kishinokurobi: Several reviewers asked that exact question about Jen and Danny; I'm extremely glad you can see where I'm coming from. People are complicated.

apAidan: I'm envisioning Nyarlathotep here in a "bringer of madness" aspect. Interesting side note: he's the entity who first taught humans how to split their souls (and we all saw what that did to Moldy Voldy).

Gruffard: Padfoot (not Sirius, per se) was scared because Jen's smile was rather predatory. Just goes to show that his dog side is smarter than he is :)

The Mad Mad Reviewer: Yep, Luna's got a crush, not that she's really figured it out yet.

Just so you know, there's a timeskip of several weeks between the second and third scenes. Also, for everyone who commented on Jen's "understated sexuality", it's not quite so subtle here.

Disclaimer: Cheating was said to be a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament, yet did any of the champions steal ideas from one other? 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 24
Aggressive Negotiations

The new layout of the room was the first thing Jen noticed as the Triwizard contestants entered the Great Hall. Where once there had been four long tables for each house, now there were over fifty round ones seating ten to twelve students each. Enchanted snow replaced the banners overhead. A long table stood against one wall and carried crystal bowls, likely for refreshments once the dancing started. The only element of the decor that remained was the staff table running widthwise at the back of the room, though not even that was completely unchanged thanks to the row of chairs along the front.

McGonagall led them between the tables, allowing those students seated in the middle of the Hall a better examination of their champions. That's right, stare, Jen thought with some amusement. She had originally felt her dress was just a hair too ostentatious to be in good taste; from the admiring thoughts it provoked, she owed Moira Tattings an apology. She gave sultry smiles to a few in the audience who were especially complimentary, pleased with the attention. It was a fact of human nature that people were more likely to trust and obey those they considered attractive, so looking gorgeous could not hurt to elevate her in her contemporaries' opinions.

Beauty, sex, curses, courtesy, poison, charm, prejudices, ethics; all powerful tools in skilled hands and used in the right way. Seven years she had spent diligently learning to wield them from a master of the craft. Her hands were skilled.

She sat gently in the chair Zabini pulled out for her at the staff table. Some spots had already been filled by faculty or guests, if the pompous young man a few seats down and on the other side was any indication. Upon prompting, he proudly introduced himself as Percy Weasley, an older brother of the Weasley Twins and Potter's male friend who worked as a personal assistant to Crouch. Apparently, the judge had come down with a mild bug in the last few days and therefore could not attend.

Let's hope that's the case and him being ill around the winter solstice is just a coincidence, Jen thought as she ignored the slip of stiff parchment beside her plate and ordered the same meal as Cedric, a baked fish entree. It's either that or Crouch secretly dabbles in white magic, in which case I'm fucked. A white wizard high up in the government and able to point a finger at me is the last thing I need.

She took a small bite of her dinner and forced herself to relax. The idea of being hunted down by a group of white mages like Elsie had been before emigrating to Britain was not one she wanted to entertain very long. I don't think I have to worry about that too much, though; those arts should leave just as great a mark on his magic as Voodoo does on my own, but I did not notice anything strange about him, nor has he been brought to my attention. Not even the lauded Albus Dumbledore with his blasted phoenix uses white magic, so I doubt I'll run across one for a long while, if ever.

And I really hope I didn't just jinx myself there.

To pull herself from her conjured worries, she engaged Weasley in conversation about his work. Most of it was dreadfully dull, focusing on cauldron bottom thickness regulation of all things, but his mind was a treasure trove of useful information on the inner mechanics of the Ministry. Surely he would not mind her lifting some of it; it wasn't like he would ever know she had been in there. Besides, knowledge was a weapon, too. Shortly after she had become bored, Ludo Bagman unwittingly came to her aid as he dragged the reluctant older boy into a vigorous discussion he was having with Karkaroff about Quidditch. Rejecting the offer of dessert – in her experience, tense situations and sweets did not go well together, and her upcoming discussion with Zabini was making her very anxious – she surveyed the other competitors and their companions.

