Forsaken139: Remember how I said early on that ingested potions don't work on Jen? That's not limited to healing draughts. You could pour a gallon of Amortentia down her throat, and she'd still rip your heart out of your chest and stomp on it (and yes, I do mean that literally).

skywiseskychan: Honestly, if I had known how much trouble a blind protagonist would be to write when I started this, I'd have reconsidered using that subplot. There are just so many visual aspects to daily life, facial cues in particular, that require me to really blur the lines between sonar and sight. Not being blind myself, nor personally knowing anyone who is, makes getting the balance right more than a little difficult. Rant aside, I'm glad it's not too unrealistic and that you're enjoying the rest of it.

bissek: See below. Dumbledore may have heard of self-fulfilling prophecies, but good luck making him realize this is one of them. Yes, "consider" is very much the keyword in your supposition of whether Jen will choose Light or Dark solutions for her problems. She will never reveal her full background in public, likely not even in private. There is a large number of people who, upon hearing that the Potters gave up their daughter for being a squib, would ask who she stole her magic from rather than how they made such an enormous blunder. In Jen's mind, it's better to let that particular dragon keep sleeping.

del-Cormic, garsdal, magitech, smeehee: You all, along with bissek, will just have to wait and see what happens with the whole gloves situation, won't you? ; )

Are ShadowCub and Write-Handed Backstabber my only fellow Hellraiser fans? I must profess myself most disappointed.

Oh, and since so many people were complaining about it, I've reworked the very first scene of this story to give a longer (and hopefully clearer) explanation of why Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban. Happy now?

Disclaimer: Was Durmstrang the school to attend if you wanted to be a future Dark Lord? 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 27
Hostage Situation

"Well, shite. I'm doubly glad I erased his memory now."

Jen pulled her hand from the book she had been perusing with a small groan. After spending several weeks debating all the different possible meanings of the clues inside her golden egg and coming up with not a single definitive theory, the small flock of Ravenclaw girls, aided and abetted on occasion by the other members of her 'court' as a few had taken to calling them when they thought she was out of earshot, had finally capitulated and moved on to other topics. As it was only the middle of February, there was still almost a month for inspiration to strike. Cedric had confided that he, too, was having issues interpreting the half-dozen hints he had coaxed from the puzzle, which lifted her spirits slightly.

So, now that her research time was empty, she had taken to combing the library's stacks to answer a question that had been niggling her since the Yule Ball. When she had confronted Zabini about his 'dining habits' and essentially bullied him into vowing not to prey on other students, he had called her a Cacciatrice. It had not taken her long to discover the English translation of that word – Huntress – but knowing what he had said gave no hints as to why he said it, especially considering the degree of hate he had imbued the word with. Coming from his lips, it had been less title and more vulgar epithet. Four fruitless days later, she used her long mid-Wednesday break to finally look up general information on incubi, including their history in Britain, only to have the explanation slap her in the face.

She could still hear a nasal voice, the result of her magic twisting hand-written words into sound, rattling about her skull.

"…It was only after the death of Minister Dagworth's eldest son Wallace in 1758 at the hands and lips of the Matriarch of the British succubi that the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot began to take the threat these creatures posed seriously. Though the Aurors fought bravely, when ten months had passed, the nest had taken only minor losses; the wizarding forces, on the other hand, had been cut to a third of their original strength. Knowing that this state of affairs could not continue, the Ministry finally asked outside their own borders for the assistance of any group that was capable of resolving the situation.

"This aid came in the form of the Order of Hunters, an organization of predominantly Prussian witches and wizards who had spent centuries honing their tactics and repertoire for achieving their ultimate goal: the extermination of succubi wherever they might be found. This wealth of experience now on the side of British wizards, the tables were turned. Within just over two years of their arrival, the nest had suffered ninety percent losses and to a member fled to Florence, where the greatest stronghold of their kind was and still is located. The Order spent an additional six months in Britain ensuring the magics they had developed were widely documented in case the succubi returned before they departed for their next target.

"As of the time of writing, I have been unable to determine if this Order exists currently, though the fact that incubi and succubi have not been proven to have emigrated from Italy since the eradication of the French nests in the 1870s indicates that they, at least, believe the organization continues to be active to this day. The spells most useful against these creatures are still part of the Auror training syllabus, specifically during the third and final year."

Jen shook her head and closed the text carefully; Pince, the shriveled-up biddy who watched over the library, had ears like a fox for anyone 'mistreating' her books, including shutting them too forcefully. And to think, I had considered letting him go with full knowledge of our little deal. St. Agnes's Rings was probably – no, certainly – one of the spells this Order used routinely, so if he had relayed to his mother that I knew what he was and how to hurt him, her spurning Sirius's offer of a minor alliance between our Houses would have been the least of our concerns.

