Recommendation: This chapter's recommended fic is "Harry Potter on His Own" by Xavras. Feeling alone and sidelined after the end of the war, Harry travels to a home he owns in France and takes on a new name in order to remain anonymous. One person hasn't forgotten him, though, and is determined to track him down. H/Hr.

Chapter 40 - News of the Magical World

Thursday, February 25, 1995, Morning.

Jasmine didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed by the headline story of the Daily Prophet:

"TRIWIZARD TERROR: CHAMPIONS AND HOSTAGES ENDANGERED!"

On the one hand, it informed everyone about how Jasmine had been entered into the tournament against her will, how dangerous the tournament was, and how the champions had so little trust in the tournament officials that they had felt compelled to band together to ensure the safe rescue of the hostages — a decision that was revealed as wise, given the perceived attack by the merpeople. The story even criticized Headmaster Dumbledore, though not as much as Jasmine thought would have been justified.

On the other hand, all of this was explained with lurid prose and a sensationalistic style that made Jasmine reflexively doubt the report's accuracy, despite knowing for a fact that it was all true. Even worse, the story had been written by Rita Skeeter, a reporter whom Jasmine had grown to almost hate, especially after the fiasco of a meeting during the Weighing of the Wands.

All of those problems aside, what bothered her the most was how close she and Hermione were depicted as being. Luckily that wasn't the focus of the story, and their closeness was simply implied as part of describing the events that occurred. Nevertheless, Jasmine was feeling paranoid about keeping their relationship secret and shuddered to think of what might happen if Skeeter ever even suspected the truth about their sexual orientation.

"Well, it could have been a lot worse," Hermione offered after reading the story over Jasmine's shoulder while they both sat eating breakfast in the Great Hall. "I'm actually a bit surprised that she managed to fit that much truth into one of her stories. I hope she didn't strain anything from the effort."

Jasmine snorted. "It's probably because the story was sensationalistic enough that the truth actually sufficed this time. It looks like all she felt she needed to do was exaggerate a bit in her wording."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, "It shows that she hasn't actually changed, just that she's willing to print the truth when it's nasty enough."

"Which makes me wonder," Jasmine said, "why there isn't more here criticizing Dumbledore. The danger Gabrielle was put in isn't mentioned, like her life doesn't even matter! I mean, if 'nasty and embarrassing' is her basic standard for what she'll write, then why leave out some of the true things about Dumbledore which could have easily been spun as nasty and embarrassing for him?"

Hermione frowned. "That's a good question. It does seem out of character, especially since she didn't leave him out of the story entirely. Maybe she's planning another story focused on him specifically and is saving the juicy bits for then?"

"Maybe," Jasmine said with a frown. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see, but people need to learn what a horrible person he can be — that the whole 'kindly grandfather' thing is more an act than reality."

While enjoying his own breakfast at the staff table, Albus Dumbledore was also looking over the Daily Prophet, though his thoughts were a bit different. It's fortunate that I have such a good relationship with the editor, he mused, otherwise I wouldn't have known about this story in advance and been able to get it adjusted.

Dumbledore didn't like interfering with news stories, and he knew that if he did it too often, it would end up causing him even more problems. Every once in a while, though, he found out about a story that needed to be edited or even suppressed. Sometimes it was a story that would reveal certain facts that needed to be kept quiet, lest they become useful to the enemy; other times it was an unflattering story about himself or others leading the fight against the darkness.

In this instance, it was the latter. Ironic that the first time I've had to do that since the war also turned out to be one of the few times Rita Skeeter bothered to write the truth, Dumbledore thought. And it's unfortunate that I had to promise her a "juicy" story or interview some time in the next year, but it was worth it to prevent my image from being damaged too much. I can't lead people against Tom if they don't trust me.

Now, if I can just find a way for that required story to also serve my goals...

Dumbledore didn't notice the careful, suspicious glances he kept getting from McGonagall and Flitwick. The Charms professor had been the only one who stayed until the very end after the second task, but both knew full well what the whole truth should have been and noticed that it hadn't all been included in the story.

He did, however, notice the angry glares he kept getting from both Miss Potter and Miss Granger, and that worried him.

Thursday, February 25, 1995, Afternoon.

