Chapter 3: From Glory's Cup, the Flames Arise

Minerva was getting sick of Dumbledore's summons. There had a been a time they had felt an honour; then, an invitation from a good friend. Now, in the middle of summer when she was not his deputy, and in the face of a looming war which would not see her his to command, running around to his beck and call was not something she would tolerate much longer.

Truthfully, she would not tolerate the man at all, save that if she didn't respond he would try going directly to Harry, only to cause the lot of them more issues. And it was always about Harry, wasn't it? It had been always been Harry to the old man, ever since he heard the prophecy not even she was trusted to know. If only he had channelled some of that obsession into actually caring…

So it was she found herself seated across from him in his office when she could have been enjoying a round with real friends at Tom's bar; or sipping something dry on a beach in the French Riviera in between viewing villas; or, hell, drinking herself into a stupor in the quiet privacy of her home. Not that she was an alcoholic or anything. Only when she was having to put with Albus Dumbledore's incessant puzzles he liked to call wisdom.

Or, apparently, when he was planning things which held a significant risk of seeing her ward's best friend honour-bound to kill him.

"Explain to me again how this is supposed to help anyone?" she demanded, because she was having genuine trouble unravelling his latest machination. "Having Pettigrew reveal his survival and testify the muggle deaths were accidental? Asking him to speak of the good character of the man who tried to kill him; he who betrayed friends who did him no wrong? Have you finally misplaced the last of your marbles?" Or are you still incapable of seeing the bad in people, blinded by all the good even where it does not exist?

"And, and, your plan neatly absolves the rat of any guilt!" Realisation struck, most unpleasantly. "But that's it, isn't it? That is the price he is asking for his cooperation. He will walk free! Free! How can you allow that to happen?"

Minerva was half out her seat, leant across the desk. If that put her in distance to throttle the man should his answer displease her, she would swear to her grave it was unintentional. Albus reclined, and infuriatingly it seemed because he was genuinely relaxed, rather than to get away from her.

"Mr Pettigrew will not be a problem; I am not intending to simply release him," he assuaged, clacking an infernal lemon drop across his teeth. "We have agreed I will obliviate him first; remove every memory of his treachery, and give him back his innocence in doing so."

Minerva had to admit the plan would likely work. Unfortunately, that immediately became part of the problem she held with it. "Have you been paying any attention of late? How do you expect Harry and Hermione shall feel about this? And what of Sirius, even assuming you are able to reduce his sentence to that already served? Seven hells, how are you intending to explain to Pettigrew that one of his best friends is dead, and the other two want him the same way? Have you not considered the consequences at all?"

The headmaster cocked his head. "What would you have me do? Leave Sirius in his predicament? Damn Remus to the same?"

"I would have you not put them there in the first place!"

"That ship has sailed."

"Aye, and would that you were on it when it sank!" Minerva slammed a fist down on the desk, thoroughly enjoying how many trinkets and whirligigs tumbled off. "Do what you will, Albus. I possess neither the patience nor power to stop you, and you evidently do not care not for my opinions however much you ask for them, so I shall not bother."

"You will explain this to Harry?"

"I shall inform him."

Someone has to, and I don't trust you to do it.

"Do tell me how it is received."

"Och, I shall gladly relay every choice word he says about you."

Albus sighed, and twinkled his eyes - Minerva was more sure than ever he did that on command. "Must we be so divided, when our need to come together is greater than ever? When did we get this way, Minerva?"

"You know very well when. Now, if you'll excuse me, we are done here. I have properties to view today."

"You are moving home?"

"If you must know-" and no doubt you will find out whether I tell you or not "-I am considering purchasing a French villa."

"A holiday home?"

"A home, home. For myself and Harry."

"No…"

"Far away from all this nonsense. Not one friend's house one summer, another the next. Not a rented room over a rowdy pub."

"No, you cannot."

"And most certainly not under the roof of those despicable freaks I told you were no good!"

"You must not."

"The ship has sailed. The decision is made."

It had not been, if she were to be honest; the thought of abandoning her country, her ancestral home which held so many memories so dear to her, was a painful one which had chewed at her resolve for days. Right up until the moment Dumbledore had the audacity to tell her again what she could and could not do with her life and charge.

"It must be changed!"

