Well, another revised chapter is upon us. Namely, the first chapter of Neopolitan and the Goblet of Fire. I decided to remove James Potter being present at the drawing of the Champions, which would only complicate things too much. With him absent, and Neo claiming amnesia, he is less likely to see her revenge coming. Ditto Sirius. I'm also upping her age to sixteen.

As for a pairing, well, I usually don't do female Harry stories (though I have done it for The Uncertainty Principle, Amethyst and Garnet, and my now-archived Silent Hill crossover Heather Potter and the Legacy of Alessa), so for this one, I'm aging up Blaise Zabini and pairing him with her. Though that won't be the main focus.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Hopefully, either this story or Under the Light of the Shattered Moon will be published around Christmas at latest. No guarantees, though.

NEOPOLITAN AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE (REVISED)

CHAPTER 1:

AN UNEXPECTED RESCUE

As the old cliché went, it wasn't the fall that killed you, it was the sudden stop at the bottom. Then again, when said fall was through windy skies lousy with Grimm, and all you had slowing your fall was an umbrella, well, you might end up dead before you hit the ground at terminal velocity anyway. And the girl currently flying out of control through said Grimm-infested skies, lit only by the light of a shattered moon, knew that all too well.

Through an earpiece she had, to listen to any orders from her boss and big brother, she heard their target, an annoyance by the name of Ruby Rose, yell, "I don't care what you say. We WILL stop them, and I WILL stop you! BET ON THAT!"

Ha. As if life ever turned out like it did in a fairytale. True, the girl currently gliding uncontrollably through the air, buffeted by air currents and the wakes of Grimm attacking, had helped in this plan. But that was because her big brother was made an offer he couldn't refuse. And if it meant surviving…well, the girl knew about surviving. Friends and family had a bad tendency to betray you. That was how she came here. Only her big brother, the criminal known as Roman Torchwick, had never betrayed that trust. They had helped each other out time and again.

Still, that Little Red Riding Brat was a good fighter, she had spirit. Hell, even at her most vulnerable, Ruby even managed to force the girl's favourite weapon, the Pernicious Parasol(1), to open, hence her current predicament. Oh, she could teleport, but it was hard teleporting onto moving objects at times, especially one going as fast as the Atlas airship. And she needed to concentrate, a bit hard when you were being buffeted around by the wind.

After the brief sound of a battle, she heard her big brother say, "You've got spirit, Red! But this is reality! And reality is cold! It doesn't give a shit about spirit! You want to be a hero so bad? Then you can die, just like every other Huntsman! And I'll do what is best for me, lie, steal, cheat, and survive!" Suddenly, a muffled cry of pain, and then, a strange, sonorous beat, followed by muffled screaming, both human and not. With a thrill of horror, the girl realised that the microphone, along with the holder, had been eaten by a Grimm.

Big brother, she mouthed. Tears trickled from her eyes, one pink, one brown. She thought, You gambled…and you lost. We lost. Cinder, Emerald and Mercury, and that witch they answer to…they don't care about us. Neither do the White Fang. They've gotten what they want. Hell, Little Red Riding Brat gets to survive…for now. Unless that damn Grimm decides it wants seconds. I hope it does.

A roar, and she was forced to try and kick away a Griffon. Which was somewhat laughable, but it discouraged it…but it also sent her spinning out of control through the skies, her umbrella's canopy inverted. Now she was freefalling, and even teleporting to the ground would end up with her dying anyway. It only mitigated momentum so much, and her Semblance could only do so much either.

As much as Roman disdained fairytales, the girl really, badly wanted a fairytale ending right about now. She didn't want to be a princess, though. All she wanted to do was live, even if the happily ever after bit was optional.

As she plummeted through the skies, she heard a voice speak. An old, powerful voice that seemed familiar. "Rose Harriet Potter?"

Irritably, she thought, even as the ground rushed up to meet her, That is not my name! It hasn't been for years!

This peevish thought may have been the last she ever thought, when she was suddenly consumed by a blast of azure flames…

For years afterwards, her disappearance was the subject of considerable concern within Remnant. Many thought she had died. Others thought she had merely gone to ground, perhaps too traumatised by the death of a man whom she was partners with to get up to any more mischief and malice. Or maybe she was plotting some sort of revenge. These concerns were a source of minor anxiety to both sides, though the entity known as Salem merely thought of her as a pawn whose use had ended.

In truth, the mute girl who had stood by Roman Torchwick's side had been snatched back home, to a world that didn't bask in the light of a shattered moon. A world that had abandoned her…and yet even now, had reached out to take her back.

And that was a mistake they would come to regret…

When you grow to be as old as Albus Dumbledore, you gain a litany of regrets as long as your arm, if not longer. And one of the causes of many of them were the Potters and Sirius Black.

When that fateful night occurred, when Lily Potter sacrificed herself to protect her children, James Potter survived. At the time, Albus felt only relief. But over time, he wondered whether Lily should have survived in his stead. A boy he had been fond of, like a substitute grandchild, had grown up to become a spoiled, wilful glory hound…and while those were Severus' words rather than Albus', the old wizard felt Severus, behind all the bitterness and spite clouding his judgement, had a point.

Rumours had reached his ears of how James had treated his near-Squib of a daughter, one who had been utterly mute since that night. It was partly the apparent lack of magic (not a complete absence) that led Dumbledore to name her younger brother the Boy Who Lived…the prophecy, after all, named a child of Lily Potter to be the one with the power to vanquish Voldemort. Not which one.

And then, the kidnapping. Or at least what James Potter had claimed to be one. Albus' contacts within the Department of Mysteries suggested another story entirely. There had been some unauthorised use of a few of the chambers on the night Rose Harriet Potter went missing, including the Death Chamber, the one with the Veil.

But he couldn't confront James. Leaving aside the man's political power (which, while on the wane now, was substantial, thanks to him riding high on his son's reputation as the Boy Who Lived), Albus had no proof whatsoever, just some unnerving coincidences. James had come to Hogwarts to greet the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang last night, and had left for his seat at Potter Manor this morning. Albus had the notion that James had been up to something.

The truth was, James believed himself to be a scion of the Light, and Dumbledore's true successor. There may have been a time when Albus believed that, or had wanted that, but his attempts to groom James Potter into that role were rejected after that fateful night. James had his own views of how to run Magical Britain…and as far as he was concerned, they were the only way. He turned out to be a Blood Purist almost as bad as any Slytherin, perhaps even worse, exploiting Muggleborns for ideas, and then discarding them when they weren't of any use.

And allied with Sirius Black, well, they were a force to be reckoned with in the Wizengamot. Fudge spent time torn between Malfoy and his alliance's gold, and that of James and Sirius'. And despite being Chief Warlock, Dumbledore was relatively powerless to stop their crusade.

Not that they all had it their way. Their domineering attitudes had alienated many once-allied families, like the Longbottoms and the Tonks. What people considered to be the Light was falling apart. And at the worst possible time too, as Albus had heard dark rumours in Albania. The riot at the Quidditch World Cup and its conclusion didn't help matters either. Voldemort was on the rise, looking to be resurrected once more, and Albus knew that, even amongst those who would believe him, they were divided.

Trying not to look like he had such heavy thoughts, Dumbledore prepared to make the announcements for the Champions for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. While he agreed that international cooperation was a good thing, he felt that Crouch and Bagman were just trying to make the British Ministry of Magic look good. And Bagman was overly fond of potentially-lethal spectacle for Albus' liking.

The first name came out, and Albus announced the name of Viktor Krum as the Champion of Durmstrang. Rather unfortunate that that school had such an emphasis on learning the Dark Arts, and not for defence, either. Still, the Goblet chose Krum as a paragon, Dumbledore supposed, and the boy was excellent at Quidditch.

The second name was Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons. A part-Veela, and doubtless the object of envy and lust. A bit snobbish, a bit like the stereotype of the French, but she was also the daughter of a famous Auror in France. And certainly one of Beauxbatons' top students.

The third and final name was Cedric Diggory, chosen to be Champion of Hogwarts. Ah, how delightful! Pomona would be so proud that the Hufflepuffs, long denigrated as 'duffers', got a chance to shine. Why did people look down on loyalty, hard work and tenacity? Amos would be proud.

Albus, however, made the mistake of believing everything had gone according to plan. In truth, Halloween had been something of an ill-omened day for him. And for others, true, but Quirrell unleashed a troll three years ago, and Ginny Weasley, under the influence of the Horcrux diary, released the Basilisk two years ago. Last year, Peter Pettigrew escaped Azkaban on this day.

The Goblet flared once more, much to Albus' surprise. And the name of Charles Potter came out. His eyes flickered over to the Boy Who Lived.

He had to admit, the boy was both a disappointment, and yet a vindication. Spoiled by fame, and sometimes acting it, he had nonetheless risen to the occasion during the incidents here. Brown-haired, green-eyed, he looked like James and Lily's child. A bit too arrogant for his liking at times, and there were times when he reminded Albus of a young Tom Riddle, but the shock on his face when Albus announced his name was apparently genuine.

Of course, as Charles slunk into the antechamber to wait with the other Champions, the surprises didn't end there. The Goblet flared once more, and another parchment appeared. Dumbledore caught it, and then, he paled. "How could this be?" he asked quietly. Then, loudly, he spoke three words, six syllables, that had a chill run down the spines of those present at the sheer impossibility of it.

"Rose Harriet Potter."

Suddenly, in front of the Goblet, the floor seemed to burst into azure flames. And in its wake, a figure was lying, sprawled on the floor. A girl of indeterminate age, maybe a teenager, or a short and petite adult. But she could have been her age. She was dressed in white trousers, a white, midriff-baring blouse or jacket, her abdomen covered by a brown corset. She held an umbrella, broken, inverted by what could have been a gale. She wore necklaces.

Her hair was brown and pink, the pink parts having slight white streaks through them. As she opened her eyes, he saw that one was brown, and the other pink. She sat up, her face (there was no mistaking that face) twisted into a grimace of pain, though no groan escaped her lips. At best, a soft sigh, but it sounded like a thunderclap in the hush the Great Hall had fallen under.

The moment she realised where she was, she was on her feet, with surprising agility, even elegance. Dumbledore knew, though, that she was dangerous. Beneath the casual, even cocky demeanour, she was at the ready, even with that umbrella, which she had managed to put back into place and close, over her shoulder. And then, her mismatched eyes met his own. And narrowed.

"Rose Potter?"

Dumbledore's voice cut across the Great Hall. He had seen this materialisation, but he wasn't sure he could believe it. Rose Potter was dead, or so James had claimed. Rose had become a symbol of his failures almost as much as Rose's mother…and Ariana. And yet, here she was. Changed, yes, but the shape of her face was right, even if the hair and eye colour was odd.

The girl's gaze lessened slightly in its hostility. She plucked from a pocket what looked like a Muggle device, apparently made of a transparent screen. It looked decades in advance of anything Dumbledore knew of. She tapped on the screen for a bit, before she scowled, and then tapped on it again. A hiss of frustration escaped her lips, before she began tapping on it as if she was typing. Eventually, she walked over to him, and showed him the screen.

On the screen was a simple sentence of text. It read: That is not my name.

Dumbledore blinked. What had happened to her? Why was she refusing to answer to her name? Trying to be diplomatic, he asked, "Well, what name do you want me to call you?"

After a moment, she typed more into that device of hers, before she showed him the message. He had to admit, it was an unusual name, a rather sweet name for a girl who was setting off his instincts for danger. Because he knew there was something truly dark within the girl. And yet, the name truly suited her, especially her colour scheme.

You may call me…Neopolitan.

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

Hoo boy. Neo is a female Harry, she's now in Hogwarts shortly after Roman got nommed by a Grimm, and she's stuck here with the wizards. Or maybe they're stuck here with her…

Those who followed the original version of this chapter in The Cauldron will notice that I took James Potter out of the equation. It felt tangled up otherwise. Neo and James would be at each other's throats, as they knew one another, and James wasn't buying the amnesia excuse thanks to her glare. So I decided to change things around. James is no longer a teacher at Hogwarts.

1. Neo's weapon doesn't have an official name, but I gave it one.