InsanitySorrow 2.0: I'm glad you like my version of the Lovegood tragedy. Jen doesn't know that Charlus bargained with Death, but it's an educated guess based on Danny surviving the Killing Curse (which never fails to do exactly that) and her own knowledge of black magic. No, I don't think Ron would ever have many friends; it makes me wonder if one reason canon!Harry never had many people around is that they refused to put up with Ron.

skywiseskychan: Luna's increased "sanity" is intentional, yes. In Faery Heroes, I'm exaggerating her eccentricities for laughs. This story is more serious, however, and I'm showing what changes can happen when a lonely girl gets a trustworthy friend who doesn't care what others say about her.

Anonymous: Each scene is told from one person's perspective, so if a pronoun shows up without clearly stating who it refers to, you can generally assume it's the "narrator". Hermione and Neville are on Danny's side at the moment, though I have had ideas for the next year concerning one of them.

Disclaimer: Did Harry try to get around the rule that teachers couldn't help him prepare for the Triwizard? If not, 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 18
Prep Work

Jen stopped outside the ground floor classroom, double-checking that she had her prop, that her anti-Veela charm was in place, and that her blindfold was hidden. Deciding it was best to be cautious, she wove a charm into the cloth to make it unnoticeable. There was a risk that someone could catch a glimpse of it through her fringe, and she wouldn't be able to modify the witnesses' memories here like she did when a few nosy Badgers had discovered her disability. Though some of them very much deserve their fates. I'd feel sorry for doing it so many times to that Perks girl, but she has utterly no concept of personal space.

The room itself was small and only made smaller by the desks piled up in the back of the room. A long, velvet-draped table took up the front, and standing at the far end was Ollivander the wandmaker. The school heads and the other champions were standing about and conversing softly. After a moment, Bagman, who was seated with Crouch and a witch she didn't recognize, spotted her and pranced over.

"Ah, Miss Black! Good, good, you're the last one we were waiting for. Come in, there's nothing to worry about, just a brief wand weighing. You'll be out of here in a matter of minutes."

She nodded and sidled over towards Diggory as the man clamored for the others' attentions. After informing her aunts about her selection as the junior champion, they had sent Loki back with a warning of this very event and a spare wand she could use. Thankfully it was made of the same wood as her blank, so no one should notice a difference.

"All right, everyone! We have Garrick Ollivander here with us to check that your wands are in proper order. They're the most important tools in the tasks ahead, you know. Anyway, after that, there's going to be a little photo shoot." He indicated the unknown woman. "This is Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet. She's doing a small piece on the tournament—"

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," Skeeter said, a nasty undertone to her voice. "This is a historic event, after all."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "That will have to take place after the actual weighing, Rita. We don't want to waste Mr. Ollivander's time when he graciously agreed to do this for us. Garrick, if you would?"

"You're paying me," the old man replied. "Let us have the ladies first. Fraulein Eberhardt, if you would step up here?"

Eberhardt stepped closer to Ollivander and handed over her wand. He held it close to his eyes, muttering softly. "This is a Holzhauer wand, is it not? I had the pleasure of meeting him just last year. A young man, certainly, new to the craft and with some strange ideas, yes, but I will not deny that he has talent. A hair under ten inches, maple and phoenix feather." He idly conjured a misshapen block of wood and rolled the wand between his fingers. "Maple has never liked me much, I'm afraid, but I believe this is in good condition."

The German girl moved away as Delacour strode imperiously forward for Ollivander to repeat his examination and confirm her Veela heritage. Then it was Jen's turn.

"Hmm, so you did find a wand. After your display in my shop, I had wondered."

"Yes, sir. It turns out that my family's legacy wands were more in tune with my personality."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "From our previous encounter, that doesn't surprise me overly much. May I see which one chose you?" She handed the wand over, taking great pains that she did not allow magic to flow into it. If she did, the wand would burn to ash, just like the one in Ollivander's shop did. "Ah, I remember this wand, remember it quite well. Made by my father, you see, and wielded by Arcturus Black, the previous Head of the Blacks. Thirteen inches, dragon heartstring and fir from the uppermost reaches of Russia. Excellent wood for those who survive, and even thrive, in situations others would find inhospitable. Fir wands are also called to bearers with an intimidating demeanor, which fit Arcturus perfectly." He returned it to her after conjuring more wood and said, "Take good care of this wand, Miss Black, and you will go far."