One of her housemates, Roger Davies, had lucked out in escorting the castle's resident wet dream, also known as Fleur Delacour. Unfortunately, it seemed that he also had a weakness to the Veela's Allure. Taking pity on him and his date both, she surreptitiously flicked a finger in his direction and erected the same mental barrier charm against seductive auras that she was currently enjoying. He almost instantly became more lucid, and she smiled to herself. There were occasions she felt like performing a good deed or two; doing so while keeping Davies from further embarrassing Ravenclaw House was a bonus indeed.

In another example of strange bedfellows, the taciturn Viktor Krum had brought Granger as his date. She has to be shagging him; there is just no other way a world-famous sports star would choose to escort such an irritating and vanilla girl. She paused and thought over her last statement again. Then again, that he did perhaps means she isn't as bland as I presume. There is a phrase about quiet ones and their kinks for a reason, after all, and she would have to be quite delectable to outcompete his innumerable other fans. She tipped her goblet at the bookish Gryffindor. Well played.

The junior champions for Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were joined by fellow students from their respective schools, and Cedric was with yet another Lion, one by the name of Bell. It was the younger girl sitting next to Potter, however, who really caught her attention. Even blind, she noticed the absolute adoration the child showered upon him. Curious, Jen brushed against her mind.

She was utterly shocked at the state of little Ginny Weasley's mental shields, and Luna's description of telepathic probes as voracious worms came to the forefront of her thoughts. The girl had possibly been learning Occlumency at one point if the remnants of additional defenses were any indication, but that was all they were: crumbling remains, like castle walls left to the ravages of centuries in the elements without upkeep. Her main barrier, while still standing, was riddled with holes; the best analogy would be porous cheese or an empty honeycomb. The wounds were small but plentiful, leaving her incredibly vulnerable to mind reading, geas, possession, or many other forms of manipulation.

Diving deeper, to Weasley's thoughts and memories, Jen found the unmistakeable signs of tampering. Someone with little talent and even less experience had been tromping through the girl's mind, though not recently judging by the healing edges of her memories. Interestingly, a large portion of them were clumped together around a single point. Jen took one metaphorical glance at that center and laughed loud and hard in the security of her own mind. Oh Potter, you've got your own obsessed stalker pining after you! Chance are she either fainted or creamed herself when you asked her to attend on your arm. Maybe you shouldn't have been so 'dashingly heroic, like a knight from a fairy tale' when you saved the little damsel in distress. Pulling herself out of Weasley's mind, she smiled to herself. This had all sorts of amusing potential in the next few years, especially if she took advantage of the situation. Perhaps I could even give the child some… professional advice.

At last, Dumbledore had the student body stand and swept the tables to one corner of the room with a wave of his wand. Moving with the other champions to the center of the hall, she laid one hand on Zabini's shoulder and with the other held his own to the side. Conversationally, she said, "I have no idea how much experience you have dancing, but I assure you that I will not be pleased should you spend all night standing on my toes."

"My lady, you wound me. I learned to dance at the same time I learned to walk," he returned. The band on stage struck up a formal piece, and she followed his lead. "If anything, I hope you do not embarrass me with a lack of ability or an urge to take charge."

She giggled coquettishly. "So long as you keep a firm hand, I dare say I will not run too wild." Until, of course, you come to the water's edge, where you will find you have been riding not a mare but a kelpie.

Unaware of her darker thoughts, he smirked and twirled her about. The song ended only for a faster one to take its place. For the next half-hour, Jen went where Zabini guided her, enjoying the music and the motion as she had not since an all-too-brief stint writhing around a pole on Candyland's stage several years ago. He eventually asked, "Do you want to take a break?"

"Yes, that would be great right now," she answered breathlessly as they left the dance floor and passed by the table laden with punch bowls for a drink. "Would you care to accompany me outside?"

"Why not?"

The rose garden, cultivated specifically for this ball, was a blissfully quiet place. They wandered through the hedges to a secluded corner a respectable distance from the castle. Drawing her blank wand, Jen cast silencing and avoidance charms around them. "That should give us privacy, don't you think?"

