Addictive Label: No, Jen's not jerking Luna around. Right now they're just friends; romance will come later. I said I wasn't going to be graphic about her job in Candyland; violence is fair game, but I refuse to go into details about pedophilia.

magitech: I don't think Hufflepuff is the house of cowards, but it's always seemed to me to be a house for those with… more delicate sensibilities, let's say. Jen's far too harsh for that to appeal to her. It's against Hogwarts charter for the Headmaster to have any other positions in the school; what he does outside of that isn't covered. My view of phoenixes is that they are creatures of light magic, not philosophy. The magic witches and wizards cast has an effect on their souls, and that's what phoenix song touches. Dumbledore has done many bad things, but he's never used dark magic, hence why he can stand Fawkes's song; Jen, who uses the Black Arts, has a very distorted soul and therefore suffers great pain from his vocalizations.

InsanitySorrow 2.0: Oh, no one's going to like Danny for a while, and for that very reason. No, Fleur doesn't know what she's doing to Jen, nor just how perilous that is for her health :) Voldemort isn't after Jen; Danny IS the BWL, his blood is why he was entered in the Tournament, so Moldy Voldy has no reason to capture her. You're right, though, that what's unique about Jen is her soul. Taking her blood wouldn't give V a single benefit. Ha ha, don't worry about how long your reviews are; I like hearing what people think! I have read The Listener, and I'm eagerly awaiting the next chapter.

Disclaimer: Did the foreign champions and staff instantly accept Dumbledore's assurances that Harry didn't arrange for an older student to put his name in the Goblet of Fire? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

Chapter 17
Unwilling Champion

Before he could give a retort, Bagman scurried over and led Potter to the group. "Extraordinary! Absolutely extraordinary! Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce – incredible though it may seem – the seventh Triwizard champion?"

"Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."

Jen snorted at that. If anyone else had been brought forward, she would have agreed with the statement, but as it was Potter… She had a feeling she was about to get a first-hand exposure to the boy ignoring whatever rules he felt were beneath him.

Bagman looked at the French witch, bemusement plastered on his face. "Joke? Not at all. Danny's name just came out of the wooden Goblet!"

"Zen zair evidently 'as been a mistake," Delacour continued superciliously. "'E cannot 'ave been chosen as a senior champion; 'e ees too young. And 'Ogwarts already 'as a junior champion, as well."

"Well… it is amazing," Bagman began before she cut him off.

"Amazing, nothing. Which seventh-year did you pay off to put your name in, Potter?"

The boy bristled, scorn dripping from his words. "No one. I didn't even want to be in the bloody Tournament, Black."

She scoffed, but the door opening again prevented her from responding. In came seemingly everyone who had an excuse to watch the three-ring circus this was devolving into: first was Dumbledore, Crouch, and Moody, all of whom settled themselves against the wall opposite the champions. Following them were the four Heads of Houses; Snape slunk into a corner while the others took places behind their students. Last were the foreign heads.

"Madame Maxime!" shouted Delacour as she flounced over to the giantess, her skirt bouncing and yielding brief exposures of soft, smooth thigh, perfect for a girl to grind herself against. Jen mentally slapped herself; there was no excuse to still be yielding to the Veela Allure.

I have to get a hold on myself! It isn't like I'm being tempted by something I've never touched before. I was a whore for five years, for crying out loud! Twisting her magic around herself, she snatched a portion of the Allure from the air and integrated it into an oily barrier. Her mind instantly cleared from the raunchy thoughts whipping through it. The spell would only last a few minutes, but that should be enough for how little time she wished to spend around the Veela.

Maxime drew herself to her full height, her head only just low enough to avoid the flames from the chandelier. Anger washed off of her, and Jen sighed at having missed whatever inflammatory comment the Veela had made. "What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she boomed. "You cannot allow zis injustice to continue."

"Indeed," Karkaroff snapped. "I think I would have remembered if the rules allowed the host school more champions than the others. Unless you are playing another one of your games?"

"Don't waste your time blaming Dumbledore, Karkaroff," muttered Snape. "The only one at fault is Potter. He has been grasping for all the attention he could find since he first walked through those gates—"

Dumbledore cut in, "That's enough, Severus." He turned towards Potter with a neutral expression. "Danny, did you put your name in either of the Goblets?"