She stepped back from the table. It's ironic, she thought, that Ollivander's description fits me so well. Cissy and Andi sent me this one primarily because they were sure he would recognize it, and wielding the previous Lord Black's wand would reinforce the legitimacy of my position despite the fact that my parentage is currently unknown to society at large. Whether or not it would have matched me if I still had a core never came up. She shook her thoughts away as the man went through the rest of the competitors, using Leroux's rowan wand to vanish the blocks when he was finished. Unfortunately, Skeeter's pudgy photographer then moved in front of the door. Ah, yes, interviews. Wonderful.

"Let's see, we'll start with the youngest," the witch said. "Danny, how about we move elsewhere to give us a little… privacy?"

"You know the rules, Skeeter. I don't do interviews without one of my parents or Uncle Remus present."

Not a bad idea, Potter. She forced a sad smile on her face as the reporter turned to her. "I'm very sorry as well, Miss Skeeter. The head of my family has forbidden me to speak to the press without his explicit permission. Perhaps if you went to him first?"

She ignored Skeeter's scowl as she followed Potter to where the photographer was setting up. She knew the woman's reputation – Andi certainly complained about her often enough – and she wasn't going to give the muckraker any ammunition. Let Sirius as Lord Black take care of that.

Jen entered Flitwick's office the following day and accepted his offer of tea. Once refreshments had been dispersed, he leaned back in his chair. "So, are you regretting entering the Tournament?"

"Not at all. It should actually be, dare I say, fun. Provided I don't die, of course."

"Of course." They sipped from their cups for a few moments, then he continued, "Regardless, I must apologize. When I made the suggestion that you participate, I never expected they would deny me the ability to assist you. I never would have advised this course of action otherwise."

She smiled. "Think nothing of it, Professor. Besides, there are ways around that restriction."

"Oh?"

"Yes. On a completely unrelated note, I was researching possible careers and found one that was especially interesting. I think I want to be a monster hunter."

Flitwick spluttered into his tea. "What? What in Merlin's name would make you even consider that? The death rate in that profession is nearly ninety-five percent in the first year alone!"

"I know, Professor. This is what I meant by ways around their rule."

"Explain," he said tersely.

"It boils down to the history of the Tournament and a pattern that has been followed each time it has taken place since 1307. The first task always involves some type of monster; there is always a ball on either the winter solstice, Christmas Day, or New Year's Eve; and the last task is always an obstacle course of one fashion or another. It doesn't matter how many tasks there are in total – the 1628 Tournament, for instance, had nine tasks, one a month for the entire school year – this pattern still applies. I doubt the organizers will break from this tradition.

"Now, the judges said I can't ask you for help with the tasks, but that's not what I'm doing, is it? I'm coming to you for help in choosing a career. If you showed me a few spells or strategies that would help me decide if a certain occupation is right for me… well, that's just you being a diligent head of house, isn't it?"

"Miss Black, if I may be frank? I am very glad I didn't lose you to Professor Snape during your Sorting." He stood from his chair. "As for your 'possible career', I had a friend who spent a decade or so doing exactly that, and he taught me many of the spells he had to learn. If you follow me, we'll see if I still remember them."

They made their way down the convoluted stairwells and into a part of the second floor she had not been in before. "This entire wing of the castle is empty currently, but the DMLE used it for two years when some of Grindelwald's Knights of Walpurgis infiltrated the Ministry building and managed to destroy their training rooms and barracks. I was a fifth year when they moved in and spent quite a bit of my free time speaking with Warwick Townsend, their Combat Instructor and a retired Duelist. He's actually the person who encouraged me to become one myself. Ah, here we are."

The room they entered was twice the size of most of the school's classrooms and had a balcony open to the elements. Enchanted shields lined the walls, collaborating to produce a barrier a few inches inside. "We should be safe in here. Before we begin, how do you plan to learn the spells I am going to show you? I don't know how to teach wandless magic in the freeform fashion you use. Honestly, this is something I have been wondering since you first explained your approach to magic; I just never found a good time to ask."