"Very much so." He came up behind her, but she slipped away to the other side of the area. "Don't worry, there's no need to be shy. I understand how you feel. I'm more than happy to give you everything you desire."

So he has been trying to plant suggestions into my head, after all? Too bad for him I can protect myself from his influence. "Do you plan to eat me, little incubus?" she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Only if you really want me to." She could tell when her words actually penetrated by the sudden shift in his expression and emotions. "What did you just call me?"

"Did you not hear? Incubus, hungry seducer, Lilith's son, need I go on?"

He shook his head sadly and loosened the collar and cuffs of his dress robes. "I'm sorry you had to find out about that. You were a wonderful dancer; I'll do you the favor of making it quick." With a single bound he was upon her, but Jen's hand was already up. A twist of power flung him away with a howl.

Hovering in front of her palm was a swarm of burning-hot discs of energy spinning rapidly around a common center and making a quiet, high-pitched buzz. Invented by a now-canonized witch – not that the Vatican knew that – St. Agnes's Rings was one of the few spells that harmed solely incubi, though it could not kill them without extended contact. She realized a moment before he could pick himself up that she was advertising her wandless magic; thinking quickly, she conjured a tin sheath around her upper arm. Tin was by no means the best material for enchanting, but it was easier to conjure because of that and could be mistaken for many other metals that were. The inconsistencies were even harder to spot after she applied a disillusionment charm, one that she altered on the fly to fade different segments in and out of visibility. If it looked like the spell in her hand was interfering with the disillusionment, he should assume the armlet was a secondary focus that she had been hiding all night.

Zabini at last clambered to his feet. He lowered his hand from his face and neck, allowing her to feel the scorched lacerations with her sonar. A moment passed, and the burned tissue flaked off, replaced by new stretches of soft, whole skin. He turned his head to her and froze, then he ground out, "Cacciatrice, I should have known."

"What?" Jen asked in confusion. It was almost certainly Italian, but she had never studied the language. Perhaps I would have had I known I would be taking on exceedingly dangerous beings from that country. "What did you say?"

"What do you want, you damn bitch?" he demanded. She could feel his body tightening up for another attack, his mind filling with fiery hate.

Oh, Cissy, you owe me big for putting up with this brat. She knew how dangerous incubi were and had no plans to wind up as a midnight snack. With this in mind, she had initially devised a fairly straightforward plan: discuss the benefits of him not feeding on the students for as long as was feasible, and when he inevitably attacked her, kill him in self-defense. Her aunt, however, had focused on the long game. His mother was just as politically powerful as Tracey had said, so making an enemy or a corpse out of a potential ally when Jen was more than capable of restraining him non-lethally was a waste of a resource.

To that end, a new plot was hatched between the two schemers. A civil discourse was still the preferred option, but she was told in no uncertain terms to do her best to keep him calm and get him to agree to hunt elsewhere. While she had successfully argued to keep the option of ending him on the table, it was downgraded from part two of Plan A to Plan C. Plan B was threatening him, which she had to admit had a chance of working if she found an exploitable weakness.

Regardless of her expectation that he would become violent and belligerent, the speed with which he had done so surprised her slightly. According to Elsie, who had a great deal of knowledge of them backed by over a century of personal experience, incubi and succubi generally considered humans little more than cattle, not surprising considering they were predators and people were their prey. From such a perspective, anger at her protests was somewhat understandable. If a chicken fought against her eating it, she would be displeased as well. That said, she also did not hide among poultry, nor was her strength on that level; the same did not hold true for sexual vampires. It would have been far more sensible for him to listen to listen to her at least a little before attempting to kill her.

When dinner could fight back, patience was the hunter's greatest weapon.

The only explanation that makes sense is that he saw how easily his mother got away with her excesses and became arrogant because of it. After all, if he has been told all his life that humans are too stupid to realize what he is, even with a string of dead stepfathers and that healing factor for all the world to see, why would he ever think to be careful? Moderating her tone to be diplomatic – she did see the benefit of starting with the new Plan A, after all – she said, "Nothing much, just a quick talk."

