SHAMELESS PLUG: Please check out my original fiction on Amazon. Strangers In Boston, by T.S. Mann.

Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations belong to J.K. Rowling.

Harry Black
and the Resurrection Game
Chapter 27: The Weight of a Wand

7 November 1994
The Three Broomsticks
Hogsmeade
4:30 p.m.

The better of the two Hogsmeade pubs was quite crowded, as one might expect on a Hogsmeade weekend, even though the students had been prevented from coming to town until the afternoon. Presently, the Silver Trio (Blaise was still working on the t-shirts) sat a table in a corner booth, which they jealously guarded while waiting for some more friends. The bell over the door rang as it opened, and Harry waved to the new arrivals: Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum. The two made their way over and joined the three Slytherins in the booth.

"Good afternoon, Harry Black and friends of Harry Black!" Viktor said gregariously as he pulled out a chair for Hermione. "Viktor has found Hogsmeade most charmful. Very impressed with quality of Quidditch supplies at …" He turned to Hermione. "Vat was name of store?"

"Quality Quidditch Supplies," she replied.

Viktor nodded. "Logical."

"Well, I'm glad you've enjoyed our Hermione showing you the sights of Hogsmeade, such as they are," said Harry. "But have you by any chance seen Draco? I haven't seen him since the Imperius lecture. I am supposed to be his chaperone, after all."

The Bulgarian assumed a disgruntled look. "Viktor thinks that Dragon is off with his … Dragon friends."

The three boys looked confused at that cryptic remark and turned to Hermione.

"At Durmstrang," she explained, "the term Dragon usually refers to a member of House Zmeyevich, whose members are traditional rivals to the Bogatyrs. House Bogatyr is very honorable and martial, while Zmeyevich is more … chaotic. My impression is that if the Weasley Twins had gone to Durmstrang, they'd have been Sorted into Zmeyevich. Anyway, Viktor is suggesting that Draco is running with a bad crowd."

"Well," said Harry, "it's not like it's the first time for him. But he'd better get here soon. His father is coming tonight, along with my godfather. We'll be having dinner in a private room upstairs."

"Really?" said Hermione mildly. "Small world. I'll be having a private dinner upstairs as well. One of the Dagworth-Grangers invited me to meet with him."

"Oh?" inquired Blaise. "I thought we hated the Dagworth-Grangers for being blood-purist scum or something. Has that changed?"

The witch shrugged. "We'll see. The Dagworth-Granger Heir seemed mortified when I told him what his Aunt Cressida wrote to me a few years ago."

"Does … blood purism make life difficult for … Granger?" asked Viktor hesitantly. Harry noted that the Bulgarian had apparently abandoned all hope of pronouncing Hermione's given name, at least while they were in public.

"Well, yes," answered Hermione who obviously thought it a silly question. "There is entrenched bigotry in Wizarding Britain, with our Pureblood overlords permitted if not encouraged to look down on Muggleborns. And in the case of the Dagworth-Grangers, even Muggleborns who can prove their descent from old Pureblood families!"

"Viktor understands this," he replied placatingly. "Is terrible how British Purebloods ignore their obligations to their kin born of Muggles!"

Harry winced, immediately realizing that SPAM-founder Hermione would take that poorly.

"I hope, Viktor," she said coldly, "that you are not suggesting I should have been stolen away from my mother and father to be adopted into some Pureblood family. I love my parents, and they love me! I wouldn't trade them for anything, and certainly not for the chance to be fostered by a Pureblood family so that I could spend my life pretending to be something I'm not."

Viktor suddenly looked stricken at that. But then, Theo spoke up.

"Oh look!" he said with exaggerated excitement. "Madame Rosmerta is here to take our orders! How about a round of butterbeers, everyone? On Harry, of course, since he's the rich one!"

Harry grimaced at that but then gamely ordered five butterbeers for the table. Rosmerta took that down and then asked if everyone was ready to order. Viktor, eager to change the subject away from whatever minefield he'd just discovered, studied the menu intently and then asked which dish was the most "quintessentially British," though it took several tries for the word "quintessentially" to come across.

"Fish and chips," Blaise said without hesitation.

"Not Shepherd's Pie?" Theo asked in surprise. The Italian boy shook his head authoritatively.

"Every nation in Europe has something comparable to Shepherd's Pie, though I'll wager the Bulgarian equivalent is a lot spicier than the British kind. But since Bulgaria is landlocked, I'm guessing Viktor has probably never tried beer-battered cod dipped in malt vinegar with a side of fried chips."

"Ve have cheeps in Bulgaria," Viktor said defensively. "Not fried, though. Baked. Kartofi sus sirene is called."

He paused. "Do cheeps have sirene on top?"

"The British equivalent to sirene is Feta cheese," Harry explained for the benefit of the less culinarily adventurous. "But we generally don't serve it on chips. Have you ever tried tartar sauce?"

"Not to interrupt this scintillating discussion about condiments," Hermione said, even though that was exactly what she was doing, "but … I apologize, Viktor, for my earlier rudeness. It's been a stressful … few months. Also, I should mention that neither I nor Harry will be eating with you this evening on account of our engagements. And I probably won't be able to continue showing you around Hogsmeade today. Perhaps Blaise or Theo might be free to do so?"

"It would be a pleasure," Blaise said, perking up at the thought of escorting the handsome Quidditch star around.

"Blaise Zabini is much kind," the Bulgarian demurred. "But after eating the fish and the cheeps, Viktor will be returning to ship."

He took a quick glance around the pub and saw Alexander Nott on the far side of the room, resolutely pretending to not be paying any attention to him. He turned back to Blaise with a smile.

"Viktor is sure to find something to do."

Thirty minutes later …

Draco did indeed show up on time, albeit in the company of a quartet of boisterous Zmeyevich students, one of whom was a Sixth-Year girl named Natalya who flirted quite shamelessly with the Malfoy heir. Then, he noticed Harry regarding him with amusement and nodding toward the stairs. Draco blushed slightly before saying his goodbyes to the Dragons and heading in that direction, trying to pat his hair back into place as he followed Harry's lead and ascended the stairs.

All the rooms on the second floor of the Three Broomsticks doubled as meeting/private dining rooms and as bedrooms, as magic made it a simple matter to transfigure the furniture into whatever was required. Dinner guests could order off Madame Rosmerta's fixed menu or bring their own food, whether via house elf or other means.

For example, Room 5 presently contained an intimate table for four with a simple but well-cooked meal prepared by Rosmerta's cook. Room 9, on the other hand, featured a table for eight with a five-course meal provided by Lemmy (Lucius Malfoy's kitchen elf) that began with Lobster Bisque served in fine China bowls and only got more extravagant from there.

Of course, aside from the quality of the décor and the cuisine, the biggest difference between Room 5 and Room 9 was that the latter was presently shielded by no less than nine privacy wards, plus an unusually powerful insect repellant ward for "our beetle friend."

Room 5

"Okay," said Leonard Dagworth-Granger. "Stop stalling. Come over here and look into my eyes."

"Now?!" exclaimed the Auror, as he stepped out of the attached bathroom. "The kids will be here any minute, and I need to get dressed!"

Dawlish's concern arose from the fact that he'd barely had time for a nice hot shower after spending the morning and early afternoon repeatedly casting the Imperius Curse and then a full two hours meditating over the resulting effects on his psyche. As a result, he was presently attired in nothing but a damp towel and an annoyed expression.

"I may not have time to do a full scan," Leonard said impatiently, "but I insist on double-checking to make sure the Other Guy is locked away safe and sound."

"Lenny!"

"Believe it or not, John," said the Healer testily as he approached his scantily clad lover with his wand already out. "I am far less concerned about our guests catching you naked than I am about them catching you during a psychotic break!"

John rolled his eyes but then complied with Leonard's demand.

"You're lucky I find your medical professionalism sexy."

"Says the fit guy wearing nothing but a sagging wet towel. Now open your mind and say 'Ah.' LEGILIMENS."

Leonard gazed into his partner's mind for nearly a minute, searching for any sign of someone who was also John Dawlish and yet not his John Dawlish. Then, he was distracted and forced to withdraw when there was a knock at the door.

"Shit," John muttered, as he snatched his clothes up off the nearby dresser with one hand while struggling to keep his towel in place with the other. As he darted into the bathroom to get dressed, Leonard went over to admit their dinner guests.

"Hermione! Ron! Thank you for coming! Do come in!"

Room 9

Further down the corridor, Harry, Draco, and Theo entered the private room to find a sizeable percentage of the Azkabal waiting for them: Sirius Black, "Archie Goodwin," Lucius Malfoy, Augusta Longbottom, and Neville Longbottom. Harry sniffed at the scent of Lemmy's Lobster Bisque and smiled. Except for his own kitchen elf, Buttercup, Lemmy was the best house elf chef he'd ever encountered, and the boy's standards for cooking were quite high.

Over the soup and salad courses, the conspiracy reviewed the progress of their many enterprises: the search for Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes; the inquiry into whether it was possible for anyone other than Jim Potter to kill the Dark Lord regardless of the status of said Horcruxes; and the current location of Pettigrew, Rookwood, and Voldemort (whatever form he was in). Unfortunately, their progress on all three objectives had been limited.

"As much as it pains me to say it," said Lucius, "we must proceed for now with our worst-case scenario: Jim Potter is the one chosen by a True Prophecy to vanquish the Dark Lord, he is the only one who can do so, and even he cannot do so permanently until all the Horcruxes are destroyed. Any effort to fully defeat the Dark Lord initiated by anyone else is thus doomed to failure. As is any effort by Jim Potter to do so while a single Horcrux remains. And so, despite any personal issues with and opinion of the Boy-Who-Lived, we must apply ourselves to keeping him alive despite his own Gryffindor tendencies towards self-immolation on a bonfire of his own egotism."

"Hey!" objected Sirius and Neville, who felt equally insulted by Malfoy's slander against their House. Harry had a different objection.

"Well, I'm already fighting through the Oath of Enmity to help the Git as much as I can in the Triwizard Tournament. Perhaps we should move on to that?"

"Momentarily, Harry," said Lucius before biting into a forkful of salade de poulpe. Neville shuddered slightly. While raised as a Pureblood, the Longbottom Heir was not as adventurous an eater as most of the others. Boiled octopus was not to his taste.

"I have a lengthy report on what we know so far about the Triwizard Tournament," Lucius added. "But I am saving it for later during our discussions."

"Yes," added Regulus drolly. "And you can't expect Lucius to deviate in any way from his set agenda. We won't be getting to the Tournament until well after the appetizer course."

"Your facetiousness is noted, Regulus," drawled Malfoy. "And ignored as per usual. If I may return to the matter at hand, I was going to point out that an opportunity to perhaps gain valuable intelligence may become available in the coming year. Horace Slughorn will be returning to Hogwarts in January."

"He's coming earlier than that, isn't he?" asked Harry. "He's a Tournament judge, so I assume he'll be on hand for the First Challenge."

Lucius shook his head. "He will come in for the First Challenge but only for a day. However, I have learned that he will be taking up rooms at the school in January to deliver a series of lectures on various obscure aspects of Potionmaking on behalf of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, of which he is the current president. He will also be overseeing a potion-brewing competition next year for the three schools, with a significant prize awaiting the winning team. And, of course, I've no doubt he will take the opportunity to hold court over his … Slug Club."

Lucius sneered at the name of Slughorn's infamous social club, which the elderly Slytherin had once used to groom favored students for future post-graduate success. And with those successes naturally rendering those students eager to provide favors for the "beloved teacher" who had done so much for them. Malfoy focused his attention on Harry.

"Given your outlandish status in our society, Harry, you will be a prime target for recruitment into his network of sycophants. I suggest you play along, get close to him, and find out what he knows about the Dark Lord's Horcruxes."

"Didn't you already try that?" asked Sirius. "And all you got for your troubles was a false memory?"

"True, but he was naturally suspicious of my inquiries on account of my Death Eater status, no matter what steps I've taken to repudiate it in recent years. More importantly, I lack Harry's Legilimency-inspired deductive genius, as well as his subtle but potent mind-control powers."

Harry grimaced. "I wouldn't quit call it a mind-control power. And I'm a little leery of using them as blatantly as you would have me."

"We are seeking information about the Dark Lord's Horcruxes, Harry. Slughorn has knowledge we need. You have the skills to obtain it. I suggest you let go of your squeamishness and make use of the talents with which Magic has blessed you."

Harry made a face at that, but then nodded in acceptance of Malfoy's argument.

Room 5

"Alright, then," said Leonard after taking a swig of beer to wash down a mouthful of Welsh rarebit. "The first thing I need to know, Hermione, is: What do you know about Houses under British Wizarding law?"

Hermione considered the question. She knew quite a bit, both from her own research and from her association with several scions of Wizengamot families.

"I know they mostly run the whole country. Seventeen Ancient and Nobles families formed the old Wizard's Council. Then, twenty-nine Noble families joined with them to form the Wizengamot, which is where true political power resides to this day."

John chuckled at that. "Yes, well, I do think you underestimate the Ministry and the power of a large, entrenched, and byzantine bureaucracy when it comes to running the country."

"Leaving that aside," Leonard interjected, "That basically sums up the Wizengamot families, although you leave out the at-large seats that are not officially tied to any Houses. Though most of them do end up going to people with Family connections, I freely admit. But I assume you also know that not all those seats are occupied right now. In fact, a few Family seats have been vacant for decades and two or three for well over a hundred years. Same with the Order of Merlin seats, since granting an Order of Merlin typically requires a Wizengamot vote in favor, and they can't always agree on who should get one."

"But what does all that have to do with your Aunt Cressida's attitude towards me?" Hermione asked.

"Let me answer your question with another of my own: What do you know about Common Families?"

Hermione blinked at that. She'd heard of the term, but never with any context. Instead, it was Ron who answered.

"They're Houses that meet the requirements to become Noble, but haven't been invited to join, right? I think the Diggorys and the McLaggans are Common Houses."

"There are a lot of Common Houses in Britain," said Leonard. "Of which Dagworth-Granger is one. And you're mostly right: To ascend to a vacant Ancient and Noble seat, your family must first be a Noble House. And to ascend to a vacant Noble seat, your family must first be a Common House."

"Which isn't that big a deal," added John. "The requirements to be named as a Common House aren't stringent at all. In fact, Hermione, even as a Muggleborn, you could potentially found a Common House of Granger, one that's independent of the Dagworth-Grangers, if you set your mind to it and none of the romantic entanglements and child-birthing issues get snarled up."

"Romantic … entanglements?" she asked in confusion.

"And child-birthing issues," John repeated with a smirk. "By which I mean nobody marries wrong and nobody has any Squibs."

"You see, Hermione," Leonard took over, "the requirements to form a Common House are straightforward. In your case, if you wanted to establish your own House of Granger, you would first have to marry a wizard, specifically one who was willing to take your surname. Next, you need to have at least three children, all of whom showed magic. Then, each of your three children would eventually have to marry a wizard or witch who also had two wizarding parents. Oh, and any wizards who married into the family would also have to take Granger as a surname. Finally, each of your three children would each have to have at least one wizarding child of their own. And that's it! You've got three straight generations of magicals, all carrying the surname Granger. After that point, all you need to do to form the Common House of Granger is to draft a family charter and file it with the Wizengamot."

"Hang on," Ron interrupted. "If it's that easy to form a Common House, why are there so many vacancies in the Wizengamot?"

"Simple," said John. "Because forming a Common House is the easy part! Before a Common House can be raised up to become a Noble Family, it must be approved by an Ascension Vote in the Wizengamot."

Then, the former Ravenclaw paused thoughtfully. "Actually, to be really pedantic about it, you need an Act of the Wizengamot that doesn't disapprove, since the Ascension Vote is framed as a denial of the request for obscure parliamentary reasons. I'm pretty sure the Crabbes only got in back in the 14th century because somebody screwed up and didn't properly schedule the Ascension vote until after the deadline to object had passed. But regardless, you can't get to the point of a vote for or against without sponsorship from an Ancient and Noble House to get that far."

"Not necessarily sponsorship," Leonard corrected. "Any Common Family can petition for an open Noble seat just by writing a letter to the Chief Warlock and requesting it. But, by law, that process takes at least a year and a day before a vote can be held. And sometimes much longer, since the Ancient and Noble families can basically ask for unlimited extensions of time for further consideration. It took the Abbotts eight years to finally get an Ascension Vote, to give a recent example. On the other hand, an Ancient and Noble House can also move for a waiver of waiting period, and that could potentially allow the Ascension Vote to take place the same day the petition is filed! That's a complicated and seldom-used parliamentary process, however. And it requires even more votes to suspend the rules for your benefit than the final vote for elevation! But to make a long lecture short, a Common House applicant that doesn't have the patronage of an established House (and, ideally, support from most voting Houses before they even apply) probably can't get elevated anyway."

"Oh, and don't forget the best part, Lenny," added John. "If your House gets to the point of an Ascension Vote and your petition is rejected, your House is ineligible for reconsideration so long as any member of the House who was around when the vote was taken is still alive. And since wizards and witches live a long time, and Leonard's younger sister Camelia just had a baby …"

Hermione was confused. "So, I assume Cressida aspires to raise your House to Noble status. What does that have to do with her responding to my letter by angrily calling me a Mudblood?"

Leonard winced at the girl's bluntness. "Well, as I said, if you try to form a Common House, you need three generations of wizards and witches in the same family line with no Squibs. But also … you have to keep it up. If you have any Squibs born into the family tree between the time the Common House is formed and the time it comes up for an Ascension Vote, it can make it nearly impossible to get approved as a Noble family."

He grimaced in distaste. "Or, I should say, if your family is known to have any Squibs born into it, as opposed to children who just vanish from the family tree sometime around their eleventh birthday and everyone in the Wizengamot politely pretends they never existed. But that's a whole separate issue."

"Hang on!" Ron exclaimed. "Our friend, Justin Finch-Fletchley just became the Heir to a Noble House, and he's a Muggleborn! And Harry Black is a Half-Blood, and he became Lord of an Ancient and Noble House!"

"True," said John. "But those Houses were already members of the Wizengamot, and the Wizengamot, believe it or not, is very open-minded when it comes to keeping a member House alive and active."

"Indeed," added Leonard. "A Healer of my acquaintance named Andromeda Tonks was a Black before she married a Muggleborn. The Black Family expelled her from their House, and the Wizengamot now legally recognizes her as no longer being a Black and being permanently ineligible to be reinstated. Because that way, if she'd had any Squib children, they wouldn't be counted against House Black's potential fitness as a Wizengamot House."

"But," John continued, "while they'll cut corners and bend the law to help an established family stay in the Wizengamot, they're very strict about what new families they let into their little club. There are, after all, Houses who have held seats continuously for as long as the Wizengamot has existed. And for whatever reason, they are very put out at the thought of elevating a new House only for it to suffer line extinction before the first century is up. It was a big deal when House Abbott was elevated to Noble last summer despite its loudly progressive attitudes towards their own Squibs. And it took a lot of behind-the-scenes political maneuvering to make it happen."

Hermione nodded slowly. From her conversations with Harry, she was aware of those "political maneuverings," some of which involved a deal with House Selwyn who (thanks to her time-traveling escapade), the Gryffindor knew to be a powerful and horribly bigoted Death Eater family.

"And so, Cressida does not wish to acknowledge me or any other Muggleborns descended from Dagworth-Granger Squibs because she's afraid doing so might prevent your House from someday joining the Wizengamot."

"Yes," said Leonard.

"No," countered John. "I still stand by my theory that she's just a greedy old bitch."

"John!" the Healer practically whined. But the Auror was not deterred.

"Tell them about the Charter, Lenny," John said coolly. Leonard sighed and then turned back to Hermione.

"The Dagworth-Granger charter dates back to the days of Hector Dagworth-Granger, who was the most illustrious member of our family and also a member of the first generation to meet the three generations Pure requirement. When he became Head of House, he oversaw the drafting and filing of the Dagworth-Granger charter. But unfortunately, while Hector was a brilliant potioneer, he was less skilled at legal writing, and the charter was poorly drafted. Among other things, it has a surprisingly modern and humane requirement that the Head of House provide financial assistance to any acknowledged members of the extended family who branched off from Squib lines. But it leaves the definition of 'acknowledged members' totally up to the Head's discretion. By refusing to acknowledge your documented biological relationship to Great-Uncle Hector, Cressida can get out of paying not just a stipend to you but also back payments to your family going back three generations."

"You mean she brushed off Hermione just to avoid paying out some money?" Ron exclaimed in outrage.

"Yep," said John. "Or to repeat myself: Greedy Old Bitch. The most charitable explanation is that Cressida doesn't want to acknowledge you because she might have to pay out a big stack of galleons that will put a dent in her rather extravagant lifestyle."

He paused to take a sip of his beer. "The least charitable explanation is that her rather extravagant lifestyle has already squandered the bulk of the family fortune, and she's trying to keep it hushed up. At least until she kicks it due to too much Firewhiskey or too many rich desserts. She's refused to provide copies of the audits on the family account for as long as Lenny's been alive, after all. I'm convinced she's been cooking the books."

He turned to his partner. "Which, I maintain, is why you ended up having to pay for your own Mastery out of your Heir's stipend, even though the charter says education expenses should come out of the general fund!"

"John, enough," Leonard replied before turning back to the two students. "Hermione, Ron, I am sorry to have dumped all this family drama on you. But I wanted you to understand that, while Cressida's conduct was appalling, it should not reflect on our family as a whole, and certainly not on me. And if you decide that you wish to be included in House Dagworth-Granger, as the Heir, I am not without influence and am willing to do what I can to integrate you into the family."

"Besides," Dawlish joked. "You're a very bright young witch. And if Cressida really has impoverished the family, they might need you to help keep a roof over their heads!"

Leonard punched John in the arm in annoyance. Then, Hermione responded slowly.

"Leonard, I … I'm grateful for what you've told me. But … at this time, I think it best I decline. I don't think this is the right time to …"

"Buy a ticket for the Crazy Cressida Express?" John quipped. "I don't blame you one bit. It's why I've been on this idiot to wash his hands of the whole thing."

The Auror smirked at his lover and then gave the two students a wink.

"Personally, I quite like the sound of Leonard Dawlish, don't you?"

Room 9

Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance, now suddenly regretting that he'd asked for a discussion about the Triwizard Tournament. Particularly since the discussion had somehow evolved into a critique of his training regimen coupled with stern admonishments from the adults to "take things seriously." And Harry supposed that it was serious, so much so that Sirius Black didn't even bother to make his usual pun.

"Cockatrice?" Sirius asked while making his way through the list of XXXXX monsters the group had compiled.

"A Bubble-Head Charm on myself followed by one on the Cockatrice itself to asphyxiate it," Harry replied blandly. "Also, transfigure nearby objects into mirrors to ward it off."

"Chimeras?" asked Regulus.

"Confundus Charm to the middle head, causing it to attack the other two."

"Dementors?"

"Patronus."

"Lethifolds?"

"Same."

"Acromantulas?"

"Kill it with fire."

"Basilisk?"

"Transfigure a rooster. Or if that doesn't work, just take the hit to my reputation and use Parseltongue on it." Then, he frowned. "Could they even use a Basilisk if they have an audience on hand to watch the fight? For that matter, I wonder if a Basilisk's gaze works through an Eye-Spy."

"Focus, Harry!" Sirus snapped. "Now then—Quintapeds?"

"Kill it with fire."

"Werewolves? Vampires?"

"It will be the middle of the day, Sirius! Also, Patronus, Sectumsempra, or kill it with fire."

"Wampus Cats?"

"Kill it with fire. Then, send a letter of apology to Ilvermony for killing one of their school mascots."

"Nundu?"

"Bubble-head Charm. Then, send a Patronus message to the Wizarding Africa Embassy to let them know that Wizarding Britain has somehow stolen a creature that is integral to their national defense."

"Harry," Regulus said sternly. "Please stop treating this as a joke. This Tournament has the potential to be deadly!"

The boy gave the adults a bemused look.

"Regulus, people and things have been trying to kill me on a regular basis for as long as I've been a Hogwarts student! Honestly, my main feeling at the moment is relief because for the first time, I know what day an attempt on my life is going to be made!"

The adults all went quiet at that, and Sirius looked especially stricken, which only made Harry feel guilty for his flippancy. He turned back to Lucius.

"So, is that all the XXXXX monsters on your list?"

Lucius looked down at the file in front of him. "That is everything. Well, except for dragons, of course."

That comment sent the other adults into a spasm of outrage. Lucius merely shrugged and tapped his wand against his knife and fork, causing them to start slicing into his steak au poivre as he spoke.

"Honestly, all of you, I saved the dragons for last because I consider them the least probable option for an XXXXX level creature. Aside from the insanity of thinking the Ministry could fashion wards capable of restraining a dragon for some insipid blood sport before it broke free and killed everyone, I have spies on my payroll at both the British dragon sanctuaries and in the DRCMC. There have been no indications whatsoever about any dragons being prepped for transportation. For any dragons larger than an infant, it would be impossible to make such preparations in secrecy."

Harry chuckled. "And I could only wish that the Challenge involved the care and feeding of a baby dragon! After all those weeks in detention as a First Year looking after Norberta, I'm probably the only Champion qualified to look after a newborn dragon!"

"I wish I could have gotten to work with the baby dragon," Draco said wistfully.

"Well, it's your own fault," Harry said smugly. "You should have gotten more detentions!"

Room 5

After answering Hermione's remaining questions about Common Houses (other than minor legal advantages, a few tax benefits, and a hypothetical chance of someday becoming a Noble House, there appeared to be no tangible benefit to the status), she and the three wizards returned to their simple meal of roast chicken and vegetables. The conversation drifted to Ron's studies with Ted Tonks. It was a surprise to Hermione; she'd known of Ron's desire to be a Healer but not that he'd begun meeting with Ted in private for introductory lessons in healing magic. The boy had even taken the first Healer's Vow, the one that formal apprentices took at the beginning of their apprenticeships.

"That's wonderful news, Ron!" said Leonard. "And most uncommon for someone to have begun even an informal apprenticeship so young! Though I imagine it helps that Ted is the first actual Healer to work at Hogwarts in ages, if ever, as opposed to a Mediwitch like Madam Pomfrey."

"I've often wondered," Hermione inquired. "What is the difference between a Healer and a Mediwitch? Or Mediwizard, I suppose?"

"Mainly, whether you're specialized and trained well-enough to teach other future Healers and Mediwitches. If you want to go into healing, the first step is to get into the Medical Wizardry program at St. Mungo's. That's a three-year program. Basically an apprenticeship except that it's not one-on-one like most Mastery programs. In a given year, only five or six Hogwarts graduates get into the program because of the stringent NEWT requirements. Everyone who satisfactorily completes the program gets certified as a Mediwitch or Mediwizard. And for most purposes, that's good enough. For instance, a Mediwizard can go into private practice."

He glanced at Hermione. "I believe the Muggle term is Geepee, isn't it?"

Hermione coughed. "Close enough. GP is an abbreviation for General Practitioner."

Leonard absorbed that. "Oh! Well that does make more sense, I suppose. Anyway, you can also apply for the Auror Academy. And, of course, you can become the Matron of the Hogwarts Infirmary. But if you really manage to impress someone, you can get a Healing Specialization, which is closer to the traditional apprenticeship format. You spend three to five years working under a specific Healer in a more narrowly focused area. In my case, DADA was my favorite class at Hogwarts, so I took a double specialization in Spell Damage and Mind Healing and am qualified in both. Those who complete a Mastery are allowed to call themselves Healers-with-a-capital-H. But only fully credentialed Healers are allowed to teach healing magic to others, which is why Ted Tonks can teach Ron healing magic but Poppy Pomfrey can't."

The Healer frowned as he thought back over his own words. "Oh, and by the way, I did not mean to denigrate Poppy with that comment. She was at the top of her class when she graduated as a Mediwitch and had completed two years of a Pediatric Healing Mastery when the Hogwarts position opened up unexpectedly and she went for it. She could probably become a fully certified Healer in under a year, but she'd have to take a sabbatical from Hogwarts to do so."

"I didn't know you had a Mind Healing Mastery as well, Leonard," said Ron in surprise. Leonard shrugged.

"There is some overlap between the two. In the Spell Damage Ward, I usually draw all the cases involving botched Obliviations, Confunduses , and more rarely the Imperius victims."

"Now that you mention the Imperius," Hermione began, "I was wondering, Auror Dawlish, how you were able to cast so many Imperius curses in such short time without succumbing the psychological effects that you warned us about? Does the fact that your partner here is an expert in treating mind-related magical injuries play a role?"

"Very much so, Hermione," Dawlish replied after a swig of butterbeer. "And you can call me John when I'm not wearing the badge and the red coat. Anyway, I spent two hours meditating here at the inn after my last class and then let Leonard scan my brain to make sure that The Other Guy was locked back up in his cage."

"The Other …" Hermione began before her eyes widened. "Oh, you're an Occlumens! You got around the requirement of having sadistic contempt for all the school children that you cursed by creating an alternate personality that had the right mindset to cast the curse!"

Dawlish was surprised at the girl's reasoning. "Well spotted! You're very knowledgeable about the practice of Occlumency, Hermione! By any chance have you taken up a study of the psychic arts?"

"Don't answer that," Leonard interrupted sharply. "It's none of our business, and it's not something you should be confessing to an Auror."

Dawlish rolled his eyes. "Says the Level 5 Legilimens," he said archly.

"I'm a Level 5 Legilimens who specializes in Mind Healing. You are … an Occlumens of publicly undetermined level but definitely high enough to slow your career advancement despite all your professional successes."

"Hey, I'm a Senior Auror, now! Give me a little credit!" Dawlish said with mild annoyance.

Leonard opened his mouth but then bit down on his initial response. It would probably not be fruitful to mention the fact that John Dawlish's long-overdue promotion to Senior Auror only came after a number of his higher-ranking peers in the Corps got eaten by rats or otherwise murdered in the infamous Pettigrew-Rookwood escape just a few months prior.

"Be that as it may," the Healer finally said. "You can't deny that openly practicing Occlumency at your level has impacted your law enforcement career. By law, you cannot testify in any legal proceedings involving cases you've worked because your testimony is inherently suspect. That limits your ability to do field work because you will always need backup to give testimony about any crimes witnessed. And on top of that, your role as the Imperius resistance trainer requires you to … well, to keep the Other Guy around locked up in your head!"

"I'm lost," said Ron. "Who is the Other Guy?"

Dawlish was eager to address Ron's question rather than continue what had obviously been a long-running argument between Leonard and himself.

"The Other Guy is what I call the alternate personality I built specifically to allow myself to safely use the Imperius without losing control and turning dark. I call him the Other Guy because actually giving him a name other than John Dawlish would be counterproductive to his purpose. The Other Guy is basically a perfect copy of my own mind except that he is a low-key Imperius addict who is eager to use the curse whenever he can and is misanthropic and borderline sociopathic enough to do so. However, that personality has a number of fail-safes built into its nature. Most importantly, when he's released in the context of teaching Imperius resistance, there will always be another Auror or similar authority figure on hand, and the Other Guy has a strong aversion to using the curse abusively in the presence of someone of higher rank who might hold him accountable for improper conduct. You might have noticed that every time I looked like I was enjoying myself too much, all it took was Moody coughing loudly for me to back off. And when the authority figure overseeing the training session tells me the session is over, that's an automatic trigger for the Other Guy to withdraw and for Real Me to take over. There are also additional triggers that can shut down the Other Guy, code phrases that a number of my co-workers know to say if they think I'm acting squirrelly or something."

"How common is that?" Ron asked in amazement. "People running around with fake copies of themselves in their heads?"

"Not very," said the Auror. "Occlumency in general is very rare, and people who can reach a high enough level to maintain an alternate personality long-term—Level Five, by most scales—are even rarer."

"In fact," added Leonard. "What was much more common back during the War was people who had alternate personalities imposed upon them by others against their will! For example, Augustus Rookwood wrote a treatise on how to become an Occlumens, but it had a lot of subliminal mind-altering effects built into it that would gradually construct a second personality within the reader's mind. Specifically, one that was a perfect copy of the true personality except cruel enough to use Unforgiveables and totally devoted to serving You-Know-Who!"

"… Wow," said Ron with a gulp. "That's … awful."

And out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Hermione. Her glance in response reassured him that she wasn't going to blurt out a reminder of the fact that Jim Potter had spent time reading from that very book.

Room 9

"Oh, one final thing," said Lucius, after he swallowed his last bite of tart aux framboises. "All four of you boys will need formal robes by mid-December if you have not already brought a set with you to Hogwarts. There is to be a formal dance held in connection with the Tournament. A Yule Ball, in fact. You should know, Harry, that you and the other Champions will be expected to perform the opening dance, so brush up on your waltz and make sure you have a date who won't embarrass you."

Harry grimaced at that. "A Yule Ball? Whose idea was that?"

"I'll give you a hint. Who is the biggest imbecile to have any say in the Tournament's planning?"

"Bagman," said everyone present nearly in unison.

"Just so. Apparently, there was a ball held at the last Triwizard Tournament because it was 1787 and cotillions were all the rage. Or, I should say, it was scheduled to be held. But then everyone died horribly, and the ball was cancelled on the grounds that it would have been in bad taste to hold a glamourous celebration after a mass tragedy. So naturally, Ludovic Bagman has decided to bring back the idea, presumably out of a sense of historical accuracy."

"And nothing about this has been announced yet because …?" Harry growled.

"Because Bagman is a theatrical imbecile. He doesn't wish to announce the Yule Ball prior to the completion of the First Task. Apparently out of a desire to manage the media coverage for the Tournament."

"Wait a minute," Neville interrupted testily. "If it's at Yule, does that mean we won't get to go home for Christmas Break?"

"No, Mr. Longbottom, it does not. Bagman originally planned for the Ball to take place on Christmas Eve, but I pointed out that most students would likely prefer to spend Christmas with their families. And when he remained recalcitrant, I also noted that the Balkan Alliance does not celebrate Christmas and intimated that they might take offense if forced to attend a function associated with a Muggle holiday, so he finally relented. I also fed him a bit of rubbish about the rich history of Yule in ancient wizarding traditions which he was credulous enough to believe, and so now, the Yule Ball will take place on the evening of the Winter Solstice, which is the 21st of December, a Wednesday. The Hogwarts Express will depart on the 23rd and return on the 8tb of January."

Neville exhaled loudly. A Yule Ball might be fun, but his only concern was the Mimbulus mimbletonia sitting back in his green house that was scheduled for its first germination just before New Year's.

"Oh, by the way," continued Malfoy with a devious smirk. "You are all invited to the inaugural Malfoy New Year's Eve Ball to be held on 31 December. I have decided that since the Potters are too impoverished to host a New Year's Eve Party as per their family tradition, I shall step into that social vacuum with an event of my own."

Harry chuckled. "You know, I had totally forgotten about the Potter Ball, even though it's always been held at my house. It's a good thing I suppose, or else we might have booked competing events! Maybe you'll allow me to host next year's ball instead!"

Everyone else laughed amiably except for Lucius, who merely gave a wan smile. Harry gave him a quizzical look but said nothing more.

Soon after …

As the members of the Azkabal exited their meeting room, Harry noticed that Hermione's group had also finished their meal, as he could see Hermione and Ron descending the stairs towards the pub area. Hermione glanced back and waved at him, and he returned the gesture. Then, he noticed that Neville and Theo were standing next to him and were also waving back towards the young witch. Meanwhile, Sirius had also exited the room and stopped right behind the three boys.

"So," he asked mischievously, "now that you know about the Yule Ball, any ideas on who you might be taking?"

"Yeah," said Neville without taking his eyes off of Hermione's departing form. "I think so."

"Me too," said Theo, his gaze fixed in the same direction.

At that, Harry's back stiffened, and he quickly looked back and forth between the two boys who he now considered his brothers in all but blood before finally turning back to watch as Hermione exited the pub.

"Why do I suddenly have a very bad feeling about this?" he thought to himself.

After their meeting had broken up, Sirius and Archie elected to stick around the Three Broomsticks for a while and have a pint. As Sirius went up to the bar to order, he happened to bump shoulders with John Dawlish, jostling the off-duty Auror as he was waiting to pay the tab for the room and meals.

"Oh, sorry!" he said. "Apologies, my good man. I didn't see you there."

Dawlish turned to the man who had bumped into him, and his eyes narrowed.

"That's quite alright, Lord Black," he said after a noticeable hesitation and in a rather clipped voice. "No harm, no foul."

Sirius noticed the other man's attitude. "You have me at a bit of a disadvantage, friend. Do we know one another?"

Dawlish turned back to Sirius with what certainly looked like an expression of disbelief and perhaps anger.

"We were at Hogwarts together," he finally said. "I was two years behind you. Ravenclaw. The name's Dawlish."

Sirius nodded slowly. "Right. Yeah. I remember you now. I wanna say … Jeffrey?"

"John," the Auror replied glacially while trying desperately to get Madam Rosmerta's attention so he could pay his bill and end this encounter.

"Right, that's it! John! Yep!" Sirius stammered slightly before looking around at everything in the room other than the man next to him. Finally, he took a deep breath and summoned his Gryffindor courage.

"Listen … John … by any chance, did we ever …?"

"Yes," Dawlish snapped without looking.

"Oh," Sirius said in a small voice. "I see. So … was it … okay?"

Dawlish rubbed his hand over his face. "You were Sirius Black, the bad boy of Gryffindor. And I was a pimply insecure Ravenclaw just turned 15. You were my first. And when we were done, you patted me on the cheek and said, and I quote, "Say, Jeff, that wasn't half bad. We should do this again sometime!" And then you left me sitting naked and alone in a broom cupboard with all my clothes still lying in a pile on the floor and never so much as looked at me again before you graduated."

Sirius nodded his head slowly. "I see. Well, in my defense … I was an absolute wanker when I was 17. In fact, with the exception of a few good days here and there, I was an absolute wanker pretty much from age 11 to, well, sometime last year, I reckon."

After a brief pause, Dawlish couldn't help but laught at that. After all those years, he'd forgotten how charming Black could be.

"It's okay, Black," he finally said. "All things considered, I reckon it's good to get your first completely disastrous relationship over with as quickly as possible."

Outside, Harry pulled his cloak tighter around himself to ward off the November chill, as he, Neville, and Theo headed towards the carriage waiting to carry them back to Hogwarts. Nearby, he noticed Lucius and Draco talking too quietly to hear. But from their expressions, Harry could intuit that Lucius was giving his son fatherly advice, but the son was too eager to get back to his friends on the Durmstrang shp to be fully attentive. Then, to Harry's surprise, Lucius pulled Draco into a tight hug, one that clearly surprised Draco as well. But Harry's own attention was focused on the expression on Lucius Malfoy's face when he thought no one was watching. Unaccountably, Harry suddenly remembered the strange look on Lucius's face when Harry had joked earlier about taking over the hosting duties for the New Year's Eve Ball in the following year.

Whirr-click.

The kaleidoscope in Harry's mind slid into position, and instantly, he knew.

Lucius Malfoy did not expect to live to see the end of 1995.

A letter from Titus Mitchell (Manager, Eye-Spy, Inc.) to Lord Wilkes …

Harry,

The monthly report on Eye-Spy operations and sales is attached for your review, but the short version is that we're making out like nifflers in a goblin mine. I'm writing this letter separately to discuss that research project you asked me to pursue. I still have no clue why you're so interested in the defunct House Gaunt, let alone the history of their Lord's ring, but it was an interesting, if somewhat creepy, diversion. I hope this isn't the start of you poking your nose into a doxy nest.

You were correct in your suspicion that the most recent Lord's ring was not the original one that the Gaunt family had been using since before the Wizengamot existed. The decision to switch to the new (and surprisingly ugly) one was made in 1446, with the altered design registered with the Wizengamot in June of that year by Morsus Gaunt, the newly-installed Lord of the house. Morsus claimed the lordship that year after the death of his father Germanicus, and he announced that as Lord he would be using a different ring than the one that had been passed down from Gaunt to Gaunt over the preceding nine or so centuries. No reason for the change was ever put forth by Morsus or anyone else, but then again, there's no record that anyone asked beyond mention of it in old Wizengamot records and a notice of how much gold the Gaunts had to pay to have the new ring properly registered as an official Lord's Ring.

While I found nothing else out about the ring itself, Morsus Gaunt was an intriguing figure. Prior to becoming Lord and claiming a Wizengamot seat, he had been a high-ranking officer among the Knights of Albion, the medieval military organization that was the precursor to the modern Auror Corps. I can get you some more detailed records of his exploits as a Knight if you want, but the most interesting detail that jumped out at me was that Morsus Gaunt led the expedition to the island of Azkaban after its discovery in 1443. It had previously been magically hidden until sometime after the death of its master, the Dark Lord Ekrizdis.

And speaking of Ekrizdis and the Gaunt family, there may have been a bigger connection between the two than just Morsus Gaunt exploring his secret base. Ekrizdis's true name was never definitively identified, but there were accusations (denied by Morsus) that Ekrizdis had once been a Gaunt. Specifically, Polydorus Gaunt, who would have been Morsus's granduncle (or great-uncle, something like that) who'd left Britain nearly a century earlier to avoid accusations of necromancy.

Making things even more weird (in the sense that it ties directly into one of your other "side projects" you have me doing in my spare time when I'm not running your company despite being only 19) is that Polydorus Gaunt was a descendant of the Peverells, who you also asked me to research last summer. His parents were Octavian Gaunt and Harmonia Gaunt nee Peverell, the daughter of the last male descendent of Cadmus Peverell, the middle of the Three Brothers if you believe Beedle the Bard.

Let me know if you need any further research in this direction. Otherwise, I'll see you at Hogwarts on the 28th with a half-dozen Eye-Spies in tow. Good luck in the Tournament.

Titus

13 November 1994
Hogwarts

"Ah, Albus!" called out Nicholas Flamel from down a corridor. "Come here, would you? I have something for you."

The Headmaster, who was running a bit late for the Weighing of the Wands Ceremony (whatever that was), paused at the call from his old friend and mentor. Albus was currently looking for a particular guest expected to arrive today, but he decided that matter could wait a few minutes while he spoke to Master Flamel. As he drew near, the Headmaster nodded respectfully to Greta Müller, Flamel's personal Mediwitch.

"Good afternoon, Nicholas," Albus said warmly. "I missed you at lunch today, Nicholas. And breakfast before that. I hope you're feeling well."

"Quite well, m'boy, quite well. Why, I hardly feel at all like I'm dying of old age. And speaking of death …"

Flamel reached into a pocket and pulled out a box, which he held up for Albus to take. The Headmaster took it and removed the lid. Inside were four vials, each filled with a pale blue liquid.

"A parting gift for … your old friend. I've been waiting to give it to you because I wanted to give the Mandrakes more time to mature before juicing them to maximize longevity. There should be enough in there for twenty years, give or take. After that … you're on your own."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Thank you, Nicholas. I suppose every additional day helps."

Before he could continue that thought, however, another figure came around the corner behind him. It was Garrick Ollivander, the wandmaker.

"Ah, there you are Albus! Now would you kindly mind explaining to me-!"

It was then that Ollivander realized to whom the Headmaster was speaking. Instantly, his mouth clamped shut, his eyes narrowed, and his whole expression darkened.

"Nicholas," he finally said in a cold voice.

"Garrick," the alchemist responded, equally frosty.

Albus looked back and forth between the two, immediately aware of the sudden tension that had arisen.

"Ah, I see you two know each other already," he said with forced brightness.

"Indeed," said Ollivander.

"Quite so," said Flamel. "Though it has been a very long time indeed since I've seen you outside of your little shop, Garrick. How's business? Still terrifying small children, I suppose?"

"Business is fine, Nicholas. And I imagine my intimidating personality is a side effect of growing old. But I take comfort in the fact that I have not yet been reduced to the status of decrepit invalid in a wheelchair."

"Well, have no fear. I'm sure decrepitude and death will find you soon enough."

Ollivander snorted before turning to a flummoxed Dumbledore. "Why am I here, Albus? I received a summons from that cretin Ludo Bagman insisting I preside over something called the Weighing of the Wands. Which is preposterous since the weight of a wand has absolutely no bearing on its proper functioning!"

Albus cleared his throat. "I'm sure Director Crouch can provide a much better explanation than I. If you will follow me, I will be happy to lead you to the chamber where the event is to take place."

"Yes, do run along now, Garrick," added Flamel. "I'm sure whatever your role in this Wand Weighing Ceremony is, you will fulfill it adequately. Probably."

Ollivander sneered at the backhanded compliment. Albus quickly stepped around Flamel's wheelchair to lead the wandmaker away as quickly as possible. Ollivander moved to follow the Headmaster only to stop when he was right next to Flamel. He paused and leaned down slightly.

"Oh, by the way, Nicholas. My sincerest condolences on the passing of your goodlady wife. Perenelle will be missed."

Then, he looked up at Greta Müller with an amused smirk. "Or perhaps she won't, as you certainly seemed to have moved on, haven't you, old boy. And such a pretty young thing too!"

He gave the visibly annoyed witch a bow. "Garrick Ollivander, at your service. And what shall I call you, my dear?"

The stern Mediwitch looked at Ollivander as if he were something giving off a foul odor. "My name is Müller. Greta. Müller."

Ollivander favored her with a vaguely sinister smile. "Of course, it is, my dear. Of course, it is."

Then, he turned abruptly and stalked away down the corridor. "Come along, Albus. Let's get this Weighing of the Wands over with so I can get back to my shop!"

Albus watched in consternation as the wandmaker strode past him. Then, he looked back towards his old friend as if about to demand an explanation, only for Flamel to raise a wrinkled hand and wave it loftily, dismissing Albus and his questions as if he were an errant schoolboy. Then, he turned away as his Mediwitch resumed pushing the wheelchair down the hall.

Meanwhile …

Harry and Jim had both been pulled from Potions at the same time via a message from Bagman delivered by Colin Creevey. Harry and Colin walked side by side most of the way, with Harry smiling indulgently at the hyperactive Gryffindor's questions and comments. Jim followed behind with a sullen expression. He remembered how First Year Colin had followed him about like a starstruck groupie. But now, the kid barely paid attention to the Boy-Who-Lived and was instead pestering Harry with questions about the Eye-Spy coverage of the Tournament.

"So, anyway, I was thinking that if we could get at least one Eye-Spy up here a few days early, we could do video interviews of all the Champions, both before and after the Task. Maybe talk to their friends and teachers as well for a 'human interest' angle. What do you think?"

"I'll owl Titus this evening and get you at least one Eye-Spy as soon as possible. Also, after this Wand Weighing business is over, you should try to talk to Bagman about the First Task. He can't tell you anything about the nature of the challenge, but he might be able to describe what the arena will be like so that you'll be able to put the cameras in good locations."

"Good idea!" exclaimed the excitable boy, who pulled out his wand and a pocket-sized spiral notebook. He tapped it once and verbalized a note to himself, which was duly copied into the notebook.

"Where did you get that?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Fred and George made it! Actually, they said it was part of a project they're working on for you. But they enchanted my notebook for free as part of the testing process. Well, they enchanted my second notebook after the first one caught fire, but this one works fine. They're gonna start selling them when we get closer to exams!"

"I can't believe that we're weeks away from risking our lives, and all you care about is money!" Jim snapped.

"Not just money, little brother," Harry drawled. "If our man Colin actually gets design specs for the arena out of Bagman, it might help us to figure out what kind of monster we'll be up against."

Colin nodded solemnly. "I'll get it. I won't let you down, Harry." Then, he glanced over his shoulder to Jim.

"Or you either, Jim," he added as an afterthought.

Jim sighed angrily. But then, they reached the classroom where the ceremony was to be held. The other three Champions were already inside, as well as Ludo Bagman, who spotted them instantly, and two other figures: Rita Skeeter and her camera man.

"Ah, here they are!" Ludo exclaimed. "Champions number four and five! In you come, boys, in you come. Nothing to worry about. It's just the wand weighing ceremony. The rest of the judges will be here in a moment."

"Wand … weighing?!" Jim repeated in confusion.

"Yes, Jim, dah -ling. Wand weighing. I don't know what the point of it is either, but I'm sure dear Ludo will explain it to you. In the meantime, I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start. The youngest champion, you know … to add a bit of color?"

Without waiting for a reply from Bagman, Rita grabbed Harry by the elbow and practically manhandled him towards the door.

"Hang on," Jim called out. "I'm the younger twin!"

"Lovely!" Rita said, ignoring him completely. Seconds later, she had pushed Harry out the door and into a broom cupboard on the opposite side of the corridor. Quickly, she pulled the door shut and locked them into the darkened closet with a spell. Annoyed, Harry pulled out his wand and cast a Lumos.

"Typical," he muttered irritably. "First time I end up in a Hogwarts broom cupboard with someone else, and it's you! Rita, what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

She turned to him with an excited expression. "Dragons!" she said breathlessly.

Harry stared at the woman in confusion over the seeming non sequitur. "What?!"

"Dragons, Harry. The first task involves dragons!"

The boy folded his arms. "Impossible. We have contacts at both dragon reserves and in the DRCMC! We'd know if they were using dragons!"

The reporter smiled and reached into her handbag before pulling out a thick file folder that seemed much too big to fit inside the small clutch. There was a label on the folder that identified it as a Ministry file marked "Confidential."

"Yes, I'm sure you and your friends were very thorough. I've always admired your competence. But in this instance, not thorough enough. They're bringing dragons in from Romania. Nesting mothers. The Ministry had to bypass the DRCMC because of the risk of Amos Diggory finding out."'

"Where and how did you get that?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Sorry, dah-ling, but I'm not giving up any of my Ministry sources. Suffice it to say I'm Rita Skeeter and this is what I do!"

She shook the folder in Harry's direction almost invitingly. But when he reached out to take it, Rita instantly pulled it back to clutch it to her chest protectively.

"Ah-ah-ah, Harry,my dear. I've been very clear about how I want into your little conspiracy and am eager to help in its goals. But for something like this? I want a little quid pro quo!"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

She smiled almost cruelly. "Your brother, the one who can turn into a bird. How did he really become an Animagus?"

Moments later …

As Dumbledore and Ollivander came around the corner, they discovered a fuming Jim Potter standing in the corridor while staring daggers at a broom closet.

"Jim?" Dumbledore asked in surprise. "What's wrong?"

Jim pointed angrily at the closet. "Harry Black is in there with Rita Skeeter … doing stuff!"

The Headmaster grimaced. While Jim's Imperius-fueled paranoia about his twin was known to him, the thought of Rita Skeeter having unfettered access to Harry was equally troubling. With a flick of his wand, the door popped open to reveal Rita and Harry, both wearing expressions of consternation at the interruption.

"Albus, dah-ling!" she exclaimed while snapping her handbag shut with a click. "So lovely to see you again. And what a charming robe you're wearing today. It almost looks tasteful!"

She stepped forward to draw Dumbledore's attention. Behind her, Harry casually zipped up his book bag, which was now noticeably thicker than it had been earlier.

"Rita Skeeter," said Dumbledore. "Far be it from me to interrupt whatever a notorious gossip monger might be doing in a cupboard with an unaccompanied minor, but Mr. Black's presence is required."

"But of course!" she replied magnanimously. She stepped out of the closet. Harry followed behind and stepped past his glowering sibling without giving him so much as a glance. As Mr. Ollivander entered last, Barty Crouch stepped towards him, hat in hand.

"Mr. Ollivander! Thank you for coming on such short notice. Your presence should have been requested weeks ago but …" The older man turned to glare at Ludo Bagman's gormless face for a second before turning back to the wandmaker. "Well, you know how it goes. Barty Crouch at your service, sir."

"Yes, I recall you. Walnut and dragon heartstring. Twelve inches. Very unyielding and inflexible. Though for the life of me, I can't recall how much it weighed, seeing as how that's not something I or anyone else has ever considered relevant."

Crouch coughed at the rebuke.

"Yes, quite. Well, the name of this ceremony was something Ludo came up with, for the alliteration, I suppose. All we really require is for you to examine the wands of the five competitors and assure us that they are all in good working order and have no … unusual characteristics."

Ollivander snorted. "Unusual is in the eye of the beholder where magic is concerned, young man. Still, the Ministry has summoned me, and I shall obey. Now let's get this frippery over with."

And with that, the Weighing of the Wands commenced. As "ceremonies" went, it was very short and to the point. Ollivander examined each of the wands with professionalism and discernment. Fleur went first, and he expressed some surprise at the use of Veela hair as a core material.

"You might say eet ees a … family tradition," Fleur said somewhat evasively. Harry, who'd learned the girl's secret from Blaise, wondered whether the Veela hair in question was from a relative.

Cedric was next, and his unicorn hair wand was in perfect working order. The boy cheerfully admitted that he'd polished his wand just the night before. Then, he blushed as he noticed the other four champions struggling not to snicker at the accidental double entendre.

Then, Viktor stepped forward. Ollivander expressed perhaps a bit of distaste for the work of his European rival Mykew Gregorovitch but declared that the Bulgarian's wand (hornbeam and dragon heartstring) was in good working order.

Harry Black was next, and to his surprise, Ollivander spent more time examining it than the first three wands put together. To Harry's further surprise, he then called Jim to step forward as well without first making any announcement about Harry's wand. Instead, he took Jim's wand (ash and phoenix feather) in his other hand and spent a long minute studying the two side-by-side while bearing an intense expression.

"Mr. Ollivander?" Dumbledore finally said, startling the old wandmaker out of his ruminations.

"Oh, sorry, sorry," he said apologetically. "I was … lost in the possibilities."

Then, he summoned forth a shower of red sparks from Jim's wand and a shower of green sparks from Harry's.

There were exactly three people in the room who were surprised that Ollivander was apparently proficient at using a wand in either hand simultaneously, if only for the parlor trick of producing sparks. Indeed, it was impressive not for the quality of magic but for the revelation that it was possible at all to duel-wield a pair of wands. One of those three who noticed was Harry Black. The Slytherin's eyes widened further when Ollivander next turned the wands in his hands so that the tips were pointing at each other. For a second, Harry thought Ollivander was planning on firing off a spell with each wand against the other, but if that was his intention, the wandmaker thought better of it. Instead, he flipped each wand in his hand and handed them back butt first to their respective owners.

"Both appear to be in perfect working order."

Then, he studied both siblings with an odd look in his eyes, "By any chance … have you boys had the opportunity to duel against one another?"

"Once," Jim said somewhat nervously, as he recalled their infamous Second Year duel that ended catastrophically with the summoning of some kind of mutant demon-snake due to the Brother Wand Effect, followed swiftly by his unplanned outing as a Parselmouth.

"And that was more than enough," Harry added. He was suddenly thinking of the same incident but from a different perspective. And it led Harry to a sudden epiphany that caused a feeling of ice in the pit of his stomach.

Brother Wands could be used to summon Wild Magic.

Ollivander barked out a gravelly laugh as if amused by an inside joke.

"Yes, I imagine it probably was."

Next: The First Challenge

AN1: Check out the Sinister Man's web presence on the POS wiki, the POS TV Tropes page, and my Discord server (through which you can see advance previews of this story as it is being written). Also, the Sinister Man would be profoundly grateful if you checked out my P*****n page and supported my original fiction. Patronage is not necessary to get the free POS previews via Discord.

AN2: What the Sinister Man is reading:

Methods of Care by ThatTreeCat (A03). Harry starts Fifth year in a state of extreme depression and eventually becomes suicidal. Hermione and Ron know something is terribly wrong but don't know what to do about it, and the staff is, as usual, oblivious. Very angsty, but sometimes, I'm just in the mood for that.

Wrong Place, Wrong Time by SSSRHA. A humor fic in which Dumbledore is neither evil nor incompetent but simply overworked. And occasionally high. Very funny.

AN3: Special thanks to my Discord editors: AjithSen, Farsight, GabrielTFS, Jenna the Green Chaos Duck, Krisni, Menacing Wheat Grain, PrettyPinkCupcake, ProgKingHughesker, raveenamarcus, Rubric of Ahriman, Sakkiko, sehrrhes, The Green Pyromancer, and Treee. Thanks guys!

AN4: Vital Statistics: Reviews: 19,317. Followers: 21,468. Favorites: 19,755. Communities: 255 Discord followers: 5,733! Go Team POS!