I can't seem to keep my secrets around here, can I? At least I can get away with half-truths. "It's related to how I move around so well even though I'm blind. I have always been sensitive to magic, and when I lost my sight, that sense increased to compensate. Not only can I navigate in magical areas, I can deconstruct spells I observe and essentially reverse engineer them. Why don't you cast a spell and I'll demonstrate."

He nodded. Conjuring a grand marble pillar, three feet thick and seven feet tall, he sketched a tiny design in the air with his wand tip and fired a bolt of magic. The spell, thick as her wrist, slammed into the column and shattered it; only the last few inches of the top were still intact as the structure collapsed. He reformed the stone target. "This is called the Destruction Lance, or in some Teutonic circles, the Gungnir Curse. Extremely effective on most large, angry monsters. Give it a try."

Wordless and nearly motionless; you're a scary man, Flitwick. She concentrated on the feel of the spell as it had flown through the air: the jagged edges, the drilling tip, the unstable center just waiting for a chance to explode. Magic flowed out her hand and coalesced in her palm. She added emotion next, threading anger and hate into the spell. With a final check that everything was arranged how she wanted it, she swung her arm around in an awkward pitching motion. She might never play professional cricket, but her aim was true. Again the pillar collapsed.

"Goodness… Well, you certainly made your point, and on your first try, too. Quite impressive, Miss Black. Out of curiosity, do you have any idea why your spell was dark red rather than orange? Spells generally don't change color from one wizard to another."

"I don't know. Perhaps it was because what I cast wasn't exactly the same but an approximation?" She knew that wasn't the reason; the difference in color was due to her producing a dark variant. Since most magic was neutral on the light-dark spectrum, she could introduce negative emotions into almost any spell and bypass the arithmantic analysis normal witches would need to create a wanded dark spell. When Elsie discovered this ability, she had taught the then-young girl how to keep a constant anger simmering in the back of her mind.

She avoided using dark magic as a general rule due to the distinctive magical residue it left on objects it touched, but she needed to give a good showing here. Duplicating spells was far faster than designing them from the ground up, which was how she had learned most of her repertoire, and Flitwick was her best source for new curses. Had she simply copied him, the Destruction Lance would have been weaker due to her having just learned it; dark and light magic were both inherently stronger than neutral, so making it dark compensated for the natural power loss of a first casting. Given some time to refine the spell, she would be able to use the neutral version at the same level of effectiveness as she had the dark, but that wouldn't have been as impressive as what she had just done. "I'll work on it on my own time, and perhaps it will become closer to the original spell."

"Don't worry about it on my account, but practice is always a good thing. Now, the next spell is called the Demon Cutter, and it's one of the only things that can injure a manticore…"

Danny slipped out of the library as quiet as wizardly possible. Hermione was a good friend, and he liked that she was trying to help him when Ron ditched them because he was a jealous prat, but he just couldn't stand being in that room another second. He wasn't a bookworm like his mother or godbrother, who could spend days researching some obscure charm or plant no one cared about. Yes, he was scared about the first task, but there was no challenge that Gryffindor courage couldn't see him through.

But it's hard to be brave when I'm going to face down a dragon. He shivered, glad that the hallway was empty. Dragons were a class five monster, and it took groups of dragon handlers working together to bring one down. Even if he didn't have to fight it, being alone with only a wand was a terrifying prospect. Thank Merlin for Ludo Bagman! He wouldn't have thought of flying as a solution without the ex-Beater's help.

He was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice the scarlet flash that knocked him out.

When he came to, he found that he was spread eagle in midair in a deserted part of the castle. "Come out, you Snake!" he shouted to his still-unseen attacker. "Just like a Slytherin, too scared to face me like a wizard! No, you have to curse me in the back!"