"About?"

"Your dining habits." She twirled her wand and conjured a stone bench on which to sit. "Specifically, where and on whom you sate your appetite."

He stepped forwards in an attempt to be menacing but halted when she raised her left hand again, the Rings still active. "And why should I listen to you? Stop that bloody spell and we'll see how you fare."

She mentally huffed in exasperation but with an effort kept it off her face. Why can't this idiot figure out that he's no longer top of the food chain? "Your negotiating skills need some work. We both know that there are undoubtedly people here able to recognize this spell and understand what your resulting wounds would mean; the Headmaster cum Chief Warlock, for instance. Not only would you be outed, your mother would as well." She leaned back slightly, trying to force a sense of calm on him, but his anger burned too fiercely for it to take. "However, that would cause inconveniences in my life as well, and I'd rather avoid them entirely. If we are being honest with each other, I want us to come to a simple, peaceful agreement that leaves both of us happy."

"So it's starve or you'll reveal me to the world, is it? Or I could get rid of you now and deny any knowledge of what happened."

She sighed again at his bullheadedness. "You aren't listening to a word I say, are you? I am not saying that you can't feed. My main concern is where you feed. An incubus running hither and yon without care for the consequences of his actions is not good for anyone's life expectancy; not mine, not my friends', and definitely not yours. What happens when the DMLE inevitably hears about a number of corpses piling up here? Your mother does not wield nearly enough influence to stop them, and Slytherin house could not survive an Auror investigation."

Nor could I if they moved too fast for me to send Loki away with my ritual kit. Death Foci aren't something that can be explained away; merely possessing one means ten years' vacation in sunny Azkaban, and that's without them finding some way to make Veritaserum work on me, which they eventually would given the motivation. Practicing the Black Arts is the only crime Britain still sends people through the Veil for. I would prefer not shaking hands with Death for a long, long time.

"What I propose is this: I keep my silence about your nature, which insures your House against persecution, and in return you hunt away from the castle and its students. Hogsmeade is fine, though it would be in your own best interest to feed and kill farther afield. Beyond that, we can ignore each other. I would want a vow on this, obviously." A vow that he could not break. Unlike humans, an incubus's magic was essential to his continued existence; losing it would immediately kill him.

He schooled his expression and nodded. "That would be eminently acceptable." He pulled his wand and raised it skywards.

Odd. There is still hatred drifting off him, but it is tempered with… amusement? What could have caused that emotion? Gliding through his shields, still weakened by anger, she eavesdropped on his surface thoughts.

"Fine then, I'll hunt away from the castle. As soon as summer arrives, I think I'll visit Davis in her dreams, and then, when she's desperate to ride me in real life, I'll meet up with her and drain her dry. You think you're so clever, but how will you handle your friend's death on your conscience? Even better, I can look up your family, too; they aren't in Hogwarts. You'll regret your presumptuous pride, food."

Fury burned inside her thick and hot, molten tar flowing through her heart. You little bastard. If only you weren't worth more alive than dead… "Ah, just so we're clear," she added in a voice far too casual to be believed, "my family and friends are off limits at all times, obviously. This should go without saying, as enraging someone who can cut you to pieces before wrecking your family is generally a bad idea, but it never hurts to be upfront. We don't want any… misunderstandings to sour our deal, do we?"

He screeched like a gigantic bat and rushed her again. Waiting until he was almost within reach to leap off the bench, she whipped the hand holding her wand through the empty space on her right, forcing his arms to fly outwards, then thrust the Rings into his chest. When was again in the air, she swung her right hand towards the ground; his body followed with a dull thud. "I have the means to destroy you. If you insist on giving me a motive, I'm not sure I'll be able to resist the temptation."

Twisting around, he finally stretched out enough to glare at her. "I'll kill you! I'm an incubus; you're just a meal! Threaten all you want, you can't stop me! I'll eat your entire family!"