"No!"

Jen thrust her probes at the boy, laying them over his natural shield and sinking into his mind. She frowned; incredible as it sounded, Potter was telling the truth. Flipping through his memories of the past few minutes revealed shock, denial, and a hint of fear at his situation. He honestly was hoping for a peaceful year. Apparently, finding out that he had spent years sleeping only a few feet away from the man who helped try to have him killed when he was an infant had scared him away from undertaking any further 'adventures', at least temporarily.

She pulled out in time to catch the end of McGonagall's diatribe. "—could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, that should be good enough for everyone!" The Transfiguration teacher glared heatedly at Snape, who didn't seem repentant to the slightest degree.

That was the wrong thing to say. Maxime and Karkaroff both decried at the top of their lungs the very idea that Potter's word could be trusted in this situation; Dumbledore's reputation of infallibility obviously did not stretch far beyond Britain's borders. After several minutes of demands for oaths, penalties, and even truth serum, Moody stomped into the center of the room, his eye whirling unceasingly. "That's enough of your bleating, Karkaroff. Potter's in the Tournament, like it or not. He's got to compete, just like all the rest of them. Convenient, eh?"

"I am afraid I do not unnerstand, Professor Moody," Maxime interrupted. "'Ow is zis convenient?"

"Simple, someone put Potter's name in there knowing he'd have to compete. With the death toll this Tournament has… I would be surprised if whoever did this wasn't hoping he joined that list."

Bagman, who had been wiping his forehead with a cloth, stammered at Moody's prediction. "Moody, old boy, surely you don't mean that. I mean, killing the Boy-Who-Lived… what a thing to say!"

"Ludicrous, more like. Didn't you recently mistake one of your birthday gifts for a cunningly disguised basilisk egg? Surely you'll understand when we take your paranoid mutterings with a grain of salt."

"You think I'm imagining things, Karkaroff? It would take a skilled wizard to make an ancient artifact forget that it can only pick three champions. I'm guessing whoever it was cast an incredibly powerful Confounding Charm, then submitted Potter as the only entry from a fourth school. Wait a day, and he's under a binding magical contract to compete. Five tasks, five opportunities to get him killed, and with the amount of time that has elapsed, our perpetrator's magical signature will have dispersed already."

"Zat still does not explain why Potter was chosen as a senior champion," Fleur cut in. "Would eet not 'ave been easier to confuse ze silver cup? Eet ees newer, so ze enchantments are not as strong as zey are on ze wooden one. Does not zat poke 'oles een your zeory? Zis sounds like eet was meent only as a joke at 'is expense."

"Not a chance. Using the silver Goblet would have just made our mystery wizard's work all the harder. There were more names submitted as junior champion, for one; he couldn't be sure Potter's would come out. There's also the little fact that the new cup is goblin-made. The only better enchanters out there are the dwarves, and they don't leave their mountain halls. And last, the thing that proves this was an attempt on Potter's life rather than some dumb kid playing a prank," Moody grinned mirthlessly, "it had to be an adult who submitted the name, otherwise he couldn't have gotten past the Age Line. As it was, there was no way he could've approached the junior cup."

"An ingenious idea, Moody." Karkaroff's voice was cold, and old hatred poured off of him. "You had to have spent quite some time thinking up a plot as convoluted as this. How can we be sure you weren't the one to enter the boy's name?"

Moody snorted. "It's my job to think as dark wizards do. You know that first-hand, don't you?"

"Alastor!" Dumbledore's warning stymied the confrontation, and Jen silently sighed; she was curious what was going to be shouted next. A brief scan had already informed her that Karkaroff, though possessing no additional mental defense, thought in Russian. She would have to go deeper and view his memories to understand what wasn't being said, but she couldn't do that without revealing herself.

The old man continued, "We do not know how this situation arose, but we seem to have no choice but to accept it. Danny has been selected to compete in the Tournament, and he will do so… unless, of course, anyone has a viable alternative?" No one offered any suggestions, though none of the students were happy.