"Why?" she asked, taking her own turn to sit back, calm as a quiet glacier about to crack, and sipping her tea to suppress the urge to throw it at the man.

"There are things you do not understand! Forces at play which-"

"So make me understand," she challenged, knowing he would not and not even bothering to get riled about it - outwardly, at least. "Tell me, and tell me plain, why I should not take my ward and his friends and run? What keeps him here, Albus? The parents he lost? The home he does not have? What is left for him?"

"If I tell you, you will tell him in turn, will you not?"

She did not dignify that with an answer.

"He cannot know the truth of it. Not yet. He is not ready."

Putting her tea down with enough force to crack the cup, and with any luck leave a stain on Albus' desk so deep even magic could not remove it, Minerva rose to take her leave. "When you believe he is, you might address the owl to France." Not that you will ever know the address. "Good day, Albus."

He said nothing to her back as she ever so calmly stormed out of his presence, which was most certainly for the best.

She did not see or hear him withdraw a letter from his top drawer, stamped with the highest Ministry seal, and chew his favourite quill to a stump as he composed the reply to set in motion a plan he knew better than to reveal to his deputy headmistress until the fait was truly accompli. She might have found a way to stop it if he had, and that was, to him, unacceptable.

The things we must do for the Greater Good.

Luna hung off Harry's arm as Professor McGonagall led the pair through the sprawling campsite toward the stadium. She took another bite of the strange fluffy sugar on a stick Harry had bought for her, and savoured the strange way it stuck to her teeth until it melted. Hermione would have reminded her it was not melting, but dissolving, and probably chided her for applying sugar so intentionally to her teeth, but Hermione was not there. Which was sad.

It was the type of sad which crept up slowly and sidled into view at the quietest of times, and in the least expected ways, and was felt no more strongly than when you were otherwise enjoying the moment to its fullest. It could not ruin her day, but it would stubbornly remind her how much better things could have been. Worse, she knew from all his abandoned turns and swallowed words that Harry was feeling it even more keenly. She considered pointing out a pair of broom-riders pulling loops over the nearby forest, but that would only have served to distract him from his thoughts of his friend, and that would not have been fair; to feel a sad absence was surely better than to realise later it had been forgotten.

Such was the price of carrying a friend within your soul; sometimes you had to bear the weight of living the moment for the both of you. So Luna thought on how she would describe the day to Hermione when they were next together, and that brought back a smile which she widened by sharing it with her boyfriend.

"Oi, Harrikins!"

Fred - and it was Fred, because he always motioned with his left arm, so as to leave space for his twin who preferentially stood to his right, which was an awfully nice thing of him to do, especially subconsciously - bounded through the muddy field, weaving between oblivious passers-by to get to them.

"Oh, hello George Weasley," Luna greeted as he skidded to a halt before them. "Hello Ginny, Fred, Ronald," she added as she saw over his shoulder they had more company approaching. "It's a lovely day for skygazing don't you think? Although I suppose watching the quidditch will be fun too."

"Fun?" Ronald squeaked. "Bloody brilliant more like! We saw Krum practicing earlier - Bulgaria's going to win for sure."

"If you're backing Bulgaria, I'll put a sickle on Ireland," Ginny declared, offering a hand to Harry, who took it and the bet without hesitation.

Ginny looked different to the last time Luna saw her. She wore Quidditch jodhpurs which were flattering in a way fuddy old men would have tutted at; a battered old jacket draped lazily about shoulders it was much too large for; and her fiery hair in a wild, wind-blasted mess almost rivalling Hermione's. She stood with a broom in her off hand and her hips as cocked as the eyebrow she'd raised at Ronald's comments. There was mud on her cheek, worn there with the same confidence and purpose as her deep scarlet lipstick.

Luna was happy to see her friend had finally stopped rebelling and accepted her true self instead. She looked hot - the same way fire does. It suited her.

"What's that meant to mean?" Ron snipped.

"Chudley Cannons won their last game… when, exactly?" she answered, winning a snicker from her twin brothers and angry muttering from the other. "Sorry to take your money so easily, Harry."

"Anytime, Gin," he said. "And heya, guys. Looking forward to the game?"

"Damn right we are!" the twins echoed. "And you'll never guess what; someone upgraded our seats to a box!"

"One of those real fancy ones-"
"-with a proper good view!"

"Really? Who did that?" Harry asked knowingly. "I wonder if you're in the same one as us."