Dammit, Cissy, why did you convince me not to just kill him? An alliance with his mother can not be worth this much trouble. "You are groveling in the dirt, yet you still think you are invincible? Typical teenager. Give me the vow, and I'll let you leave with your body intact, if not your pride."

"You can't hold me here forever. A teacher will come by, you'll have to let me go, and then I'll rip you apart until there's nothing left!"

She laughed mockingly. "A pitiful threat. Even if you succeed in killing me, my family will realize what you did. Since I've already told them what you and your family are, you'll be joining me beyond the Veil soon enough."

"Let them come. A few snacks can't hurt me," he sneered.

That's the third time you've threatened us. Forget an alliance between our Houses; you're a dead man walking. Diving into his memories, she quickly found a perfect chink in his armor. She stepped to the wall of hedges beside them, intentionally turning her back on the boy. "Your sisters are all very pretty." She felt him become still as a statue under the magic pining him to the ground. "Teresa is downright adorable. She's only, what? Two, three? I shudder to think what could happen if the Committee for the Disposable of Dangerous Creatures gets ahold of her. Or worse, do you suppose the Unspeakables would want to study a succubus while she is still too young to pose a risk to them? I give her five years before she's nothing more than their broken pet, a dog who wags her tail at their approach and considers a slightly lesser beating to be a sign of utmost affection.

"That is what will happen should I show the world what you are. It's not just you you place in danger with your reckless disregard for discretion; you do so to your mother and four sisters as well. How will you handle their deaths on your conscience?" she asked, quoting his own thoughts back to him. There's a reason not to slaughter him outright, I guess; I would have to reveal their natures if I wanted to stay out of Azkaban. Killing little kids, even indirectly, leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I'd much rather not do it again while there are other options available to me.

Fear had mixed with the anger flowing off of him and now overwhelmed the previous emotion. "Threatening children? That's heartless, even for monsters like you."

"Excuse me?" she whispered. She may indeed be a monster, but he had no grounds to call her such; she was being exceedingly kind to him considering his belligerent attitude. The last dregs of her patience used up, she stalked forwards and swiped at his face with her left hand, leaving shallow furrows that quickly healed over. That's the best part about this spell: no lasting marks. I could keep this up all night if I wanted. "I am done tolerating your baseless impudence. Take my offer or have your family die; I do not care which. This is your last chance."

"Fine, I'll make the bloody vow," he growled. An aura formed around him. "I, Blaise Zabini, give my word not to hunt within the walls of Hogwarts so long as Jen Black does not reveal what I and my family are. So mote it be."

"No." The gossamer-fine nimbus of energy collapsed with a near-inaudible pop, and he gaped at her. "Include that you and your family will never harm me, my friends, or my family, or I'll gladly out you in front of several Ministry employees and demand a front-row seat to your mother's and sisters' executions."

He repeated the oath with the additional wording, and this time she affirmed it. The aura wrapped around him and was absorbed. "I, Jen Black, vow not to reveal to anyone that Blaise and his family are incubi and succubi so long as they do not attempt to strike against me or mine and so long as he does not feed on the inhabitants of Hogwarts. So mote it be."

"So mote it be."

The magic surrounding her struggled for a moment and then vanished. Because she did not possess a magical core, vows and contracts could not bind her. Don't think this is over, brat. I will not forget your words. She would be watching for an opportunity to kill him while either distancing herself from the crime or hiding his body, and as soon as such a chance came, she'd make him pay for threatening her family. She already had the means and motive.

In fact, why don't I let him take care of that for me? She stepped back and let the boy up. "I'm glad we understand each other now, Zabini. Toddle off."

He snarled and turned away from her, exceptionally foolish in retrospect. He never saw the spell that hit him from behind and knocked him unconscious. Smirking, she slid inside his mind. Vows could rarely create complications when modifying memories, but she took the chance, removing their conversation and making him think she had informed him that they simply wouldn't work as a couple. Unhappy, he decided to leave as forcing himself on the heiress of an Ancient and Most Noble House was just begging for trouble; besides, it was not like he found her that attractive. There were plenty of other girls to pursue.