"Well then, let's crack on!" Bagman cheered with a clap of his hands. "We need to give these fine champions their instructions. Barty, you mind if I do the honors?"

Crouch waved his hand in dismissal, so the former Quidditch player leapt right in. "The first task, which will take place on December the third, will be the Gryffindor task, designed to test your daring and courage when facing the unknown. So, we aren't going to tell you what the task is."

He ignored their quiet – or in Leroux's case, not so quiet – protests and continued, "I know, I know, it doesn't seem fair, but this was our," he motioned with his arms to include the school heads and Crouch, "decision after months of negotiation. The only thing you can have with you in the arena is a wand. You can't get any of your teachers to help you complete the tasks, so don't even ask. We'll give you information about the second and third tasks once the first is over. Now, for the good news: because the Tournament is so demanding and time-consuming, all of you are excused from the end-of-year tests."

Jen perked up at that. She had been getting worried about the exams; she could perform the magic being taught in class just fine, but her wandless magic had completely different underlying theories than the wanded variety. With this proviso, she had two years to learn the theory the rest of the classes had covered before she sat any tests on her knowledge.

"I think that's all, right Albus?" Bagman asked.

"I think so. I'm sure there are parties for all of you, students, so toddle off. It would be a shame to deprive your classmates of an excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise." Having been dismissed, they dispersed, the foreign students to their conveyances and the three Hogwarts champions to the staircases leading higher in the castle.

Diggory cleared his throat and looked at her. "Black, can I have a word?"

"Very well." She noticed Potter turn back to them from his place halfway up the stairs and called out, "It's rude to eavesdrop!" With a hot flush of anger, he continued on his way.

"Now, what was it you wanted to say to me?"

"I know Professor Dumbledore said we would be scored individually, but would you mind if we shared any clues we come across? It's just, we're both Hogwarts champions, so it makes sense for us to team up."

She frowned lightly. "While that does make sense, I'm curious as to why you are so eager to enter into a partnership with someone three years your junior. Surely you know you'll almost certainly contribute more information to this exchange than I?"

"I doubt it." He smiled at her cocked head. "Ravenclaws aren't the only people who can do a spot of research. The wooden Goblet was spelled to select champions based on who would put on the 'best show', and I bet the silver one was enchanted the same way. There were plenty of fifth and sixth years who threw their names in, but you were the one selected; clearly, you're more able than you're making yourself out to be.

"Besides," he added, scratching the back of his head nervously, "I kind of owe you one."

"Oh? How do you figure that?"

"Well, I may have developed a bit of a crush on Cho Chang over the summer. I was planning on asking her to Hogsmeade one weekend, see how it went, but then I heard about how she was treating the younger students and what you did to her when you found out. She may be pretty, but I'm not going to date a bully. My mum would have my hide."

"I can only imagine. Yes, I'll share what I find about the Tournament. Still, I'm surprised you didn't request Potter join in as well."

He shook his head. "He's really arrogant from what little I've seen of him. Besides, no matter what Mad-Eye said, I'm not sure that he didn't have an older student put his name in. It wouldn't be the first time he's broken the rules and gotten away with it."

"You have a point," she said, keeping quiet about Potter's innocence. "I'll let you go to your party." She started climbing the stairs to the Ravenclaw Tower, waving a hand in response to Diggory's good-bye.

A wall of sound slammed into Jen as she entered the Tower. While generally not as rambunctious as the Gryffindors, or even the Hufflepuffs, let it never be said that the Ravenclaws didn't know how to have a fun time. Three radios were blaring music from different stations, butterbeers were being passed around, and empty bottles of firewhiskey were laying suspiciously under the table holding a punch-bowl.

"Jen! Over here!" Morag called, waving a hand frantically. She slid through the sea of humanity, receiving congratulatory hugs, slaps on the back, and even a sloppy kiss from one particularly drunk sixth-year. Just before she reached her friends, a disgruntled Chang stepped in front of her.

Chang sneered and screamed, "You little bitch! I was supposed to be the junior champion, not you! You tricked the Goblet into picking you, and I'm going to find out how!"

She erected a soundproof barrier around them and smiled darkly at the Asian girl. "And what if I did? It's not like it would matter. I'm the champion, you're not, live with it. There's nothing you can do to change those facts."