Luna laid a little kiss on his shoulder, because generosity deserved reward, and even more so when given without expectation of such.

"Not a clue. Dad thinks it's someone at work buttering him up, but, well…"

"… consider us buttered!"

"And have you been doing your summer work?" McGonagall interjected, wearing her signature cheeky smirk people frequently mistook for a piercing stare. The fearful expressions of the Weasley clan were all the answer needed - except for Ginny, who wore her procrastination with graceful defiance. Ginny was the sort to not touch most homework until the day before, yet always get it in on time and graded well. Luna may have been jealous, had she any inclination for such pettiness.

The conversation was swiftly moved on from schoolwork back to quidditch, and Luna merrily tuned out to people-watch instead. There were people from every corner of the globe - which was a weird expression now she thought about it - and every walk of life, all milling around and interacting, their differences falling away in the face of one shared experience. If there was one thing Luna liked about quidditch, it was that; that intangible way it had of getting everyone to stop arguing for a few hours and just be human together. It was then, invariably, followed by a month's worth of arguments packed into a few days and across several drinks, but for those few hours beforehand it created something beautiful. Luna was surrounded by noise and mud and a harsh wind blowing in off the Irish sea, and it was altogether fantastic.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she mumbled into Harry's arm. He didn't hear her, but that was fine, because she rather suspected he already knew how she felt.

An hour later - most of it spent queueing as there were apparently some inconveniences even magic could not circumvent - their group, which had grown to include Arthur and Charlie Weasley, filed into a private box near the top of the outrageously large stadium. Had it been arranged like a muggle stadium it would have fit every wizard in the British Isles five times over, but it was not; even the 'cheap' seats were the sort you could comfortably spend all day in, complete with individual side-tables and enough leg room to pitch a tent. More than one spectator had brought a tent in with them, which Luna considered rather sensible given how long some games had been known to run.

When they were all seated there were three empty spaces, and only one was the seat Luna had eschewed in favour of snuggling up on Harry's lap. Luna thought little of that fact, preoccupied as she was, until the owners of said seating arrived. First in was an impeccably well-dressed and groomed man who, despite being of a height as middling as his age, had to duck to avoid bashing his wizard's hat on the doorway. He was a plump enough fellow to never be considered small, but utterly dwarfed by the woman who followed; she had to duck to avoid hitting her chin on the same obstacle as had threatened his hat.

"Ah, bonjour," Minerva greeted them, rising to her feet with the grace of the only person in the room expecting visitors. "Everyone, may I introduce Madame Olympe Maxine, Headmistress of L'Academie de Magie Beauxbatons, and Monsieur Stephen Delacour, who works as a French Ambassador to the ICW."

"Ambassadorial assistant," M. Delacour corrected with a wide grin as he bounced about the room shaking hands and kissing cheeks in a flurry of activity reminiscent of a frolicking snorkack. "I wouldn't want to take credit where it isn't due."

His round ended in front of Harry and Luna, where he regarded their intimate seating arrangement - Luna had neither stood up nor allowed Harry to, because she was warm and comfortable and anyone who couldn't appreciate that didn't deserve her standing for them anyway - with a look of fond familiarity.

"Ms Lovegood. A pleasure. Your father's publication, I find to be the most accurate source of news these days."

"He takes his research very seriously," she answered, because daddy did.

"And Mr Potter. I am certain you hear this all too much, but you have my deepest condolences. I never had the joy of meeting your parents, but if your father took after old Charlus then I sorely wish I had. The world is lesser for their absence."

Harry tensed up under Luna. "Mostly people just thank me for killing Voldemort, actually."

"The world is abound with fools," Maxine interjected, to the visible relief of M. Delacour, who was clamming up in the face of Harry's brutal honesty. She slid herself into the seat which had been Ginny's, at Harry's right, ignoring Ginny and M. Delacour both. "Unfortunately, it is the actions of fools which we must now discuss."

"Can it not wait until after the game?" Minerva suggested, quite forcibly.

"No." Harry was gripping Luna's arm tight, which was nice but also painful. "If I need to know something, I'd like to know now. Please."

Maxine glanced at Luna, who looked away briefly so she could glance back.

"This conversation may be better held privately," the headmistress ventured.