Actually, she mused with a hum, his behavior, specifically his accusations that I was a liar and a monster, make far more sense now. It does not excuse his rudeness or belligerence, of course, but…

She trailed off as she felt a familiar core enter the library and move towards her. With a slight smile, she pushed the book and her thoughts about the soon-to-be-dead juvenile incubus away. "Why, hello, pansy man. What brings you here?"

Krum stopped short in surprise; understandable, as her back was to the door. Even if she had working eyes, she would not have been able to spot him. "How did you know it vas me?"

"Your footsteps." She leaned back and turned slightly so he could see the left side of her face. "With your frame, you have a distinct stepping pattern, which is readily recognizable to anyone who has trained their ears to hear rather than just look pretty."

"I see," he replied, coming closer and laying one broad hand on the chair across the table from her. "Can I join you?"

She shrugged, and he pulled out the seat. "You didn't answer me, you know. Any particular reason you're braving the castle to come here? I would have thought someone would have made room on the ship for at least a small library."

"Very small. It does not haff books I need to complete my assignment for A-rit-man-cy." He pronounced the word carefully, as if the subject was called something quite different at Durmstrang. "I do not vish to fail my exam, even in de case I do vin de Tournament."

"Oh? I was under the impression that the normal end-of-year tests had been canceled for all the champions." She had been overjoyed at that announcement; she could ace any practical exam for her 'wanded' subjects, but the theory portions would eat her alive. Though she had been doing her best to catch up ever since she realized that her magic and wand magic used completely different mechanics, she was still only halfway through second year material. It was a good thing she had not slacked off with this year's lectures, as she would still have reading to do for third year come summer. Tossing fourth year into the mix was guaranteed to keep her catching up into the next school year; that on top of OWL preparation would be too much even for her.

Krum grimaced. "Da, dey vere technically, but dat vas really only for de junior champions. Regardless of vhat dat Bagman man said, I still haff my Proficiencies to take dis June, before de last Task. I believe your headmaster is providing Portkeys for de examiners to come here radder dan make us go back to Durmstrang for dem."

This was not something she had considered before. In fact, of the senior champions, the only one who benefited from the decision was Cedric; Krum and Delacour were both in their seventh year.That's not an obvious home pitch advantage at all. I can only presume that the exams he is referring to are analogous to the NEWTs.

"I do haff udder reason for coming here," he admitted. "Your Madam Pince is very goot at scaring avay fangirls dat follow me in here to fawn and make goo-goo eyes."

She snorted indelicately, and his whole frame rumbled with amusement. "I would have expected a healthy male like you to enjoy having hordes of nubile girls literally flinging themselves at him."

"At first," he agreed, "but it became boring soon. Dey see me on broom and dink dey know everyding about me, or are interested only in spending a night in my bed so dey can brag about it later to deir friends and de gossip rags. It is… annoying." He tapped the book she had been reading. "Vhat about you? I dought Hogvarts does not haff Dark Arts class."

"Nope, just curious about incubi. We can't all go to a school where the Dark Arts are one of the major subjects." Many Badgers and Lions, even a few Ravens, had refused to interact with their Durmstrang guests for that reason alone, afraid of contamination or corruption or some such nonsense. She, on the other hand… well, if anyone lived in a glass house, it would be her.

"I do not know vhere dat rumor started," he huffed, crossing his arms over his wide chest. "Ve do not haff mandatory Dark Arts class; ve haff a first drough fifth year dueling class. Da, students can take Dark Arts in de dird year if dey vant, but dat is not limited to Durmstrang. I know Beauxbatons also offers dis elective, but you do not see dem being given distrustful looks."

"Wait, Beauxbatons teaches the Dark Arts? The 'even if you're useless after seven years at our school, at least you'll be polite about it' Beauxbatons?" When had this happened? Then again, it wasn't as if she had ever read the visitors' course offerings. As far as she knew, none of the Hogwarts students had. Talk about making decisions without all the necessary information…

"Dat Beauxbatons indeed. Also Valencian College of Vizardry, Akademia in Greece, Institute of Sorcery in Italy, Balkan Academy, Russian Magical University… De only schools in Europe dat do not haff de course is de Dutch school and here, and it is only dese two countries, along vith Serbia, dat do not recognize licensure."

She cocked her head. "I'm sorry, licensure? What kind of license are you talking about?"