The teachers and students at Hogwarts weren't the only ones reading the Daily Prophet story with interest. Peter Pettigrew had standing orders to bring his master the wizarding newspaper whenever there were stories relating to Hogwarts, the tournament, Dumbledore, or the Potter brat. Today's headline story was about all of them, so he had rushed to his master's room to make the delivery.

Tom Riddle was pleased with what he read — not pleased enough to forget the horrible pain he had experienced the previous day, but pleased nonetheless. It was always good to see Dumbledore and the Ministry lose face in public, even if not by very much. What didn't please him was the possibility of the Girl Who Lived being put in too much danger.

She needs to die by Our hand and Our hand alone — and even then, only after We have used her for Our rebirth ceremony! he ranted silently. She doesn't deserve to have an easy life, but too much danger creates excessive risk. We may have to contact Our servant at Hogwarts and warn him about the penalty for failure.

Riddle didn't give much thought about to how much skill and power must have been required for her to do so much magic while underwater, or how difficult it must have been to convince such a diverse group of champions to work together as a team instead of competing against one another. After all, she was just a little snip of a girl with no particular talent or power. Everything she had done so far had been accomplished because of luck or help from her friends. He had nothing to fear from her.

Deep within the hidden goblin capital city, the Gatekeeper looked over the new report that had just been received from the London branch of Gringotts. When the first dispatch had been returned with orders to watch for new developments, such a quick turnaround time had not been anticipated. It should have been months, if not years, for something new and significant to develop, but apparently this issue was already more important than anyone had realized.

Veela! the Gatekeeper thought with a scowl. What in the name of the Great Goddess could they want with those two witches? And the Delacour clan, to boot! They must think that they know something. But what? And why does it interest them so much? Is this something we need to be concerned with?

The goblins had a very complicated relationship with the veela. They weren't enemies in the traditional sense, but they were rivals in several fields, most significantly that of enchanting magical objects. Since the goblins treated business like a battle, that meant competitors were enemies on some level. But the veela were also respected because they competed so well against the goblins.

So well, in fact, that several centuries ago the goblins had decided to make a deal whereby the veela would be paid to do the most complex and difficult enchanting of goblin-made items, including some weapons and jewelry. Even centuries later, it still rankled some to have to admit that, despite being a much younger race, the veela could be better at certain types of enchantments — especially complex groups of enchantments, interwoven through a magical artifact with a degree of delicacy and harmony that no one had ever come close to mimicking.

They knew the veela kept the best for themselves, but the goblins got to sell better items than they could enchant on their own while the veela were able to isolate themselves even further, not having to deal directly with as many customers. According to their intelligence, the veela had reached a similar deal with the French government for handling all enchanted objects which the goblins didn't produce.

And then there was the fact that goblin culture had a number of similarities to veela culture — it was probably what had allowed them to deal with each other better than either dealt with human wizards and witches.

So, it was complicated.

But none of that meant that the goblins trusted the veela enough to ignore what they were doing. If the veela were interested in these witches, then the goblins needed to at least find out what was afoot so they wouldn't be caught off guard.

The Gatekeeper reviewed all of the documents again and concluded that the veela probably weren't interested in the two witches because of any obvious financial gain. If that's the case, the Gatekeeper mused, and we aren't direct competitors, then maybe a more creative approach might be justified.

It was something that hadn't been done in centuries. Many on the Goblin Bet Bel would object to it, preferring to stick to their current, commerce-focused relations. However, maybe its unexpected nature was a good reason to try it. I'll have to make the case for this to the Bet Bel personally, the Gatekeeper concluded, and looked through the calendar to see when the next best date for that would be.

Sirius dropped the Daily Prophet onto the kitchen table and stared at it for a few more minutes while he contemplated what the headline article might mean for his goddaughter. Eventually he had to shake his head and admit that he still hadn't recovered enough from his time in Azkaban to properly anticipate and scheme. His brain got fuzzy and he got confused too easily. And if he was going to be brutally honest, the firewhiskey probably didn't help, either.

That's why he needed advice; he just wished that he didn't need to get that advice from the portrait of his mother. He wished he could call in Remus, but he was pretty sure that the man felt too beholden to Dumbledore to not tell the headmaster that Sirius was back in town, and he wanted to keep that bit of information secret for as long as possible. Sadly, there wasn't anyone else he could turn to.

Sirius felt certain that damned souls must be ice skating in hell right now.