"Good thing I hired a private box, then," Harry replied, pulling Luna in to him - she was unbalanced and fell fully onto his chest, which provided the perfect opportunity to snuggle in closer. He was so lovely and warm.

"As you wish. I have been informed that you have intent to transfer to Beauxbatons for the coming school year."

"…Yes?"

"I have been informed by both Madame McGonagall, who gives a most glowing reference, and also by France's Premiere de Magie, who advises in the strongest terms that I give careful consideration, which I fear is his way of warning us that such a thing may prove unfeasible."

"What? Why?"

"He makes reference to your own Minister of Magic. If I were to assume, I would assume there is some issue with your international transfer."
"Or some issue is being made," Minerva fumed. "Ooh, that man…"

"But why would Cornelius interfere?" M. Delacour wondered aloud.

"He would not. He is a man sorely lacking a spine; he never acts decisively unless others act through him," Minerva asserted. "The meddling fool. Too far. This is too far."

"Dumbledore," Harry spat. Minerva merely nodded.

"It is not my place to become involved in the politics of another nation," Madame Maxine declared. "Should you manage to resolve the issue, Beauxbatons would be happy to welcome you. Until then, I cannot officially extend an offer, and given how late this is coming to light, I expect a Yuletide transfer would be the earliest achievable."

"Don't be angry," Luna whispered into Harry's ear. "Anger won't solve anything."

"I'm not angry," he hissed back. "I'm not even bloody surprised. Hermione will be angry."

"Oh. Oh dear. She will, won't she?"

"Thank you for informing me.," Harry said to the headmistress with a nod of his head. "Je verrai te a Noel."

The hair's on Harry's neck were standing up; Luna played with them, and laid a few ever-so-gentle kisses on them. Something else was said, but it must not have been important because Luna didn't hear it. Not that she was listening; she was awfully distracted by how red Harry's skin was turning where her lips brushed it. She almost missed the game starting, but that they ever so helpfully fired a monstrously amplified cannon as the snitch was released. That was thoughtful of them.

Ginny was buzzing. International quidditch was nothing like the silly games they played at Hogwarts; the skill of the players was so far beyond, and the things that allowed them to do were insane. Krum's Wronski Feint to bring Bulgaria a narrow victory didn't even rate in the top ten from the match, and she still wasn't sure she'd like to attempt it. Harry could probably pull it off, but when she tried to engage him a conversation about it, he shrugged off her attentions with a grunt.

He didn't even look at her, but then when she followed his eyeline she understood; he was staring across the pitch at another private box, within which a figure in the most ostentatiously gaudy robes reclined. Dumbledore.

"Don't give him the satisfaction," she urged.

He inhaled deeply through Luna's hair - wasn't it strange how a mere few months ago Ginny would have done anything for that to be her, yet now not a bit of jealousy reared its head? - and stood up, depositing his girlfriend gently back onto his chair like she weighed nothing.

"I need some air," he declared, to no-one in particular, as he grabbed his bag and stomped out of the box.

Ginny and Luna shared their 'Harry's on one again' look, eye-roll and sigh combination and got up to go after him. Merlin knows what trouble he'll get into alone.

For a moment she thought her brothers - the useful ones at least - were going to join, but then those blasted cheerleaders the Bulgarian team had brought along streamed out onto the pitch to celebrate and every male gaze went along with them. Excepting Harry's, because, his being distracted by a few pretty Veela being convenient to the situation, he was of course all but immune to their allure. He didn't so much as break step.

Ok, maybe the tiniest bit jealous.

At some point over the summer Harry had had a growth spurt, which was all too apparent to Ginny as she struggled to keep up with his strides which had always been as short as her own, and now outmatched her with frustrating ease. Luna gave no indication of such trouble, but then she was skipping, even down the stairs somehow. Ginny was puffing by the time they left the stadium and struck out into the labyrinth that was the campsite. It wouldn't have been so bad had he stayed on the main promenade, but evidently the 'air' Harry needed was to be found flowing through the winding back ways, swirling about guide-ropes and tent flaps and every other sort of general detritus which accompanied the presence of three thousand people and now existed solely to trip Ginny up.

"Harry, wait up!" Ginny called as she lost sight of him around yet another corner. Then as she rounded it herself she crashed into his back - he was at a complete stop, and it was immediately apparent why.

The campsite ahead opened up into a clearing, and every side of it but theirs was ablaze.