"It is…" He paused for a moment, apparently working out the best way to explain it. "All students who pass deir Proficiency are legally permitted to use dark magic vhenever dey vish so long as it does not harm anodder human. Exceptions are made if de magic is cast to protect yourself or somevon else, of course."

Well now, this is certainly an interesting twist, Jen thought. She leaned forwards and tapped the book laying between them. "So if I went to the Continent, got a license, and later killed an incubus, I wouldn't have to worry about Aurors coming after me?" All the spells she knew to stop incubi and succubi were dark; Elsie had stated once that she didn't think anything but dark magic could hurt them for very long thanks to their infernal healing.

"Unless you vere in Italy, vhere dose monsters are more or less in charge," he said seriously. "It is very important to remember dat de rights any near-human species has depend on vhat country dere are in. Let us take our French competitor as an example. Delacour is Veela, and in her home country, she is de same as any udder vitch. If she vere visiting Bulgaria, however, she vould not enjoy such comforts, dough her foreign citizenship vould protect her somevhat. Vere you at de Vorld Cup, by chance?" She shook her head. "Vell, ve had some native Veela come as our mascots. Dey vere – vhat is vord? – conscripted into doing so. Dey can not say no vhen de government says to do someding. It is not a law I agree vith personally, but," he shrugged his shoulders, "I am not politician. I just play game."

"I guess I would need to learn what counts as human and what's a near-human creature should I ever decide to take a vacation on the Continent, then." She pursed her lips as a thought came to her. "Out of curiosity, what's stopping students from going through the course and purposely failing the final test? Being licensed implies that there is some registration or monitoring system for those who have one, but if someone wanted to use dark magic for nefarious purposes, wouldn't simply not being on it make their goals easier to achieve?"

"De countries who recognize de license all made using dark magic vithout von a serious crime vith very harsh punishment. If it is so easy to earn and dere are so many people vith von – and dere are many, many people who haff a license and yet never vonce had reason to use dark magic after dey graduated – dey felt dere vas no reason to be gentle on dose who see demselves as above de law.

"As you say, dere is a self-updating register in… Svitzerland, I dink. It is no stigma to be on it; it holds de names of about a tenth of Europe's population, after all." Krum paused for a moment. "In fact, now dat I dink about it, most people who learn de subject do so to be able to protect demselves from somevon using dark magic against dem. No von vants to see de rise of a second Grindelwald."

"You know quite a bit about this. Is the Dark Arts one of the Proficiencies you're studying for?" she asked.

He softly chuckled and shook his head. "Ne, it is not von of my classes. I just know several people who are or vere in it, my older brodder among dem, so I picked up some of de history along de vay. If you really vant to know more about de subject itself, Eberhardt scored in de top tier on her Competency exam last year and is in de Proficiency class now. I am sure she vould be villing to answer any of dose types of kestions you have."

"I just might do that." A chiming sounded from her satchel; pulling out her pocket watch revealed that she had only five minutes to get to Transfiguration, the last period of the day. "Damn. I hate to cut you off, but I need to leave for class. Thank you very much for the chat, Krum."

"Please, call me Viktor."

"Jen." She held out her hand, but to her surprise, he did not accept her handshake. Instead, he lifted her knuckles to his lips and delivered a light kiss. It was old-fashioned, certainly – not even the staunchest British traditionalists did that anymore – but she could not deny that it was rather charming nonetheless.

Viktor smiled. "Jen, den. I hope dis vill not be de last time ve speak like dis."

"As do I." She picked up her bag and her book, then dropped the latter in a bin charmed to automatically re-shelve it. Only when she was outside the library did she brush her fingertips across the hand still tingling from their parting salutation. "As do I."

Jen pulled her long coat tighter about herself. Early that morning, the heavens had apparently decided to turn the valley Hogwarts was situated in into a inland sea, and the rain had only gotten harder since. By two o'clock, the March monsoon had her practically swimming through the air. Why can't these Tasks be inside the castle for once?!

Her grousing aside, she was curious about the large glass box, sixty feet to a side, taking up one corner of the Black Lake. She had no better idea what this Ravenclaw Task would involve now than she had three weeks previous.

"All right, let's get started," Bagman cried. He was the only jovial one of them, as well as the only judge in their little octet. "As you can see, or rather can't see, you aren't going to have a live audience today, what with this bloody weather and all. Instead, you will each need to wear one of these." With a flourish, he whipped seven pendants out from under his cloak.