Walking down the hall with the newspaper in his hand, he tried to figure out which deity he must have offended to be put in the position of not only needing help from his mother, but to be seeking it willingly. Sweet Merlin, Sirius lamented, I'm actually on the same side of a conflict as my horrid mother!

"What is it, Sirius?" his mother asked as he approached the portrait. When she was alive she could always tell when he wanted something or was up to something; it was incredibly disconcerting to find that her portrait was the same.

He held up the paper so she could read the headline. "The second task of the Triwizard Tournament was held yesterday. Today's paper has the results, but also some interesting background information."

"Read it to me, then," Walburga's portrait commanded. After Sirius had finished, she started pacing back and forth inside her frame and finally said, "No source is given for the criticisms of the safety of the school or the hostages, but did you notice what was said about Jasmine Dorea?"

Sirius frowned and looked back at the paper. "No," he said slowly.

"She seems to have spent all her time under a blanket and surrounded by her friends," the portrait said. "I'm guessing that she wasn't interviewed and didn't talk to anyone."

"So what?" Sirius asked, annoyed that she would focus on something so trivial.

"Think, boy!" the portrait said sternly. "Azkaban couldn't have damaged your brain that much. Think back to that detailed report you were given by her and her friend. Some of the words and phrasing were almost identical to what Skeeter quoted others as saying!"

Sighing, Sirius said, "OK, you're right, I seem to remember reading some of the same things. But I don't see the importance."

Shaking her head in disappointment, Walburga's portrait continued, "If her words are coming out of someone else's mouth, then she's obviously been talking to people and sharing her concerns. It was probably those champions, since they are described as lashing out at Dumbledore and the tournament organizers."

Nodding, Sirius indicated that he was finally following his mother's train of thought. "So there are others who believe her, even though at the beginning of the tournament everyone thought she cheated and probably wouldn't have believed her about any of this."

"Exactly," Walburga said with a triumphant look on her face. "She's gathering allies and supporters, just like a true daughter of the House of Black. I'm especially impressed because she's doing this despite not having benefited from being raised in our world, never mind raised in our House where she would have been taught these things. Her blood and heritage are truly showing through. Imagine the great things she will achieve once she comes here and is able to get proper instruction..."

If Sirius didn't need her so much, he'd have threatened to burn her portrait for such comments, but he'd been learning patience over the past few weeks. Such comments were actually quite trivial when compared to the sorts of things she'd said while she was alive, so he supposed he could endure them now in exchange for her insights and assistance.

"While it's good to know that she's getting more support in the school, what does it mean for us?" Sirius asked, interrupting another monologue on the superiority of witches born into noble, magical bloodlines.

"If you were free, it would be an extra reason for you to gather allies to use to support her," Walburga said. "But as it is..." She trailed off and sat down on a chair that had been included in her portrait, clearly lost in thought. Sirius didn't disturb her, having already learned that it was best to just let her be when she was like this.

"With the safety of the school in such doubt," she finally said, "I think it's time to try to bring Phineas into our confidence."

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked doubtfully.

"We have to try sometime," she responded. "First, though, I'll have to talk with the portraits of other important members of the Black family. They all have connected portrait frames elsewhere and may be useful. Once that's done, I'll talk to Phineas. I'll have Kreacher bring their frames down here. You should stay away while this is going on — most of them don't like you very much, and this will go easier if you aren't around."

Yeah, they don't like me very much because of how you constantly belittled me as I was growing up, Sirius wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. He'd let her have her conversations with the other musty old portraits of pureblood bigots from his family. He didn't need to see them anyway.

"Fine," he ground out, "I'll be in the kitchen, then." Maybe there's still some firewhiskey from last night, he added silently.

Thursday, February 25, 1995, Evening.

The inter-house study group was somewhat subdued when they gathered for the first meeting after the second task. Everyone from outside of Gryffindor was anxious to learn more if they could, but they also knew that Jasmine was sensitive to being pestered about the "adventures" she got caught up in.

For her part, Jasmine knew that as part of building a friendship with them, she needed to learn to not close herself off so much. She even had to admit that friends might sometimes even be able to protect her from the pressures of the outside world. So she needed to find a compromise.

After everyone was done with their assignments and revising, Jasmine drew everyone's attention to herself and said, "I know you're all itching to find out more of what happened under the lake. You also know that I try to avoid attention and talking about myself, but I wouldn't be a very good friend if I refused to tell you anything about me." Several of them smiled at this, happy that she was trying to think of them as friends.

