes sense," Harry admitted. "They had the least time to make defenses. If they could take out Slytherin, they'd have a fort of their own."

Daphne snorted. "It made no sense whatsoever, Harry. They would have too many losses to make the assault worth it."

"But did they know that?" Harry shot back. "The stereotype in Gryffindor is that we aren't good with face-to-face confrontations, that all we can do is work in the shadows. How they held onto that idea with Malfoy and his goons running around these last few years I'll never know. Not to mention Snape. Those four are nothing if not straightforward."

"But they're not powerful magically," Daphne reminded him. "Snape was the only competent one of the lot, and even he preferred bullying to battle." She nodded. "You're right, Harry. From the Gryffindors' perspective, that was a decent strategy. I wouldn't call it brilliant, though."

"Fair enough," the boy acquiesced.

"It isn't," Daphne reasserted.

Harry nodded.

"Should have gone after the Ravenclaws," Blaise mused. "They have that reputation for knowing theory more than practice."

"Maybe they were afraid of Hermione," Harry joked. He glanced over at his other friend, who had finally managed to escape Madam Pomfrey's clutches (though this had less to do with Hermione's skills and more to do with the medi-witch noticing that the Hufflepuff newcomers had some nasty avian-induced cuts and bug bites that needed her attention) and was making her way over to them.

"What, weren't they afraid of me?" Daphne muttered, eyebrow arching.

"Who wasn't afraid of you?" Hermione wondered.

"The Gryffindors. We were just saying that they didn't go after Ravenclaw because they were afraid of you. Well, Harry was." Blaise made a kissy face.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Becoming more serious, the black boy reached out, laid his hand on her shoulder. "But it's good to see you safe and well." The hand squeezed. "I was worried for a while. We all were. And now we're just thrilled you're back."

Hermione flushed. They both knew he wasn't referring to her unconsciousness in the Tournament. The orange in her eyes seemed to glow and she softly replied, "Thank you."

"No. Thank you for coming back to us safe and sound." Blaise gave her shoulder one final squeeze before dropping his hand to his side. Then he realized just how sappily he was behaving and flushed. "I have to share the dorm with Harry, you know, and he'd be impossible to live with if anything happened to you."

Hermione grinned. "I see."

"I wasn't that bad," Harry grumbled.

"Yes, you were."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Have you talked with Neville yet?"

"He came over a bit before you did, but then the other Gryffindors dragged him back to their table. They don't seem to trust him very much, poor thing."

This was when Madam Pomfrey realized that her sanctuary had been invaded and when Harry and Blaise figured out why virtually nobody else had come to offer congratulations. "Out!" Pomfrey cried, waving her wand at them. "You two, out! This is too crowded already!"

The boys fled, followed closely by the girls. Hopefully Pomfrey wouldn't notice that two of her patients were missing. Hopefully.

"I was a bit worried about that," Hermione confessed, voice low, as they made their way across campus. "What if she'd noticed that I'm… different now?"

"I don't think that's likely," Harry pointed out. "She was pretty busy, and a lot of the others were worse off than you."

Hermione acknowledged his reasoning with a nod. "But still, I couldn't help but worry. I'll have to try to avoid her from now on." She gave herself a tiny shake. "Not that anyone wants to need the school nurse."

"True," Blaise agreed. "Hey, is that Neville?"

Yes, yes it was Neville. The Gryffindor was waiting by the doors. When he saw them, he lifted his hand in a wave. "You guys have no idea how nice it is to see you all together now."

Harry thought of Hermione, gone for weeks; of Blaise, sometimes mercurial but always able to cheer him up; of Daphne, strong and solemn and a devoted protector of her Hufflepuff sister, who really didn't need protection at all. He thought of Neville the Gryffindor laughing and joking with three Slytherins and a Ravenclaw, of a ram within a lamb.

The Lightning Speaker smiled. "Actually, Neville, I think I do."

Gregory Goyle did not attend the celebration feast. The item in his pocket robbed him of his appetite.

It had taken him and both his parents days to come up with a good plan for getting Harry's blood. The other Slytherin was known for his paranoia, so he could hardly sneak up on the boy and clobber him over the head like he had with Mark. Something more subtle was needed.

Hence the nosebleed and the bloody handkerchief in his pocket, a tiny scrap of cloth that weighed a thousand pounds and burned like fire. So innocuous, yet it would be used for something so terrible.

Yes, would be. He'd seen the thing, seen it torture his parents, felt it torture him. He had to obey it. What if it put his parents under the Cruciatus again?

Swallowing heavily, Goyle extracted the hankie from his pocket. The blood had dried, rust red against the cream background. The silk fabric rippled from the trembling in his hands.

His dad had given him a mokeskin pouch when he went off to Hogwarts. He hadn't used it for much more than treats that he didn't want Crabbe to get his grubby hands on. Now, though, he dumped out the assorted sweets, leaving the pouch completely empty.

Empty save for a scrap of blood and silk.

Confession time: I'm a Hufflepuff on Pottermore. However, I decided that the badgers would win this Tournament months before getting into that House. Don't know why-maybe a part of me realized that I was a Hufflepuff at heart, not a Ravenclaw like I'd always thought of myself as. So House loyalty had nothing to do with my decision, as it's rather difficult to be loyal to your House when you don't know what your House is.

Next up: the epilogue. It'll be up sometime on October 25. Until then, enjoy.

Also, please check out my profile for a poll about what to name the changeling. I've gotten lots of great suggestions from you guys.

-Antares