Now she simply had to wait. Provided the charm held, he would try to seduce a student within the next couple of months and die instantly when his magic was ripped away. Even better, no one would connect it to her; the only people who knew she was going to confront him tonight were Tracey, Sirius, Cissy, and Andi, all four of whom had promised to keep that information to themselves. When he did snuff it, the girl he took on a single date and then showed no subsequent interest in, nor her in him, would be near the bottom of the suspect list.

She vanished the metal around her left arm and the bench, then stood him upright. Didn't I do this same thing to Potter a month ago? No wonder I feel a sense of déjà vu. Double-checking quickly for anything she might have missed, she re-fastened his cuffs and collar and dispelled the Rings. As soon as she brought him back to reality, he turned to her, false sorrow oozing from every pore. "And you're sure you don't want to see where this leads us?"

Plastering a weak smile on her lips, she shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's best we just move on. Don't worry, though, I'm sure you'll be able to find some other girl in the castle who is right for you." He walked off, and her expression of sympathy became one of unholy glee.

You shouldn't have threatened us, kochma. The Black family has many informal mottos, but one is particularly appropriate here: we fight fair only when there is no other choice, and even that isn't guaranteed. My friends are safe, Zabini's days are numbered, and I have a full poupe lavi for the rest of the Tournament. Not bad for a few minutes' work.

She waited until he was out of her sonar's range before she made her way back to the castle. At ten, the music became more frenetic, spiked punch was passed around freely, and the party got a little crazy.

There were several problems with being blind. Among other things, Jen could not read, recognize people from a distance, stay on a regular sleep cycle, or distinguish between images. Though her magic, specifically her sonar, let her get around some of these obstacles, numerous disadvantages remained.

The morning after the Yule ball, however, she discovered one of the few good things about not being able to see. Early morning sunlight could not exacerbate her hangover.

She groaned as she was dragged kicking and screaming from Morpheus's sweet grasp. Immediately silencing her ears and suppressing her pain receptors as best her pounding headache would allow, she stretched out her sixth sense to feel her surroundings. Two older boys in bed with me, which explains why I'm so sore, my dress is on the floor, I don't recognize any of this furniture, and my bedmates aren't the only guys here. Where the bloody hell am I? Casting back into her fuzzy memory, she finally recalled what happened. Oh, yeah, they're seventh year Hufflepuffs. Baron guide me, but I need to avoid drinking that much again. I'm no good to anyone, especially not myself, if I'm completely pissed.

Not that she was complaining about the outcome; it had been over a year since she had had enjoyable sex. Thirteen was too old for the people who frequented Candyland, and Hutchins, the owner, liked his women fully ripened. By the time the last of their clients were gone, the other employees were all too tuckered out to do more than a half-hearted job at best. She had thought multiple times about seducing an older student, but that would require memory charms all around to avoid being reported by a do-gooder witness or her partner after the fact. Should she miss someone, bad things could happen. If even a decent snog was prohibited, the impression she received from the faculty's broom cupboard raids, getting caught mid-shag was a definite no-no.

Then again, a few wards, a little deception, and maybe mucking with people's thoughts a bit would make it that much less risky, especially if I limit myself to once every week or two and take a different partner each time. I really miss sex.

Speaking of mind-fuckery… She flicked her fingers out, removing all memories of her presence from the people in the room, then levitated one of the previous night's companions to an empty bed. Another wave of magic healed her abused flesh from the previous night's exertions, though her customary – and redundant, she knew – check revealed that yes, her hymen was still gone. After the first few times proved the spell restored everything in the region she was healing, she had used dark magic to curse that annoying bit of membrane and all the – at the time, downy – hair below her neck away permanently. The other girls at Candyland who hit puberty the same time she did had been jealous that she never needed to bother with razors.

Scooping her dress up, she spelled herself invisible and inaudible, then made her way out of the Badgers' Den. It was a good thing she had informed her family that she would be spending the night here; she had plenty of time left for a relaxing soak before her return to London.