"And zose are…?" Leroux asked. He was rubbing his abdomen where the scar he received in the wandless duels was situated; according to the rumor mill, the poison he had used to coat his blade was far more dangerous than anyone had expected for such a 'friendly competition' as this one. The French junior had spent two weeks in St. Mungo's, and his return was marked by a furious Madame Maxime reminding all three schools that contrary to previous tournaments, lethal attacks against another champion would not be tolerated.

"Well, we can't have all of you running hither and yon while the other students are locked up inside, can we? Each of you have your own large viewing mirror in the Great Hall, and we have smaller ones scattered throughout the maze so that your peers can watch you. These necklaces will keep track of where you are so your fans can see and hear you while you're inside. Originally, we were just going to use them to monitor your progress, but some quick charmwork from your headmasters and headmistress earlier today provided us with a better solution. Well, put them on already."

Once all the champions were wearing their trackers, he guided them to the structure that Jen presumed was the maze he and the clues had referenced. "Did any of you notice that someone close to you was missing at lunch?" She felt no surprise drifting off him at their frowns and shaking heads. Casting her mind back to earlier in the day, she remembered eating with Luna, Padma, and Morag, as well as Tracey swinging by at the very beginning of the meal to grant as much public encouragement as the Slytherin could manage without hurting herself. She had also felt Susan and Justin safely seated at the Hufflepuff table. In fact, Kenneth is the only one I don't recall being there. "Well, each of you had one of your friends chosen to be a hostage and who is waiting inside the maze. You have one hour to find them and bring them back out. I will warn you, however, that getting to them is not going to be as simple as just looking around. There are a number of dangers you must face, and not a few of them will seriously harm you if you let them get too close. Most of you should have realized this from the hints we hid inside your eggs." Potter and Delacour both radiated intense embarrassment.

Did neither of them figure it out? Oh, that is just too funny. Strangely, Leroux and Viktor were also sheepish, albeit to a lesser extent. She drifted a couple of feet to the two males. "You two didn't get the clues?" she asked.

"I only found zree."

"Four."

She shook her head at the silly boys; she at least had a vague idea of what these obstacles would be. Weighing the options for who her own hostage could be, she was more sure than ever that it was the Gryffindor prefect. As the only one of her close friends to be missing that afternoon, Kenneth had to have been chosen for this dubious 'honor'.

"Just like the first two Tasks, our junior champions will get a slight advantage. Will the four of you come here for a moment?" As she stepped forwards, she wondered when Potter had been lumped in with the rest of the juniors. She clearly remembered him having to face the dragon without the protection of a fire-retardant cloak. Then again, the injuries he had suffered then could have been the reason the judges moved him to the younger bracket. They can't risk their precious Boy-Who-Lived, after all. Bagman rummaged through his pockets for a moment before pulling out a quartet of thick glass disks. "These compasses will point in the direction of your hostage. Let's see, they have names on them…"

A few minutes later, Jen found herself in front of a wooden door sunken into the class wall of the box. The maze was located approximately a hundred feet from the lake's banks; they had to travel along a floating walkway to reach it. Each champion had their own starting points, and hers was the only entrance that had a side all to itself. She was thankful for the privacy, rolling the compass in her hands in search of the metal post stuck though the housing that the needle would spin around while she waited for Bagman to give the signal to begin.

"Is everyone ready? Your hour starts… NOW!"

The door flung itself open, and she wasted no time stepping over the threshold. Where is that stupid post? Wait, it's probably made of glass, too, isn't it? She sighed; so much for the easy solution. Fine, I'll just have to try a different approach. She remembered that she was being watched by the whole school a moment before she made the terrible mistake of altering the form of her compass with her will alone. Pointing her blank wand at it, she transfigured an opening on one side of the previously closed casing, her sonar now capable of reaching inside. Since this maze is three-dimensional, my guide should be the same. The disk became a short cylinder, the glass flowing so that the side opposite the needle was open to the air and her magical sense. She then reformed the juncture of the needle and the post, which was indeed part of the casing, so that it resembled a ball-and-socket connection found in some natural joints.

Dissecting all those animals to learn their anatomy is starting to pay off, she thought lightly; she had cut open what must have been dozens of rats so that she could correctly transfigure them into something else or vice versa, and that was not the only creature she had had to learn inside and out. On the brighter side, she could now act as her own veterinarian should she ever pick up a real pet. Loki, though her familiar, was still very much a wild animal.

Now free to move as it wished, the nickel needle spun to point upwards and to her left, almost to a corner of the the cube. Unfortunately, the hallway she was standing in ran forwards before turning to the right. A quick check proved the walls to be charmed against transfiguration. "Well, this is a maze. It would be too much to expect a straight path to my objective." The idea of blasting a hole to Kenneth sprang to mind, but she shook it away. It was certainly an option, but she had no clue how doing so would affect the maze's structural integrity. She would rather not have the whole thing collapse on top of all of them. Grudgingly, she began walking down the only route available to her.

Okay, now I'm starting to get nervous.

There was no need for her to be afraid; she had been following the walls and her compass for the last fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, and she had yet to encounter a single obstacle. That did not change the fact that she was gradually becoming more and more tense. With each corner she rounded only to find yet another empty hallway, the rush of adrenaline spiked her anxiety higher. Between the time limit and her own mind, she hoped the next thing she saw was not a fellow champion.

She was likely to curse on pure impulse at this point.

A sniffle called her back to the outside world. Unbelievably, it sounded like the quiet crying of a young child, not something she expected to hear in here. Cautiously, she edged her sonar around the next bend to examine what was coming next.

It was indeed a child, a young girl. Something was off about her, though; her form wavered, flickering in and out of tangibility like a badly vanished object. As if she had detected Jen's presence, she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'll do better, I promise. Please don't hurt me anymore. I'm sorry," in an endless litany.

Jen knew that voice, knew it intimately. How could she not?

Her fingernails dug into her palms from her clenched fist, and all her tension burst into flaming rage. She stomped around the corner, her teeth grinding as she strode unerringly to the small figure. As soon as she was in range, she hopped forwards a step and let fly from her right leg the strongest kick she could manage. Her foot caught the girl's chin, flinging her into the far wall as if the little body weighed nothing more than a few ounces.

"Blasted bloody buggering boggart," Jen snarled. Reacting to her temper, the wall behind the shapeshifter exploded into sharp shards of glass, shredding the partially corporeal figure into ribbons. Its shell destroyed, the boggart collapsed into its true shape; though invisible to the eyes, she felt the floating streak of slime flow away as fast as it could manage.

She took several deep breaths to calm her storming emotions. Elsie had put her up against a boggart once, just so they would know what her greatest fear was. Most people were frightened of an object or a creature in the outside world, and in these cases, the creatures' primary defensive strategy of changing into that form worked wonders. There were some, however, who were not afraid of something outside themselves, but inside. Jen was one of these.

Her fear was simple: she feared being helpless. She feared being completely reliant on any other person to provide for and protect her. She feared having no way of determining her own life, her continued life instead existing solely at the sufferance of another person's mercy.

She feared being weak.

She wrapped her arms around herself, her frame shaking slightly. The boggart had taken her own form, back when she was the slave of the Dursley family. That tiny, sniveling, pathetic girl was long dead, but her ghost still haunted Jen on rare occasions, particularly during the three or four days of the year when her annual lethargy left her barely able to force herself out of bed. Those times provided her the constant impulse to gain more and more power: magical, intellectual, social, financial, political, it didn't matter. She knew in the back of her mind that this was not a healthy coping mechanism, but she honestly could not bring herself to care. She craved the security that power brought her.

Forcefully she stuffed her fears and uncertainties back into the depths of her psyche where they belonged. You are a strong witch, the heiress to a rich and influential Ancient House. You are not getting thrown into a cupboard or being tossed out on a street corner or having a bunch of druggies rape you. You are, however, wasting time. Get Kenneth and get the hell out of here. Straightening, she continued down the hallway ahead of her.

The boggart was the first and worst obstacle she had to face. The flame-freezing charm prevented a corridor of fire from burning her, and an immobilizing jinx stopped a volley of short arrows meant to turn her into a pincushion before they could fully exit the holes that had been so carefully charmed unnoticeable. A twisting stairway took her to a higher level, where a hastily-cast omni-directional banishing charm kept a flock of winged daggers from perforating her as she crossed a narrow catwalk positioned over a pit filled with stone spikes. Finally, she threw herself through a small doorway into a room containing another person, one unconscious and chained to a thick wooden pole.

Jen tilted her head in confusion and felt the needle of the compass again. Sure enough, it still pointed at the inert hostage. Frowning, she walked around the room, double-checking that she was in the right place and that her path did not lay behind the captive. "Bugger me on Legba's crutch, whose arse do I need to break my foot off in for this cock-up?"

We're seriously supposed to believe that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang provide schooling for all the magical children 11-18 living in the entire continental Europe? And that Durmstrang turns every student into an evil dark wizard from the first day of classes? Pull the other leg, J.K., it's got bells on it. In this story, knowing dark magic on the Continent is much like carrying a concealed firearm in the US: so long as you have a license for it and aren't hurting anyone, it's no big deal.

Silently Watches out.