"Why you!" Chang reached for her wand, but Jen conjured a blank wand and held the end in front of Chang's face. The tip sparked, and the girl paled.

"Last time, I knocked you arse over teakettle, then damn near electrocuted you. Do you really want to go through that again?"

"Y-you wouldn't," Chang stuttered. "Professor Flitwick would punish you."

"You mean like he punished me last time? Telling a Ravenclaw to spend time in the library, that's certainly going to make me change my ways. You may not have figured it out yet, but your name is mud with him now. If I might give you some advice…" She poked the girl in the chest with her wandtip, applying a slight shock in the process. "Starting fights you're never going to win isn't really a smart decision; it's what I would expect from a brainless Lion. Keep your head down, or someone might… tear it off. We understand each other?"

Rather than verbally respond, Chang paled even further and staggered backwards out of the silenced area. Jen smirked and dismissed the spell. "I see that we do. Now move along, little girl, before you annoy me any further." No longer hindered, she joined her friends.

"Wow, I've never seen Chang be run off that quickly, even when she was a second year. What'd you say to her?" Padma asked after draining the last dregs of her butterbeer.

"Nothing much, just reminded her about the perils of irritating the heiress of the Black family. How did everyone react to the Golden Boy's name coming out of the Goblet?"

The two girls shrugged, and Morag answered, "About how you would expect. Weasley was looking furious, though."

"Doesn't surprise me at all," a new voice commented. Luna dropped into a chair by the trio and handed out another round of butterbeers. "Ronald always was a jealous one. Ever in the shadows of his brothers, overlooked for his 'miracle' sister, constantly shown up by his 'best mates', blah blah blah. He'll throw a tantrum for a bit, then come whining back; it's the same thing he's done since he was little."

Jen turned to her in curiosity. "You know him well?"

"I have the great misfortune of living close to him. We, the Fawcetts, and the Diggories are the only magical families living around Ottery St. Catchpole, and his sister Ginny was the only girl my age I had a chance to get to know." Luna lowered her voice in embarrassment, "In fact, that nickname Chang had for me, Loony? Ronald was the first person to call me that."

"You had to put up with that red-haired cretin your entire life? That must have been terrible," Morag muttered, and the others nodded in sympathy. Weasley was known to deride anyone who had even average intelligence and had therefore been declared persona non grata in Ravenclaw Tower. Why would they voluntarily spend time around someone who called them 'useless, bookwormy swots'?

"Being entered in the Tournament might actually be a good thing for Potter, then. Damn," she muttered.

Luna quirked an eyebrow. "'Being entered'? What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said. Someone put a Confundus Charm on the Goblet and submitted his name; Moody thinks it's some kind of assassination attempt. In any case, Potter didn't want his name in there to begin with." Noticing Luna's expression, she continued, "My, er, twillcks told me."

"Ah, that makes sense. Just be sure not to let them feed too often or on people who don't like you; I've heard it gives them indigestion."

She smiled. After two months, she had become much better at interpreting Luna's analogies. "It wouldn't be the first time." Reading minds naturally meant she would hear negative opinions of herself, not that she let them bother her; only the thoughts of those she found worthy had any value to her, and there weren't many like that running around. For the masses, she only cared if their opinions could be cashed in at a later date for something she wanted, such as increased fame for the family.

"Anyway, keep that information to yourselves; it will be good for him to be taken down a few pegs. I'll see all of you tomorrow." Her dreams that night were much more peaceful than the night before.

The next few days were… interesting, to say the least. For all that Tracey had said Potter was a leader of the students, the students turned on him like a school of sharks smelling blood in the water. His customary cockiness backfired as he found himself alone except for the presence of Granger and Neville Longbottom, who Jen discovered was his godbrother, the only son of his comatose godmother. After three years seeking ever more attention, no one was willing to believe he was actually innocent this time around. Rumors about him spread like wildfires, and people were coming out of the woodwork with tales of how he had been planning his entrance in the Tournament since the announcement at the opening feast. The whole situation would have been sad if he weren't the spoiled brat of James and Lily Potter; as it was, she just found it amusing.