"First, I'm a witch, not a wizard," a hated voice said. Black stepped in front of him, her school robes abandoned in favor of a form-fitting dress in mottled shades of blue. He couldn't help but run his eyes over the curves it put on display. Why does someone so good-looking have to be such a wicked bitch? Couldn't she be a hag like Parkinson or Bulstrode? "Second, I cursed you from the side, not the back. And third, attacking you when you can't see me isn't cowardice. It's pragmatism, something I've found you Lions to be sorely lacking."

She leaned backwards, empty air supporting her weight. That she did so without saying a word or even drawing her wand scared him more than his own position did. "I could add a fourth point about my being a Ravenclaw rather than a Slytherin, I suppose, but I'll let that one slide. That house was Hogwarts's second choice for me, after all."

"Of course it was. I knew as soon as I saw you that you were bad, and Slytherin's the place where all the bad wizards go. You deserve the Snake Pit."

"Aww, you say the sweetest things." She stood up and walked a little closer, close enough for him to catch a flash of red though her fringe. His mind immediately went to Voldemort, and he was scared all over again. "Then again, I know several people from Gryffindor who I would consider 'bad'. Peter Pettigrew, for one." Danny caught himself nodding and stopped. "And then there's James and Lily Potter. Your parents. They're even worse in my mind."

"My mum and dad haven't done a thing to you!"

"I'm standing right here; there's no need to shout. And they have, actually. They went out of their way to ruin my life when I was but a child."

"You're lying! They wouldn't do that to any kid, not even one as twisted as you!"

"Oh, but they did." She paused, her head cocked. "You do know who I am, don't you?"

He glowered at her. "Yeah, you're the girl who bad-mouthed my mum in Diagon and cursed my dad on the Express platform. You're evil, just like all the Blacks. And you turned my godfather Dark. My dad said that he would never have anything to do with his family, so you must have done some dark magic to wrap him around your little finger. Well, it won't work on me. I was the only one in the class who could fight off Professor Moody's Imperius, and I'll break out of whatever you plan to do to me."

"Correction, you were one of two who could resist his Imperius. I just didn't mind doing what he wanted me to do."

"But… he said to kiss the person next to you. If you were in control of yourself, you wouldn't have kissed Patil."

"Have you met Padma?" she asked incredulously. "The girl's going to be an absolute fox when she's all grown up. Why would I give up the chance to take a taste, especially when I had such a convenient excuse handed to me?

"I must say, though, I'm stunned that you don't know who I am. Sirius told me you were there when he and your parents were talking about me. Here, I'll give you a hint: We were born minutes apart on the same day, sired by the same man, delivered by the same woman. What are we?" She chuckled. "Sorry, I've apparently been listening to too many riddles. The price of being a Ravenclaw, I guess."

Against his better judgement, he rolled the riddle around in his head and paled as he realized what she was driving at. "No. You can't be her."

"Hi there, little brother."

"No. That's not true. That's impossible! Mum and Dad said you were a squib living with the Muggles!" Another thought crossed his mind, one that nearly made him vomit. If what she said was true… Oh, sweet Merlin's ghost, I was checking out my sister!

"For four years, I did live with Muggles. Then I lived with a witch, and then Sirius found me. And for the record, I was never a squib. Your parents are just idiots." She smirked and pulled her hair out of the way so he could see the cloth winding around her head and covering her eyes. He gaped at the sight. "They were the cause, if only indirectly, of every hardship in my life. Now, as heartwarming as our conversation has been, we really do need to get back to the issue at hand. What do you know about the first task?"

He shook his head, wanting desperately to forget that his most recent enemy was secretly his blind sister who happened to not be a squib. "I don't know anything."

She patted him gently on the cheek. "Liar."

"I don't!"

"And I'm the reincarnation of Morgan le Fay. Mandy Brocklehurst told me you've been spending all your time in the library with Granger this past week, and let's face it, you aren't the type of person to do that for fun. No, you were in there because you need important information, and you need it right now. We don't have any big assignments coming up, so it's not that, but the first task is only a week away; ergo, you found out what we have to do and are drafting your strategy."

She smiled darkly, her mouth showing far too many teeth for his comfort. "Now, this is the last time I'll ask nicely. What. Do. You. Know?"