Ingrid looked over her letter once again. She had not originally planned to spy on her competitors, instead trusting in her own skills to improvise, but her – benefactor? healer? biggest fan? – had asked her to relay as many of the other champions' dueling strategies as possible. After watching those she could, she was rather glad he had pressed her into doing so; she had found herself plotting swift counter-offensives in her spare time, short plans that she could pull off while still leaving herself some flexibility in her own attacks. She could feel her debt to him growing.

With a tap of her wand, she translated the writing on the parchment to English.

Sir,

I hope this finds you in good fortunes. As you requested, I have observed the other champions as much as I could. Since the duels are next Saturday, I hope you still have enough time to place your wagers.

Viktor received his device only a week after the Task was announced, though exactly what it is he has kept secret. From the state of the forest where he practices, I believe it acts as a secondary focus for some type of explosive spell; Reducto, Confringo, something along those lines. Combined with his overall physique, he will almost certainly be the most dangerous competitor.

Diggory was easier to observe than my own schoolmate, as strange as that may sound. He apparently liked Black's strategy for the last Task and has been practicing with a voice-controlled golem. It did not look very effective, far too slow to pose much of a threat.

Leroux is supposedly a trained fencer, and asking the right questions and overhearing the right people leads me to think he will be using a rapier, possibly coated with a mild poison according to one person.

As for myself, my family has a number of secondary foci we inherited, including several staves. I will be using one that lets me manipulate air…

She frowned; her training with the wind rod was not going as well as she wished. Staves needed to be planted in the ground and kept there so they could use wild magic to augment the wielder's own power. Unfortunately, her tool of choice still required more of her magic than even the strongest spell with her wand, and it was too bulky and off-balance for close combat. The more she went over her plan, the more she thought she had made a mistake, but there was not enough time left to make a completely new strategy.

Of course, she couldn't come right out and tell him that. Her father, upon learning that some mysterious wizard had given her back the ability to walk, had essentially demanded she stay on her savior's good side. 'You are a pretty young woman,' he had said, 'and this man has taken enough of a liking to you to go out of his way and let you walk again when everyone else said it was impossible. To be able to do that means he must be a talented Healer; if you can build a rapport with him, we may even be able to negotiate a marriage contract for you. Healers are among the richest and most respected members of our society, and with his obvious power added to that? I cannot think of a better match for you, even if it means you must stay here in Britain rather than come home.'

Much as she disliked the idea, there wasn't a better match. Her prospects were fairly poor due to the Eberhardts' lack of money, so finding a Healer who had expressed an interest in her was a boon. She needed to keep his eyes on her until her father could locate him and have a face-to-face meeting.

…so I should be able to keep my opponents at a distance, even throw them around the arena.

I tried my hardest, but I could not discover what Black, Delacour, or Potter were planning. I doubt the two youngest competitors will be much of a challenge, however. The Veela is the only real question.

Sincerely yours,
Ingrid Eberhardt

Smiling, she tied the note to her pet barn owl. "Take dis to Herr Joseph Bloggs-Vhitaker, Isolde." The owl nodded once and flew silently out the window. I should practice some more with the staff while I have time. There is not long left until the duels.

Jen pulled her fingers off Eberhardt's missive with a grin. The Gringotts-affiliated post exchange was quite a boon for de-spelling and redirecting letters; Elsie had set up the Bloggs-Whitaker account years ago, and it had passed to her when her mentor died. It also allowed those outside the magical world, such as her former co-workers, to keep in touch with her via the Muggle post service should they wish. Though there was not much in the way of letters, she had received a Christmas card from them as a group; she hoped they enjoyed the chocolates she had sent in return and did not gorge themselves overmuch.

She tapped her chin with one finger as she thought over what the German girl had told her. A few minutes later, a possibility took root. "Yes, that could work. That's not a bad idea at all. Thanks, little Ingrid; you have no idea how helpful you've been."

Jen may have a mind for politics, but she's not a virtuoso just yet. For those who don't know, "Joe Bloggs" is the UK analogue of "John Doe" in America. Next chapter is the wandless duels, I promise!

Silently Watches out.