Still, she had other things to worry about than the trials and tribulations of one Daniel James Potter, such as how to wile away the next few hours of her Friday afternoon. She was sitting on the parapet of the Astronomy tower, undecided if she should visit London, when the trapdoor behind her opened.

Luna climbed the last steps to the platform and sat next to her with a huff of fatigue. "Why did you have to come all the way up here? Surely you could have chosen somewhere closer to the common room."

"I could have, but it would be a shame to waste the last few pleasant days we have," she remarked. A warming charm kept the chill away, but winter's frosts and blizzards would soon descend on Scotland, curtailing her time outside the castle.

"If you say so. Dumbledore wants you, by the way, something about interviews and photographs for the Devoted Panderers."

She laughed at Luna's most recent moniker for the Prophet; the daughter of a rival newspaper printer could be allowed a certain measure of distaste. "I see. Well, it's a good thing the old man sent you. I doubt anyone else would have looked for me up here."

"Tracey Davis may have; she understands you the best out of all of us, I believe." Luna sighed. "When are you going to show us more than your public persona? You relax some when it's just a few of us with you, but it's obvious to me that you're still hiding a lot. Maybe sharing some of it will shrink the enormous Melanchist hanging off you."

"Melanchist?"

"Mm-hmm. It's a winged creature that attaches itself to those with tragic histories and grows as it feeds on their pain. Two latched onto Daddy and me after my mother's death, but we've managed to keep them relatively small by talking about it when we need to and trying to move on with our lives."

Jen barely held in a snort. 'Tragic' is one way to describe it, I suppose. "I will try to be more open, but there is quite a bit about my life that I either don't want to remember or don't think you want to know. As my flying beastie shows you, it wasn't good by any definition of the word. There are things I've experienced and done that would likely turn your stomach. If you learn more of my past, you'll agree with me on that point.

"Speaking of painful memories, now and September first are the only times you've mentioned your mother. If it's not too impertinent, may I ask what happened?"

"Mummy was a spellcrafter by trade, and shortly before her death she started researching what Charlus Potter may have done when he gave his life to protect his grandson Daniel from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She hoped to develop a shield that would defend against the Killing Curse without requiring someone's death."

"Can't happen," she interjected. "No one can oppose Death, only bargain with Him. The elder Potter had to have given his life freely to keep his grandson's from being stolen away before its time; it was an equal trade, which is the very backbone of sacrificial magic. To even attempt what your mother wanted to do, cheapening the fearsome power of sacrifice into mere words and wand-waving… there would be consequences. Death gets angry if you try to cheat Him."

"Maybe if she had known that, she would still be alive," Luna muttered. "I was coming home from playing with Ginny Weasley when I spotted the smoke coming from the house. I ran as fast as I could and found her in the basement. The whole room had exploded, and there she was, sitting in the middle of the debris. She died soon after I found her; it was like she just wanted to look at me one more time before she crossed the Veil."

She sighed and gently pulled the sniffling girl closer to her side. "I'm sorry for bringing up such bad memories."

"It's okay, all of this happened years ago. I know you can sense the thestrals, too; what did you see?"

"Er… I didn't see it, you understand, but I heard another boy die when I was six. He… discovered that he was loitering near the wrong crowd. Someone sliced his throat open and let him bleed out." This was all true, though the 'wrong crowd' consisted of only two people, Elsie and herself. When the older woman first found her, she had been feeding herself from dumpsters as best she could and was little more than skin and bones. Elsie had sacrificed the child to return her to a healthy state; in fact, she was healthier after that ritual than she had ever been while at the Dursleys' or on the streets. That had been her first taste of Voodoo's sweet darkness, and instantly she was hooked.

Luna nodded and pulled away. "You need to go if you don't want to be late. They're meeting on the ground floor, a few doors from the Great Hall."

Jen nodded and started down the stairs. She had a quick errand to run first.

I have to wonder if Rowling actually looked at a calendar when choosing dates for the tasks. The twenty-fourth of November, 1994, was a Thursday, which strikes me as an exceedingly odd time for a task that takes the entire morning. The third of December is a Saturday.

Silently Watches out.