"Even if I did know something, I wouldn't tell you. You may or may not be my sister, but you're definitely too Dark to be a Potter." He spat in her face. "Do your worst."

"I hoped you would say something like that."

Pain. Danny's head felt like it was being shredded and yanked out his eye sockets. Memories flashed in front of his mind: studying with Hermione, walking through the Forest alongside Ron, smuggling Norbert out of the castle, eating rock cakes with Hagrid, diving in a Quidditch game, roaring bonfires, seven dragons in a clearing…

He was forced to watch the entire trip through the Forest again, hear Hagrid's flirting with the Beauxbatons headmistress, smell rotten meat and scorched wood. Finally, his vision cleared, and he saw Black back away from him with a frown marring her features. "Dragons? Then again, this is bloodsport; of course there would be dragons. How would the tournament be any fun without a chance of death or serious maiming? And getting passed one will be even more difficult than simply killing it. Bugger, Cissy's going to be furious."

"W-what?" he stuttered out. "What did you do to me?!"

She negligently wiped his saliva off her cheek. "Nothing much, I just ripped a hole into your mind to search through your memories. It hurt so much because it's harder to extract long-term memories than short-term. Well, that and I don't take kindly to people spitting on me. Don't you see now how much easier it would have been to just tell me?"

He glared, mainly because it was the only thing he could do in his situation, and she shrugged in response. "Fine, be a stubborn arse. By the way, thanks for letting me try my hand at a little villainous dialogue. I've never had the opportunity to do so, and I must say, it's quite entertaining."

"You think this is the end, Black? Dumbledore won't let you get away with this! You'll be expelled and sent to Azkaban!"

He expected her to show fear, not laugh wickedly. "How is he going to find out in the first place? You're not going to remember any of this. There are no portraits here, nor were there any in the hallway I kidnapped you from. I put up a barrier to keep the elves away, and if that bloody overdone turkey is dumb enough to come after us, we'll finally discover whether or not a phoenix chick can withstand being crushed."

He stared at her in shocked horror. What kind of person would be cruel enough to want to hurt a phoenix? They're creatures of pure Light!

"Obviously someone who's Dark," she answered to his unspoken question. "Really? I force my way into your memories, and you don't consider the idea that I may be capable of listening to your thoughts? Now I see why you aren't a Ravenclaw; you don't think nearly enough. You're too used to listening to the old goat-fucker Dumbledore."

"Don't call him that! He's the greatest wizard who ever lived!"

"And you're a rabid fanatic who's practically foaming at the mouth." She snapped her fingers, and soap suds poured uncontrollably from between his lips. "And the picture is complete. We could continue in this vein, but I have better things to do with my time. Nighty night." She flicked her wrist, and he knew no more.

Danny stumbled for a moment before catching his balance; he glanced around the hallway but found it empty. Thankful that no one had seen him trip over thin air, he continued to the Quidditch pitch. He always thought more clearly when he was flying, and he needed to practice anyway. A few hours could be the difference between safely completing the first task and being burnt to a crisp.

"Professor Flitwick," Jen asked after dinner that night, "what do you know about dragons?"

So that's why Sally-Anne Perks didn't show up for her OWLs; Jen memory charmed her into oblivion : ) Honestly, I think Rowling just forgot about her by book 5, but two stories that address this topic are Jamie Evans and Fate's Fool by The Mad Mad Reviewer (albeit obliquely) and The Strange Disappearance of SallyAnne Perks by Paimpont.

Yes, Ollivander remembers that Jen's magic couldn't bond to a wand and uses her body as a conduit instead. He didn't bring that up because, well, why should he? She brought a wand, he weighed it; that he knows she won't use it doesn't matter to him in the slightest.

Ever since I read about Fawkes swallowing a Killing Curse and regressing into a chick in book 5, I've wondered what would have happened if Voldemort had been closer and took the opportunity to step on him. The canon description of Fawkes's rebirth is that he undergoes a burning, and there's a small chick poking its head out of the leftover ash. A chick's body isn't that large, though, so would an even smaller chick be born? Or are phoenix chicks mortal?

Anyone who finds the movie quote in this chapter will get a brownie.

Silently Watches out.