"What happened?" Luna gasped, taking a step back.

"Beats me, but we should get help," Ginny suggested, though her feet had rooted themselves to the spot.

She could have sworn she heard the last word echo, then wished it had been one as it rang out louder, coming from somewhere beyond the flaming tents ahead. Even knowing what was going to happen, she was too slow to stop it; her arm swung grasping through the empty air where Harry had stood.

"Damn it," she rasped, the smoke already creeping into her lungs, as she watched her friend set off running straight toward a wall of fire. "Fucking boys."

Then, as she was realising she would never find her way back through the maze of tents in time to bring help anyway, she locked hands with Luna and continued the chase. There was nothing else for it really; the idiot still had her wand, probably in the bag bouncing on his shoulder. The highly flammable bag he surely hadn't had the presence of mind to cast flame-repelling charms on. If he loses my wand, I'm going to kill him.

"Ginny!" Luna screamed. "We can't! It's on fire!"

"We'll be quick," she replied, trying to ignore how rapidly the flames were spreading. It wasn't as if Harry was going to actually get very far; the inferno would drive him back, she would grab him and slap some sense into him, and they could all go back and let the adults deal with it.

When he drew his wand and flourished it before him, she ran out of curses to chant in her head.

"Ventus!" he cried, swirling his wand in wide circles. A powerful wind blew in, wrapped itself about the burning tent before them, and tore it away in a tornado of warped poles and fiery cloth. It tried to fly apart, spitting out hot debris, but Harry's control was incredible - a second eddy split the deadly rain and cast it to land harmlessly on either side of them.

Ginny broke from the tight embrace she had instinctively pulled Luna into and made to wrap Harry into something similar when the cry rang out again, much closer and more desperate. Her eyes met Harry's, Gryffindor to Gryffindor, and she saw what she had missed before; she saw the truth of the boy who had fought a basilisk to save her. It was not in his eyes, however; it was in the mirror they presented to her.

This was the reason she had given him her wand. This was her chance to charge headlong into danger, heroic and bold, right there beside the Boy-Who-Lived. And not just to pursue a mad criminal, unthinking and lost in the heat of the moment. No, this was something… bigger.

Her dream of being the pampered princess on his arm was dead and buried, but something else was rising to replace it. Fire raged all about them, smoke swept through the clearing, and for all that, it was the hard set to Harry Potter's face which threatened to take her breath away. He pressed something into her hand - her wand. She nodded. He nodded back. Luna tugged on her sleeve. Poor Luna didn't get it; Luna wasn't a Gryffindor; Luna hadn't bought what Harry was selling.

"Right then," Ginny said, and then they were diving headlong into the inferno, trusting in naught but their magic and each other to carry them through.

Luna followed them. What else could she do? Give fear no heed. Give fear no- she screamed as a tent collapsed to her left, the billow of smoke and ash blinding her for a terrible second. Two hands clasped about her arms and pulled, bringing her back into the cocoon of safety they were maintaining, driving back against the danger with wind and freezing charms. Luna had her own wand drawn, but it was shaking uselessly, her mind full of spells that could help but blanking on how to apply them.

"Harry I do not like this!" she yelled, thinking that if they were going to die he could at least know she did not approve. It was not the nicest thought, but it felt honest, so she let it out.

Harry ignored her, focused on the screams still coming from somewhere ahead. Ginny flashed her a concerned look, but was too busy beating back the flames to do anything more - she was struggling more than Harry, her wand movements less efficient and spells less controlled. The air was growing thicker and hotter, drying out Luna's throat and eyes, and her vision was starting to blur from all the glaring light, when suddenly it wasn't. They stumbled out into a field of blackened earth and ash piles; a hellscape with nothing was left to burn.

Two cloaked figures turned to face them, showing their faces to be concealed by ornate silver masks. A young woman thrashed on the ground beside them, her screams familiar though she was now beyond forming words like 'help'. There could only have been ten paces between them and Harry.

"Well, well, what have we here?" one laughed, cruelly dismissive of the pain occurring at his feet. "More fun?"

"Hey, is that…?" his partner asked, taking a step forward, ignorant of the three wands levelled at him. "It is! It's Harry Potter!"

A/N:

Not dead - Two words to describe both myself and this story, much as it may have appeared to the contrary.