The shallow stairs slowly turned as they descended, maybe only a quarter of the way around before Liz reached the room at the bottom. It was more or less the same as Liz remembered it from when Severus had brought her down here at the end of last year — a large, empty room, the walls littered with magical portraits, an overlarge fireplace across from the stairs. The only real difference was that there was more seating available than before, but still not enough to fill the room, left feeling vacant, the movements and the whispering of the portraits almost eerie.
Liz still had no idea what this room was even for. A formal floo reception, maybe? Hogwarts did have a floo connection, obviously, but these days formal guests were met at the gates and escorted through the grounds instead. She couldn't imagine what else they used it for, it must have just been sitting here forgotten for decades, like so many other rooms in the castle.
When Liz walked in, the Delacour girl was crouched close to the fire, one hand reached into it — which seemed like it'd be uncomfortable, but maybe the veela fire magic protected her somehow — Cedric standing over her shoulder. The two were talking in low voices, the sparking of curiosity from Cedric nearly hidden by Delacour's wary excitement filling the room. Krum was off to the side, leaning against a wall with his hands in his trouser pockets, staring blankly at the floor in front of his feet — Liz couldn't feel him at all, Delacour broadcasting too loudly.
Krum was the first to notice her, eyes flicking up for a second, but Delacour was the first to react. The wariness spiking a little brighter, she pushed up to her feet — the motion annoyingly graceful, her hair swaying, ugh. "Do they want us back in the hall? I thought they were coming down here." It was English, but Delacour had a strong French accent, clearly not comfortable with the language. Cedric looked over his shoulder, and immediately guessed something was wrong. Either it was written on her face, or he just expected mad shite to happen around her by this point, she wasn't looking close enough to tell.
"No, I assume they're coming." She belatedly realised she was speaking in French, but whatever. Ignoring the eyes of the older students on her, she flopped into the first chair she came across. Letting out a sigh, she squirmed a little at the pins and needles clawing over her legs — didn't know what that was about, maybe just an after-effect of her episode and Severus's overpowered compulsion. "My name came out of the Goblet."
Evidently all three of them at least understood French, because the clang of surprise came from all three minds at more or less the same time — Delacour's was loud enough to make Liz wince, resisting the irrational urge to clamp her hands over her ears. "There must be some mistake. There are only meant to be three Champions, and you are too young." Curiously, there was an accent on her French too, but the instincts she'd copied from Valerie couldn't identify it, kind of like her southern friend but not quite right. Probably from whatever the veela spoke, Liz guessed.
"Weirdly enough, I had noticed that. I didn't have anything to do with it," she said to Cedric, abruptly switching to English. "I have no idea what's going on, but I assume someone's fucking with me."
Somewhat to her surprise, they all seemed to believe her — well, she couldn't feel Krum with Delacour deafening her, and he wasn't showing enough of an expression to guess, but she was very certain about the other two. The wave of surprise and confusion and concern from Delacour was a little disorienting, her mind loud enough for Liz to pick up a bit of what she was thinking. Basically, that there was no way someone her age would have been able to fool the Goblet into picking a fourth Champion — especially since it'd been in plain view the whole time since it'd arrived at the school, so she wouldn't have had the opportunity to figure it out unobserved — and, for all that she was talented for her age (Delacour was aware of her performance at the duelling tournament over the summer), there was no way she could compete with the three of them, this would be terrible for her. (Liz belatedly realised Delacour actually knew who she was, but she guessed that shouldn't be a shock.) It'd be humiliating enough to get her arse kicked in front of everyone, of course, which was sufficient reason to believe she hadn't schemed somehow to get someone who could subvert the Goblet to do it for her, but the dangers of the Tasks were designed with a certain level of competence in mind — an under-prepared competitor might get seriously hurt. People had literally died in these things, after all.
The somewhat patronising tone of her thoughts was slightly insulting, honestly, but Liz guessed it was better than thinking she was a cheat just out for attention or whatever.
As noisy as Delacour was, it was much harder to get anything from Cedric, but he was a lot more expressive than Krum — that crooked frown seemed more wary than sceptical. "I'm not saying I think you entered yourself, I'm not sure how you even could have. I know a lot of people out there are...less than happy with you." Liz failed to hold in a snort at the understatement. "But, this just seems like an...odd thing to do. What could they possibly hope to get out of it?"
Liz shrugged. "Probably just that I'll embarrass myself in public. Though, maybe they're hoping I'll fuck up and get killed — I do get death threats in the post on the regular, you know."
By the wide-eyed look of horror on his face, Cedric had, in fact, not known that. Though, Liz was kind of wishing she hadn't said it now, the storm of hot-cold something from Delacour was making it hard to breathe...
(Sometimes, Liz really wished veela weren't so fucking loud.)
Liz heard the voices approaching some moments before they appeared at the base of the stairs — the stone muffled them enough that Liz was having trouble picking out particular words, but she could tell they were arguing. The three Headmasters were through first — the ceiling was high enough that Maxime didn't have to duck, straightening to her full height as they left the stairs — without any barriers in the way it was immediately clear that Maxime and Karkaroff were unhappy about Hogwarts getting a second Champion, Gamp trying to get them to calm down until they could sort this out. Which, Gamp was probably more worried about the political consequences of all the foreigners deciding Hogwarts was trying to cheat, but also didn't want to annoy Liz (or, more to the point, Sirius and her new allies in the Wizengamot, who could make his job much harder for him) by throwing her under the lorry, so he wanted to figure out the facts before deciding how to handle it. So, not really on her side so much as his own, but she'd take it.
Karkaroff was in mid-sentence, something about how he shouldn't have been surprised that Britain would attempt to stack the deck in their favour — it'd only been a couple seconds, and Liz could already tell he had a very low opinion of this country — when Delacour interrupted them. "Excuse me, Madam!" she called (in French), flouncing up toward the Headmasters. (The word did seem appropriate, the light graceful sway to her walk, Liz didn't know how she was doing that.) "They aren't truly going to make Potter compete, are they?"
"That is precisely what we are trying to discuss, Miss Delacour." Maxime's voice was rather low for a woman, as might be expected, but smooth and rich, her pronunciation precise, what Valerie would mark as highly-educated speech. So, absolutely nothing like Hagrid's heavily-accented, almost child-like English, basically — of course, Liz had always assumed the way Hagrid talked was...just the way he talked, nothing to do with him being half-giant.
Liz wasn't familiar with Maxime, and she couldn't feel her mind at all with Delacour between them, but she thought she sounded faintly surprised? With Delacour's phrasing, maybe, implying her concern was more for Liz than about the fairness of the competition. Of course, Maxime couldn't know that Delacour had already dismissed Liz as no serious threat to her (which was mildly irritating), but whatever.
"But they can't! I was led to believe this Tournament would be different than those of previous centuries — if the organisers see fit to compel little girls to participate in what—"
"Hey!" Liz blurted out, before she could stop herself. Eyes flicked to her, crawling over her skin, but she squared her shoulders, concentrated on frowning up at Delacour. "I'm not that young, I'm just frustratingly short."
"Oh, I didn't mean it that way, I'm only— She says she gets death threats, all the time!" whipping back to her Headmasters, Maxime looking rather taken aback. "Surely we can't enable whoever subverted the Goblet by requiring her to compete."
Liz was a little confused why Delacour was taking this so seriously, but it was putting her on Liz's side, so. Gift horses, mouths.
"You seem very convinced of Potter's innocence." There was a vaguely German-sounding accent on Karkaroff's French, but it was pretty subtle — the scepticism was way more noticeable.
Gamp shot the younger man a visibly exasperated look. "Be reasonable, Igor, surely you don't believe Miss Potter could have entered herself. She's a talented student, Hogwarts is proud to have her, but it took a dozen mages some months to convince the Goblet to select three Champions in the first place — even if she were capable of such a feat, she simply hadn't the opportunity."
"No, I suppose not. If nothing else, her reaction upstairs would suggest she hadn't any foreknowledge. However, it is possible that someone acting on behalf of the Ministry or Hogwarts conspired to give Britain a second chance at the Cup — and who else would they pick but their Girl Who Lived?" Karkaroff drawled, scorn thick on his voice.
"If you wish for your accusation to be addressed, Igor, state it plainly." Liz blinked, her eyes flicking over to Severus. Too many minds between the two of them, Liz hadn't even noticed him enter the room. Though he hadn't properly done so yet, Delacour's interruption having stopped the Headmasters in their tracks, the judges stuck behind them on the stairs.
Karkaroff glanced over his shoulder at him, and it might be her imagination, but Liz thought he paled, just a little. Which was fair, she guessed, Severus was pretty scary when he wanted to be. "No, no, of course I don't mean to accuse you, Severus — I have no doubt you, personally, had nothing to do with it. I would imagine you're as eager to identify whoever is responsible as I am."
A rather low, much more heavily-accented voice called, "This is not a problem we will solve on the stairs. As amusing as seeing you run into old friends is, I can't stand here forever."
"Right, right, of course. There are chairs in here — though not enough for everyone, I see..."
There was a brief delay in the conversation as the adults streamed into the room, found their way toward seats. Some chairs were duplicated, or extended into sofas, but not everyone bothered sitting down — in particular, Krum kept up his silent looming over near the hearth, Karkaroff standing stiff and with arms crossed at the open space in the seating circle facing the fire, putting half his face in flickering shadow. (It did look very dramatic, but Liz suspected he was just putting himself near his student.) Severus didn't sit either, instead choosing to hover over the back of Liz's chair. Oskarsson, the elder Durmstrang judge, needed a little help getting down into a seat — he had a very obvious limp, walked with a cane, and for the most part he got around on his own just fine, but it looked like sitting and standing up was especially difficult. Liepiņš — the younger Durmstrang judge, and a moderately successful professional duellist, Liz had looked him up — offered his arm for Oskarsson to lean on, before taking the seat on the transfigured sofa next to him. Liz had already noticed that Liepiņš stuck pretty close to Oskarsson, she assumed they knew each other somehow...or maybe it was just a bit of hero worship — she'd heard Oskarsson had been one of the volunteers sent to help the Lithuanian Communalists fight off the Russian invasion back in the 30s and 40s (how he'd gotten that injury), and Liepiņš was Lithuanian, so.
Liz spent a lot of the time people were settling in trying not to stare at...she'd forgotten her name, the younger Beauxbatons judge. She was a lot more, er, colourful than Liz had expected, close up. A lot of red and yellow and green and white, glittering metal and beads from jewellery here and there, a sort of scarf-sash-thing wrapped from left shoulder to right hip and around her waist stitched in complicated swirling patterns with gold thread and accented with more beads. The skirt was oddly lacey, increasingly as it went down, at her hips solid cloth but more and more holes opening up as it went down, until the thread was replaced entirely with interlaced strings of beads, ending in a few dangling bits at around knee-height. Which was a bit thin for the Highlands in autumn, Liz assumed that's what the leggings (woven with a rainbow of colours in more swirly patterns) were for — though they apparently didn't go all the way up, Liz caught glimpses of sun-bronzed skin through the holes in her skirt. And, Liz suspected that there wasn't anything under the sash thing either — or at least not very much, her right shoulder and her side under her left arm bare, the beaded shawl hanging loose over her shoulders probably not doing much for the chill. Kind of scandalously skimpy by magical standards, but Liz assumed it was different in Aquitania. Also, her face was marked up, lipstick and eyeshadow in vivid clashing colours, which was, just, odd, and very eye-drawing, Liz had trouble not staring like a creep.
That, just, seemed like a bit much, didn't it? Liz had heard she was a famous musician or something, and artists could be weird, but still.
"So," Zabini said once they were all settled in, clapping her hands to draw their attention. And there was another sign that the musician was distractingly colourful, she'd actually managed to keep Liz's eyes away from Zabini — Blaise's mum was seriously pretty, like, literally supermodel level. She was dressed conservatively, in a rather plain (if expensive) dress, but her face was stupid pretty, had to be cosmetic charms...except, Liz could see through glamours, so that must be real, fucking ridiculous.
Also, there was a corset with that dress, because mages tended to like those things, which was making her tits really obvious — ugh, focus, Liz, for fuck's sake...
"Let's address the elephant in the room immediately. For the record: Headmaster," turning to Gamp, to make it clear which she meant, "did you have anything to do with Miss Potter being chosen as a fourth Champion?"
His voice low and intense, insistent, Gamp said, "I had nothing to do with it. Of course."
"And we're meant to simply take your word for it, of course," Karkaroff drawled, with obvious sarcasm.
"I realise how this looks, Igor, but I would ask you not to imply I would so blatantly put my own students at risk. The Tasks were not designed with fourteen-year-old students in mind — if I were to give Hogwarts a second Champion, logically, I would choose someone who could be expected to match the experience and skills of the other three Champions. As I've already said, Miss Potter may be a talented student when compared against her age cohort, but she is not prepared for this Tournament. No offence meant, Miss Potter," he finished, with a glance at her.
"Yeah, I get it." It was annoying that people kept talking like she'd get her arse kicked, but she had to admit that was the most likely outcome — maybe she'd do well in duelling stuff, if she got lucky, but if some of the other Tasks required more advanced magic stuff, she was probably screwed. "But you're talking like I'm going to have to do it. Can't I just...not?"
There was a brief silence, the adults in the room all glancing at each other, a stiff cold feeling on the air Liz didn't know how to read. His voice low, sounding oddly exhausted, Dumbledore said, "I'm afraid it is not that simple, Miss Potter." Oh hey, actually calling her Miss Potter for once, how about that. "The Goblet binds those it selects to face the trials before them — it is an ancient artefact, the particulars of its functioning long ago forgotten. Last night, Mirabella," with a nod at Zabini, "warned potential Champions of the Goblet's power, and for good reason. There have been occasions in past Tournaments when a Champion found themselves unable to continue, for whatever reason — a desire to quit, a family emergency drawing them away from school, on one occasion even a war in their home country. The punishment exacted by the Goblet often varies, perhaps due to the circumstances motivating the Champion's failure to comply, but it is...never pleasant. You could sit out the Tournament, and invite the Goblet's punishment, but I would recommend against it most strongly."
"Okay, yeah, I know that." She was already disfigured enough, she didn't need to add a mark of shame to it or whatever the fuck. "I mean, can't we break the binding somehow?"
"I suppose it may be possible. Severus?"
"Theoretically possible, but prohibitively difficult." Severus answered immediately, must have already been thinking about it. "The literature suggests that the curse of the Goblet operates through a sort of sympathetic soul magic — the subject's soul is rewritten such to reflect the terms of the binding residing within the Goblet itself."
Cedric audibly gasped. "That thing rewrote our souls?!" He sounded horrified, staring up at Severus pale and wide-eyed. And he wasn't the only one, some of the adults wincing, Delacour hissing under her breath, her anger crackling in the air seeming to raise the temperature a couple degrees. (Liz was pretty sure she was imagining that, mind magic stuff.)
"Yes, Mister Diggory — only a small portion of your essence will have been affected, but that is precisely what it did. Should the curse be triggered, the magic necessary to exact the Goblet's punishment will be provided by you. This prevents those so bound from somehow resisting a secondary curse from the Goblet, or from simply moving beyond its range. After all, whatever task the Goblet chose someone to perform was hardly likely to take place within its line of sight.
"Unfortunately, curses of this class are fiendishly difficult to break — the sympathetic bond between the Goblet and our Champions will resist any attempts to alter the curse itself. It may be possible, with some care, to transfer the curse to another vessel which may incur the punishment in one's stead. A rabbit, perhaps." Liz resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder — she was sure that was a reference to her blood subsumption habits, but of course nobody else knew that. "However, before such a project could even be attempted, I would need to perform a comprehensive suite of soul analytics — not only on Elizabeth, but the three Champions as well, to establish a basis for comparison — so I may fully map out the binding and its interaction with the subject's soul. We do not have the necessary equipment here at Hogwarts, for the analytics or the ritual to transfer the curse, so we would be forced to go elsewhere. All told, I suspect the project would take months to prepare to a point I would be reasonably confident of success. Possibly years, depending upon the complexity of the curse."
Liz glared down at her knees. "The First Task is only in a few weeks."
"Yes. I wish it were otherwise, but there's nothing I can do. Not in the time we have. I am sorry, Elizabeth, but you will be competing in this Tournament."
...She belatedly realised Severus was calling her by her first name — at school, in public. He didn't usually do that. Weird.
She ended up hanging on that detail for longer than was reasonable, distracted, feeling...really weird. Not that she had any idea what that weird feeling was, because Liz continued to be shite with emotions (even and sometimes especially her own), but it was kind of... For a second, it almost reminded her of when Dumbledore had dragged her back to the Dursleys, all floaty and detached and surreal — but only for a second, because she immediately forced herself to stop thinking about that. But it wasn't exactly the same anyway, not as deep. Just, almost like noticing an illusion somewhere, the sudden certainty that something wasn't real, that disorienting moment as she reflexively resisted it...except there was no real image underneath the fake one, because the illusion was real, but it still didn't feel right...
She hadn't realised how used to the idea that Severus would fix big problems for her she'd gotten until just this second. The little things, no, those were her problem, but the big things, like straining herself fighting the bit of the Dark Lord in her scars, or flailing at dementors like an idiot, or getting hurt so bad she was literally paralysed, or being stuck under Dumbledore's guardianship, or hell, even everyday things like her calming potions... He always, just, fixed shite, or at least tried to, as much as he could. Somehow, without her realising it, that'd stopped being really weird and confusing and had started being just...normal. An expected thing that happened when she ran into something she couldn't handle by herself, there Severus swooped in, boom, not a problem anymore.
In fact, just a couple minutes ago, trying to stop herself from freaking out again, she remembered telling herself it'd be fine — Severus would figure it out, he always did. She hadn't entirely believed it, the curse stubbornly lodged inside of her feeling far too solid — she could still feel it there, if she paused for a second, she was trying not to notice — Severus had even said as much back in the Great Hall. But it had still been the automatic thing to tell herself, that he'd take care of it. He always did.
Being told now, definitively, that he wouldn't be taking care of it this time was making her feel...weird. Not, like, angry with him or whatever — the reasons he couldn't do anything about it made sense, and she did believe him that he would do something about it if he could. She didn't know what feeling it was, though.
She did know she didn't like it. In fact, she kind of didn't want to be here anymore — Liz was self-aware enough to realise she would not deal well with crying in public. Not that she felt like she was going to, but she didn't know what the fuck was going on in her head right now, so being in private would be safer, just in case.
(Liz hadn't realised she trusted Severus this much. She didn't know how to feel about that, either.)
While Liz was distracted with that, the conversation had continued on around her. She hadn't been paying attention, missed most of it, but she thought they were discussing whether Liz was actually bound properly — there were only supposed to be three Champions, after all, maybe whoever was responsible had just gotten the Goblet to spit out her name without doing anything more. Severus pointed out, in one of his how are you this stupid drawls, that Liz had obviously felt the curse being laid back up in the Great Hall; she was a mind mage and a Seer, it was definitely possible for her to feel that happening (said in a tone that implied you absolute fucking idiot without actually saying it). Barthe, the other Beauxbatons judge (apparently a politician or something?), sniped back at Severus with a subtle reference to his Death Eater past, obviously annoyed at being insulted, but also too dignified and mature to just come out and insult him back.
That argument went on for a little bit, before the Irish woman chosen as the third Hogwarts judge pushed herself up to her feet. Her name was Denn– er, Dianaimh, Liz thought that was it. (Gaelic names were bloody impossible sometimes.) "There is an easy answer to this question," she said, rather haltingly, a thick Celtic accent on her French. She took a few steps around the circle, held out her hand toward Cedric. "Your hand, Mister Diggory."
Cedric looked a little baffled, but he obeyed anyway. Dianaimh held his hand for a few seconds before letting go again, started crossing the circle straight toward Liz. As she realised what was going on here, Liz blurted out, "You have spirit magic." Not that she really knew what that was, honestly. It was on the list of things the heritage potion Tamsyn had sent tested for — Liz had it, in fact — but the explanation of what the bloody thing was hadn't made a whole lot of sense. