A/N: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and her associates. Please support the official release.
The Great Hall
A decidedly outraged expression covered Harry's features as he lowered the day's issue of the Daily Prophet.
"Can you believe this shit?" he said, attracting the attention of the other three students currently present at the table. "This article has to be the single worst piece of journalistic media I have ever consumed."
"Y-Yeah," Neville nodded from his seat opposite of Harry, ham-and-turkey sandwich raised to his lips. "It was r-really something."
Rita Skeeter had finally published her piece on the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out not to be so much a report on the tournament itself, as a highly colored story about the life and times of one Harry James Potter. Harry's face had been plastered all over the front page, and the other champions had been relegated to a simple mention at the back end of the article. The only person (other than Harry) who had received any kind of coverage was Fleur, and a solid ninety-five percent of that had been speculation on her involvement with Harry as a "potential love interest".
It also didn't help that most of the story was clear fabrication, hopeless drivel churned out for the sole purpose of sparking drama.
"Just listen to this," Harry continued, nose wrinkled with disgust. "According to multiple students, Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school."
"Stunningly pretty?" Hermione blinked, looking up from the book she was currently reading to send him a wide-eyed stare. "Surely it doesn't say that?"
"It does," Harry confirmed. "It's the only factual thing in the entire article, I'd say."
"Oh, stop it," Hermione sighed, cheeks tinted a very soft shade of red. "I'm far from stunningly pretty."
"It continues," Harry said, diverting his gaze back down to the paper. "However, it would appear there is trouble in paradise for the young Mr. Potter, as one Fleur Delacour seems to be making moves on him despite his pre-existing relationship with Miss Granger. Now, the question becomes: which one of the two witches will prevail in capturing this young man's heart?"
"Okay, there's no way she actually wrote that," Hermione exclaimed, ripping the paper from Harry's hands to read through the article herself. A gasp sounded when she realized that Rita Skeeter had, in fact, written just that.
"It's completely ridiculous," Harry groaned. "I barely even know Fleur!"
"She is very attractive, though," Luna commented.
"That's… beside the point," Harry coughed, doing his best to avoid looking at Hermione just then. He wasn't going to lie; Fleur Delacour was an incredibly good-looking witch. But she was also a vain little thing, who didn't like it when someone refused to pay attention to her. And Harry had enough to deal with from before without adding someone like that into the mix.
"I think s-she's scary," Neville said, nibbling on a corner of his sandwich. "E-Everything about her j-just screams 'do not approach'."
"Well, you're not wrong there," Harry scoffed. "She most certainly lives up to the moniker of Ice Queen."
"Ice Queen?" Hermione asked, having put aside the paper to focus on the conversation. "That's what they are calling her?"
"I think so, yeah," Harry nodded. "I've heard several students refer to her that way at least. I don't think she has a lot of friends."
"Hah, that doesn't surprise me," Hermione bristled. "With the way she keeps throwing around her Allure at everyone and everything…"
"Hey, let's not be unfair now," Harry grinned, taking great pleasure in Hermione's apparent protectiveness of him. "She's only blasted her Allure at one person, at least that we know of."
"Yeah, and that one person just so happened to be my boyfriend!" Hermione continued, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
"And your boyfriend is still here, is he not?" Harry retorted, enjoying the verbal spar perhaps a bit too much.
"That's…" Hermione started, only for the sentence to fizzle out into nothing as a scowl appeared on her face.
"Hey, come now, don't be like that," Harry smiled, leaning in to steal a quick kiss, only to be blocked by an outstretched hand.
"Nu-uh," Hermione denied, shaking her head. "No kisses for you."
"Really? Not even for the boyfriend who's about to face a dragon tomorrow?" Harry tried.
"… Only if said boyfriend remembers to stick to the plan, and not wing it like he usually does," Hermione responded, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"He promises to be a good boy," Harry nodded, head still pressed against her hand.
"Then… he can get a kiss. Later," Hermione concluded.
"Y-You really have been d-domesticated, haven't you, Harry?" Neville said, eliciting a light giggle from Luna.
"… Damn, I think… I think you may be right," Harry replied, a crestfallen look on his face. "When did I fall so low?"
"Don't worry, Harry. Captivity suits you," Luna said, without the slightest trace of sarcasm. "You're very cute like this."
"Uhh… Thank you? I guess?"
"You're very welcome."
A moment of silence befell their group then, as Harry returned his attention to the meal he had yet to indulge in, and Hermione flicked out her wand to cast a quick Incendio on the Daily Prophet paper.
"I was going to read that," Luna commented as she watched the paper crumble to ashes.
"Oh. I'm sorry," Hermione apologized. "But I think you're better off this way, to be honest."
Harry had a strong feeling she was not wrong about that.
A nervous foot tapped against concrete pavement as Remus Lupin waited for 12 Grimmauld Place to appear, the dirty walls and grimy windows sliding into existence between houses 11 and 13. The Fidelius charm truly was remarkable; capable of making entire buildings disappear from people's collective memory, save for those who knew the secret. Remus could not claim to know precisely how it worked, but he knew that it had saved his and his friends' lives plenty of times in the past.
Except for Lily and James… his mind reminded him. He quickly abandoned the thought. No, Lily and James died because we were betrayed. Betrayed by Peter. And that is a betrayal I intend to pay back in full.
A chill ran down his back as the front door came into view, its black paint shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker took the form of a twisted serpent, with a pair of crimson gems for eyes. There was no letterbox or keyhole to be seen.
Ahh… Here goes, I guess…
Remus took a couple of hesitant steps toward the house. The overwhelming nervousness he was feeling was triggering his flight-or-fight reflex. Every fiber of his being was telling him to turn around and leave, as quickly as possible, without alerting the owner of his presence.
But Remus knew that was not an option. Sirius already knew he was coming, after all.
It's been such a long time. Thirteen years... I wonder if he's even going to recognize me.
These thoughts quickly came to a head, however, as the black door in front of him swung open, revealing a thin man with a gaunt, sunken face. Remus felt his eyes widen at the sight.
Sirius did not look much like his old self at all. His previously lustrous black hair had grown long and disorderly, and his skin had taken on a decidedly waxy look. His striking grey eyes had lost their shine, and light stubble covered his chin. Remus also spotted a series of intricate tattoos on his arms, which were partially obscured by his rumpled clothing.
"Sirius…" he breathed, unable to contain his shock.
"Remus," Sirius responded, a sad smile on his lips. "I must look worse than I thought, for you to have that kind of reaction."
"N-No, I just… I wasn't expecting…" Remus stammered, only to be interrupted by Sirius moments later.
"It's okay," Sirius nodded. "I know that the years haven't exactly been kind to me. Nor was Azkaban, for that matter."
"Sirius, I… I don't…" Remus breathed, tears welling in his eyes. "I'm… I'm so sorry…"
"Don't be," Sirius shrugged. "It's not your fault."
"But, still! I could have… I could have done something… anything… to get you out of that place!"
"No, you couldn't," Sirius smiled. "The Ministry wanted a scapegoat, and I was the perfect candidate. Heck, I even looked guilty! They were never going to release me, no matter what anyone said."
"I… I suppose…" Remus sniffed, wiping his eyes with the corner of his sleeve.
"… It's good to see you again, old friend," Sirius breathed, before walking up to him and enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug.
"It's good to see you as well, Sirius," Remus swallowed, the tears returning as he matched the hug with equal fervor. "I have been… so very lonely…"
"Oh, and you think I haven't?" Sirius laughed, placing his hands on Remus's shoulders. "At least you didn't have to spend 12 years with a bunch of Dementors as your only company! They make for terrible conversation partners, I assure you."
"I'm sorry," Remus hurriedly said. "I didn't mean to be… insensitive…"
"No, it's fine," Sirius smiled. "You have to have a sense of humor about these things, or… well, it all gets a bit too grim."
"It's good to see that Azkaban didn't take everything from you, at least," Remus smiled through the tears. "Your humor somehow managed to survive."
"Of course. I am Sirius Black, heir to the most Ancient and Noble House of Black, after all! A few Dementors isn't enough to kill my innate charm and personality!" Sirius joked, but Remus could tell it was somewhat forced.
"Apparently not," he replied, before a dark grimace suddenly enveloped his features. "Thank you for the letter, by the way… I always knew there was something suspicious about the Peter Pettigrew case. I never once believed you betrayed Lily and James to Voldemort. Not for a single second."
A quiver ran through Sirius's face at his words.
"Thank you, Remus. That… That means more than you can possibly know."
"You loved James like a brother. There is no conceivable universe in which you would ever choose to give him up to the Dark Lord," Remus continued, a hint of anger entering his voice. "And there will never come a day where I do not regret my complete lack of action on your behalf. I should have defended you that day, no two ways about it. And the fact that I didn't is a burden I will have to carry with me until the day I die."
An undiscernible emotion was present in Sirius's features once Remus finally ended his tirade. It made him feel slightly self-conscious, for some reason.
"I'm sorry if that was a bit much," he mumbled, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I just… needed to get that off my chest."
"No, no… It's okay," Sirius nodded, still with that unknown expression on his face. "I just… wasn't expecting you to feel so strongly about this 13 years later…"
"You don't understand, Sirius," Remus sighed. "You, Lily and James are the only people to ever truly know me. The only ones who accepted me for what I am, and helped me deal with it. Without your friendship… I'm not sure if I'd be standing here today."
"… You truly have grown a lot during the last 13 years, haven't you?" Sirius asked, shaking his head. "How I wish I could've been there to see it for myself."
"You can now," Remus smiled. "The two surviving Marauders, banding together once again after more than a decade apart. It's almost poetic."
"Yes, the sweetness is killing me," Sirius joked, before taking a step back. "Now, come in. We have a lot to talk about, and it won't do to remain here, in plain sight of the street."
Nodding, Remus followed after as Sirius headed deeper into 12 Grimmauld Place, the door slamming shut behind him with a loud thud.
The front door opened into a long hallway, lit with antique gas lamps and a large, overhead chandelier. Old paintings adorned the walls, and a tense atmosphere hung over the place, almost stifling in its intensity. At some point in time, the hallway might have looked grand, but now, it was gloomy and cobwebby, with the wallpaper peeling off and the carpet worn thin.
In the distance, an enormous portrait could be seen, stuck to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm. It had been covered by a wide, crimson curtain, as if to hide it from view. Remus knew it portrayed Sirius's mother, however, which would explain the need for such measures. He had hardly met a more aggravating person in his life.
Sirius led him down the hallway, past the chandelier and a decrepit, winding staircase, and into the dining room. A long, mahogany table occupied the space in the middle, surrounded by wooden chairs that had silver embroidery. Hanging light fixtures cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the interior and the large dresser standing in the corner, which had the Black family crest carved into it.
Upon entry, Remus was surprised to find a person sitting in one of the chairs, a fine china cup filled with steaming-hot coffee next to her. His eyes widened with recognition as he took in the sight of her.
Silvery-blonde hair cascaded over slender shoulders, framing an older, yet still beautiful face with rosy lips. A long, leafy-green robe covered her body, simplistic in design, but retaining that regal feeling only properly expensive clothing possessed. Sky-blue eyes locked onto his, and he felt a chill run down the length of his spine, reaching his toes before fizzling out into a warm, comfortable afterglow.
"Apolline Delacour?" he blinked, confusion dripping from his words. "What are you doing here?"
"Same reason as you, I imagine," she responded, her dulcet tones pleasant to the ears. "To discuss the possible resurrection of Lord Voldemort."
"Ahh… That… That doesn't make me any less confused…" Remus continued, looking more and more like a human question mark. "Sirius, since when did you have a working relationship with Apolline Delacour?"
"Since last month, when I went to France to visit the Veela," Sirius responded, getting seated in the chair next to her.
"You did whatnow?"
"I went to France," he repeated, looking at Remus as if he had gone slightly insane. "What's so difficult to understand about that?"
"I just… I just wasn't expecting… When I got your letter, I guess I thought you were in desperate need of help or companionship or… something along those lines at least, since you called me here, to Grimmauld Place," Remus said, still reeling from the metaphorical whiplash.
"You're technically not wrong," Sirius nodded. "I am in desperate need of help. Which is why I went to the Veela as well. I wasn't kidding when I wrote about the potential resurrection of Voldemort in my letter, you know. And there's no way we'll be able to take him down on our own, without help from allies."
"O-Okay…" Remus nodded, taking a deep breath in order to regain his composure. "So you want to recruit the French Veelas to our side, then?"
"Correct."
"And I'm here to represent them," Apolline added, before taking a sip from her cup. "And I am assuming you are here to represent the Werewolves?"
"Well, about that…" Remus grimaced, getting seated at the table opposite of Sirius and Apolline.
"Please don't tell me the Werewolves have gone to Voldemort," Sirius breathed.
"Not… exactly," Remus started, hands clenched into fists underneath the table. "The thing is… The majority of the Werewolves currently present in Britain all follow a man called Fenrir Greyback."
"I have heard of him," Apolline commented with a frown. "A terrible beast of a man, who wishes to infect as many people as possible with lycanthropy in order to grow his pack."
"Y-Yeah, that's him," Remus nodded. "And because of that, I've been having a very difficult time trying to convince other Werewolves to follow us instead of him."
"Let me guess; they look at him as a stronger leader than you, and therefore, your opinion is overshadowed by his," Sirius growled, an unnaturally harsh edge present in his voice.
"Something like that, yes," Remus sighed. "Now, I've managed to convince a couple of them to join me, but we're not exactly plentiful in number. And if Voldemort truly does return, I have a strong feeling I know who Greyback is going to pledge his loyalty to."
"FUCKING DEGENERATE CREATURE," Sirius suddenly howled, eyes ablaze with anger and rage. The exclamation came so out of left field that it caught both Remus and Apolline by surprise. "I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM MYSELF."
"S-Sirius?!" Remus gasped. "What's gotten into you?!"
A moment of silence descended upon them then, before lucidity once again returned to Sirius's eyes.
"O-Oh… I'm… I'm terribly sorry about that…" he said, muttering to himself in a low voice. His tone contained the distinct undercurrents of madness.
He's still broken, Remus realized. Azkaban's barbs cut deeper than I thought.
"Sirius, look at me," Apolline said, placing a gentle hand on Sirius's cheek. The black-haired man turned to stare at her, eyes wild with adrenalin. "You're not in Azkaban anymore. This is Grimmauld Place. You are safe here. The house was placed under the Fidelius charm when your mother, Walburga Black, died."
A comforting wave of magical energy washed over the room, emanating from the silver-haired Veela.
"I'm… I'm safe…" Sirius repeated, as if clinging onto the words with all his might.
"Yes, you are," Apolline nodded, sending him a warm smile. "You have no enemies here."
"… Thank you," Sirius breathed, before gently pushing away the pale hand from his face. "That… That helped a lot."
"You're welcome," Apolline responded. "A Veela's Allure can be used for more than just attracting men."
I'm sorry, Sirius… I should have realized you were still feeling the aftereffects of all those years in Azkaban, Remus grimaced. I'll do my best to help you deal with that from now on, just like you helped me deal with my lycanthropy.
"So… with that… admittedly embarrassing outburst out of the way…" Sirius started, seemingly back to his old self now. "Are you good people ready to get on with the negotiations?"
"Naturally," Apolline responded.
"O-Okay…" Remus nodded. It wasn't every day one got to work on establishing a Human-Werewolf-Veela partnership, after all. And as such, he had a feeling this was going to be a very long afternoon.
The Great Hall
A tense silence hung over their little group at dinner. It was the day of the First Task, and every student at Hogwarts was eagerly awaiting the start of the Tournament. Lessons had come to an end at midday, in order to give everyone time to get down to the dragons' enclosure – though, the majority of students did not yet know what they would find there.
Time had behaved in a rather peculiar fashion for Harry this day, rushing past in great chunks, so that one moment he seemed to be sitting down in his first lesson, and the next, walking into dinner.
Surprisingly enough, he did not feel nervous about the upcoming challenge. Rather, he seemed to have entered some strange kind of acceptance, where his mind refused to let him ponder the potentially lethal outcomes that might come to pass during the Task. He simply knew what he needed to do, and felt he had performed the necessary preparations required to make it happen.
It was a most interesting state of mind to be in, and one that Harry did not find entirely unpleasant.
"G-Good luck out there today, H-Harry," Neville suddenly said from his seat at the table, dragging Harry back to the present.
"We'll be rooting for you," Luna added, her ever-present dreamy smile looking a bit less cheerful today than usual.
"Thank you," Harry responded, sending the both of them a confident nod. "I'll make sure to put on a good show."
"It's okay to be nervous, Harry," Hermione said. "You don't have to pretend."
"I'm not pretending," he denied, shifting his gaze over to her. "If anything, you're the one putting up a brave front."
"Hey, can I really be blamed for feeling nervous about my boyfriend's upcoming fight against an actual dragon?" she frowned.
"Hmmm… I suppose not, no," he smiled, before spotting Professor McGonagall hurrying towards them out of the corner of his eye.
"Mr. Potter, the Champions have been instructed to come down onto the grounds now," she told him once she reached their table. "You have to get ready for the First Task."
"Alright," Harry said, dropping his fork onto his plate with a clatter.
"I'm coming with," Hermione stated. "To see him off."
"That is fine, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall nodded. "Now, come with me."
They did as told, and left the Great Hall with her. She did not seem entirely herself; in fact, she looked nearly as anxious as Neville had. As she walked them down the stone steps out into the cold November afternoon, she put a careful hand on his shoulder.
"Now, remember not to panic," she said. "Just keep a cool head… We've got professionals standing by in order to control the situation if things should happen to get out of hand. The main thing is to simply do your best, and nobody will think any worse of you… Are you all right?"
"Yes," Harry replied. "Yes, I'm fine."
She was leading them toward the place he knew the dragons were being kept (thanks to Hagrid), around the edge of the forest. But when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harry saw that a tent had been erected instead, screening the dragons from view.
"You're to go in here with the other Champions," Professor McGonagall said, in a rather shaky kind of voice. "And wait for your turn, Mr. Potter. Bagman is already in there… he'll be telling you about the… the procedure. Best of luck."
And then… she left them there, at the entrance to the tent. Harry took a deep breath, and turned to face Hermione.
"Alright… Ready to let me go?" he said, a wry smile on his lips.
"No. But I suppose I have little choice in the matter," she breathed, before taking a step closer to him. "For some reason, it feels like I'm always the one sending you off into danger. Why can't it be the other way around for a change?"
"I don't want to think about how nervous I would be if that were the case," Harry admitted in a rare moment of weakness. "If you were the one facing the dragon today… I don't think I'd be able to watch."
"What, you don't trust that I would survive?" Hermione asked with a frown.
"No." Harry shook his head. "I have complete faith that you would pull through. I'd just be too scared to see it all play out."
A multitude of emotions flashed across Hermione's face then, before it settled on the one he loved most: genuine affection.
"As endearing as that is, you have to be prepared for it. Once we start fighting Voldemort in earnest… I'm pretty much constantly going to be in danger. And when that happens, you have to be able to trust me and my abilities one-hundred-percent."
"I know," Harry replied, a sudden lump forming in his throat. "I know, it's just… I really dislike the thought of it, that's all."
"That's okay," Hermione smiled, drifting closer, until only a few inches separated their faces. "You feeling protective over me is quite adorable, after all."
And then, her lips were on his, locking him into a passionate, trembling kiss.
"I love you, Hermione," Harry said once they broke apart.
"I love you too, Harry," she responded, before taking a couple of wistful steps away from him. "Now go kick that dragon's ass. And remember to stick to the plan!"
"Yeah, yeah," he smiled, before turning around to venture inside the tent.
The first thing he noticed upon entering was Fleur Delacour sitting in a corner on a wooden stool. She did not look nearly as composed as usual; her skin had gone deathly pale, and her eyes had widened to the size of saucers. Viktor Krum stood further in, looking even surlier than usual, which Harry guessed could be his way of showing nerves. Cedric, on the other hand, was busy pacing up and down the length of the tent, his mouth drawn into a strict line.
"Harry! Good-o!" the voice of Ludo Bagman said from up ahead. "Come in, come in! Make yourself at home!"
The jovial Bagman looked distinctly out-of-place amidst the pale-faced Champions. He was wearing a straw-yellow suit, which closely resembled his hair in color.
"Well! Now that we are all here, I suppose it's time to fill you in!" he said with a blinding smile. "Once the audience has assembled, I am going to offer each and every one of you this bag…"
He held up a small sack of purple silk, and shook it.
"… From which you will draw a small model of the creature you are about to face! There are different… ehh, varieties, you see. Oh, and there is something else too. Your task for today is to collect a Golden Egg!"
Harry frowned. A Golden Egg, huh? Sounded easy enough. Except that it would be guarded by a literal dragon.
He shot a quick glance at the other Champions. Cedric was still pacing around the tent, but now, his skin had taken on a discernible green hue. Fleur and Krum both remained silent, which Harry chose to interpret as a sign of courage. They had at least volunteered to be here, unlike him.
Outside, the excitement was growing in tandem with the crowds. Hundreds upon hundreds of feet could be heard passing by the tent, their owners talking in hurried voices filled with anticipation. Suddenly, Bagman opened the neck of the purple silk bag.
"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur.
With a huff, she placed a stoic hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon - a Welsh Green. It had the number two hanging from a strap around its neck, and Harry instantly knew that, judging by how Fleur showed no sign of surprise, Madame Maxime had told her of the dragons ahead of time.
The same held true for Krum when he pulled out a scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had the number three around its neck. The burly wizard did not even blink at the sight of it; he merely sat back down and proceeded to stare at the ground.
Next up was Cedric, who produced a Swedish Short-Snout from the bag, together with the number one. Harry could see his eyes go wide at the number; it most likely meant he would go first, a prospect that clearly did not amuse him.
Letting out a sigh, Harry resigned himself to his fate, and placed his hand into the silk bag.
Please let it be an easy one.
When he pulled it back out again, he found a Hungarian Horntail clutched in his fingers, with the number four around its neck. The creature had obsidian scales, and a lizard-like appearance. Yellow eyes sporting vertical pupils shone beneath black eyelids, placed on a thorny head with bronze horns. Similarly-colored spikes protruded from a long tail, coupled with dark wings that reached a great distance out from its body.
As Harry stared at it, the miniature dragon stretched its wings and bared its minuscule fangs at him.
… Of course.
"Well, there you are!" Bagman exclaimed. "You have each pulled out a dragon that you will face in the arena, and the numbers around their necks refer to the order in which you are to proceed. Now, I'm going to have to leave you, as I am commentating the event with my fellow colleagues. Mr. Diggory, it would appear that you are up first, so just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, alright?"
The Hufflepuff boy gave a nervous nod in response, his eyes darting between Bagman and the exit.
"Good, good! Oh, and before I go; I would like a word with you, Harry," Bagman finished.
"Uhh… Okay," Harry blinked, following Bagman out of the tent, who walked him a short distance away, into a nearby cluster of trees. When he finally turned around to face him, he had a fatherly expression on his face.
"Feeling all right, Harry? Anything I can get you?"
"What?" Harry asked, confused. "I – no, nothing. I'm… I'm good, thanks."
"Got a plan?" Bagman said, lowering his voice slightly. "Because I don't mind sharing a few pointers, if you'd like them. I mean, not to be rude, but you're clearly the underdog here, Harry."
Oh, so that's how it is…
"No," Harry replied immediately, not bothering to hide the sudden ice in his tone. "I already know what I'm going to do. But thank you for the… concern."
"Are you sure?" Bagman pressed. "Nobody would know."
"As I just said; I already have a plan. I don't need your help."
Before Bagman had a chance to respond, a whistle suddenly sounded from behind them.
"Oh, would you look at that? Seems like I've got to run!" Bagman smiled, before placing a supportive hand on Harry's shoulder. "Best of luck to you, son!"
"…Yes. Thank you."
With that, Bagman hurried off, leaving him alone amidst the trees. Harry couldn't help but scoff as he started on the trek back to the tent.
They all think I'm going to lose spectacularly, he thought to himself as he walked. They all think I'm weak. Well… I'm going to show them otherwise. I still have a couple of tricks up my sleeve, after all.
A cold smile spread itself across his face.
Oh yeah… This is going to be interesting.
A/N: So yeah. That just happened.
A couple of things:
1. 12 Grimmauld Place was, as mentioned in the chapter by Apolline, placed under the Fidelius charm following the death of Walburga Black. Thus, only a handful of people know about its location, which is the only reason Sirius chose to hold his meeting there. He does not live at 12 Grimmauld Place, nor is it the revived headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. At least, not yet (because the Order of the Phoenix hasn't been brought back yet).
2. The only reason Sirius even knows about the potential resurrection of Voldemort, is because he has been spying on Death Eaters, as highlighted by the letter Harry sent him in chapter 26. The fact that Voldemort might be returning is NOT common knowledge yet. How the Vampires know about it, you'll learn later.
3. Yes, in my universe, Apolline Delacour is the "unofficial" leader and envoy of the French Veelas. Deal with it.
Now that we got that out of the way, allow me to congratulate you for finishing yet another chapter of this dumb story of mine. I've had a couple of people hound me for updates (including a certain Star Wars character from a certain Discord server) and so I basically wrote this over the course of a week. If there are any SPaG (spelling and grammar) mistakes present, please do feel free to point them out in a review. As a fanfiction author, I really appreciate those (reviews, that is), so any excuse for more is good stuff in my book.
Anyway, next chapter will be Harry tackling the First Task. And no, it will not go down the same way as it did in Canon. So look forward to that. And as always, if you enjoyed the read, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts. I promise I read all of them.
Until next time, ladies and gents.
-Twisted