"I can tell you that what was printed in the Daily Prophet was basically accurate," Jasmine continued. "It seemed to be cobbled together from accounts from the other champions, though I'd love to know how Skeeter got all that information because I don't remember seeing her there. I'm willing to answer questions to fill in the blanks, but I'd like to limit it to tonight. I'd rather not be answering questions about this for the next decade. There are a few things that I won't talk about, but only a few. Otherwise, I'll try to be as honest and complete as I can."

Everyone looked at everyone else, not sure who should start. Finally, Blaise Zabini of all people spoke up and said, "Reading between the lines of the article, it sounded like you could do some pretty impressive magic — and underwater, too. Just how magically skilled or strong are you?"

Jasmine smiled thinly and responded, "As it happens, that's one question that I really don't want to go into detail about. Someone entered me into this tournament to harm me — the less that's generally known about what I can do, the better. Let's just say that I've been training and working, and I'm better than the average fourth year. I have to be, just to have a chance at surviving this thing."

Blaise nodded, apparently having expected to hear something like that.

"How did you and the other champions ever decide to work together?" Daphne asked.

"We had occasion to talk to a couple of them about different things," Hermione responded, "and Jasmine asked if they had figured out whom would be taken as a hostage. Everyone was equally appalled at the idea of hostages and agreed at first to share ways of keeping hostages safe. It was Jasmine's idea that the champions work together.."

"And it was a joint effort, too," Jasmine added, trying to shift some of the attention away from herself. "Hermione, Neville, and Ginny all helped me prepare from early on, then they helped later with all the champions." This caused the others to look at the Gryffindors with new respect.

The questioning went on for a little while, and the others got a chance to learn some of the lesser-known details that hadn't been printed in the Prophet. It made them all feel special that Jasmine Potter had chosen to confide that sort of thing in them alone.

Friday, February 26, 1995, Afternoon.

One remarkable feature of Rita Skeeter's article about the second task was the fact that it didn't have anything negative to say about Jasmine. That, however, didn't stop certain Slytherins from finding things in it or in other tales about the event to use to attack her. It certainly didn't stop Professor Snape from using his position to bully and abuse Jasmine.

"Potter!" he called out as he stalked into the potions classroom. "I watched you using gillyweed to compete in the tournament."

"Sir?" she responded, unsure of what the point of his comment was.

"I keep a supply of gillyweed here for use in potions."

"Sir?" she said again, still unsure of what was going on, though she didn't miss the fact that a couple of the Slytherin students were giving each other knowing looks, as if they were aware of what was happening.

"I think you obtained your gillyweed by stealing from my private stores." he asserted as he looked down his hooked nose at her, his black eyes flaring in anger.

"Sir! No professor!" she answered, confused as to why he would think that. Next to her, Hermione started to look worried.

"That seems unlikely," Snape drawled, apparently not believing her, "given that gillyweed is such a rare and expensive magical plant."

"Yes, sir, it is. I had to order it weeks ago, and it cost a lot to get," Jasmine explained, hoping that the full truth would placate her bullying teacher.

"Bragging about your wealth, now, it seems," Snape sneered, easily shifting gears from one line of attack to another as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Arrogant and pompous, just like your father. Ten points from Gryffindor for talking out of turn in class."

"But... but... I only answered your questions!" she protested.

With an evil smile, he said, "I didn't ask you any questions, Potter. Another ten points from Gryffindor for contradicting a professor." With that, he spun and walked up to the front of the room where, with a flourish of his wand, he revealed the recipe for the day's potion on the board.

"Today you will be learning how to brew the Draught of Strength," he said. "Normally you would have one hour to hand in a completed and acceptable potion, but because of Potter's rude interruption you now have only fifty minutes. Unfortunately, this potion requires fifty-five minutes to brew. To compensate you for this, I will be deducting five points from Gryffindor in Potter's name for every level I have to reduce someone's grade due to their potion not being finished on time."

Snape looked gleefully around the class as the students started realizing what this meant. "Instructions are on the board. Begin!"

Grumbling quietly to herself, Jasmine started grinding up the frozen troll bogies, all the while imagining that they had Snape's face on them.

Saturday, February 27, 1995, Morning.

When Fleur received a letter from her maman at breakfast, it took all of her willpower to not go running out of the Great Hall so she could immediately read it in private. Instead, she made an effort to finish eating as calmly and normally as possible.

Once locked in her room in the Beauxbatons carriage, however, she eagerly tore open the parchment envelope, and the first thing she noticed was just how short the letter was — not a good sign when one is desperate for answers that were sure to be long and involved. When she unfolded it, she was practically heartbroken at how little there was: "Learn all you can about the experience from their perspective. Do not worry. We are coming."

Learn more? Fleur asked herself. I already keep asking them questions without giving any answers in return. They have to be getting tired of it! And how can I not worry? They don't even say who's coming, or when! she groused internally. Well, there's nothing that I can do about it right now. I guess I'll have to see if Hermione and Jasmine will be willing to answer some questions.

Saturday, February 27, 1995, Afternoon.

It had only been three days since the second task, but Jasmine and Hermione were back to training in the Room of Requirement — and now with Neville and Ginny. Even though the "attack" by the merpeople had only been a misunderstanding, the threat to Gabrielle Delacour had been real, and both had demonstrated the importance of the training the two witches were doing. Silent spellcasting and more powerful spells had already proven their value; the mind arts and wandless spellcasting would probably prove necessary sooner or later.

This afternoon they were focusing on accuracy, and Hermione was getting good enough to let her body move automatically so her mind could return again to the second task and its immediate aftermath.

And something had been troubling her. When she was under the blanket with Jasmine, she had initially found the presence of Gabrielle annoying, especially with her insisting on sitting on Jasmine's lap and inserting herself into their time together. Very soon, however, it didn't bother her at all: on the contrary, it seemed right that she be there for them. And that bothered her. Why would my attitude change like that, she wondered, and especially when it came to someone who was almost a complete stranger?

She had also noticed that these feelings extended to Fleur as well. They aren't romantic or sexual feelings — and with Gabrielle, that would be incredibly weird, given how immature she is — but there is something... security? Safety? I can't quite pin it down, and that bothers me, too. Strong, positive feelings like this shouldn't pop up out of nowhere. At least with Fleur we had a friendship developing, but Gabrielle? It just doesn't make any sense!

Another mystery was the flash of light she thought she had seen as she opened her eyes at the end of the kiss with Jasmine. At the time, she thought it was simply the sun coming between the edges of the blanket, but in retrospect she wasn't so sure. For some reason, it seemed like the light might have come from inside the blanket. But that isn't possible, is it?

Saturday, February 27, 1995, Evening.

Albus Dumbledore sat down heavily behind his desk, tired from all of the time he had spent over the past few days examining and re-examining various memories. It had been a long and tedious process, and now he needed to talk to Jasmine Potter personally.

Pulling out the school calendar to look it over, he decided that the best time to summon Miss Potter for a conversation would be Tuesday before lunch, her normal time for Transfiguration.

Better to have her here alone and a little off-balance or nervous, he thought, so that my chances of getting some answers are improved. I can't afford to remain distant and passive with her anymore. It may have only been a misunderstanding, but Miss Potter could have chosen to resolve the situation in the lake nonviolently if she had wanted to; the fact that she immediately began casting offensive spells is worrying.

Sighing as he looked over some of his notes, he considered what he might be able to do to help the young witch. Something has changed about her, something potentially dangerous, and I need to find out what that is. I can only hope that it doesn't have anything to do with the curse scar or Tom's soul fragment.

Dumbledore had long discounted the possibility of the soul fragment becoming active or exerting any sort of influence on Miss Potter, but after her display of power, anger, and hatred — all directed at him, of all people — he didn't feel quite so confident anymore. If he discovered that he'd been wrong about that, the entire wizarding world would pay for his mistake, one way or the other — .

He took off his half-moon spectacles and rubbed his nose wearily, lamenting the fact that he alone had to bear the responsibility of these secrets. He'd long wished for someone — — with whom he could share these burdens - even just someone he could bounce ideas off of would be a blessing. Unfortunately, every additional person who knew was a security risk, and the stakes were just too high.

No, he'd have to continue doing this alone and hope that the final defeat of Tom Riddle would occur before his own end arrived. He wasn't getting any younger, after all, and the weight of so many secrets and responsibilities was taking its toll.

Leaning forward, he replaced his glasses and reached for a sherbet lemon. Now, he thought, I just need to work out what questions to ask her….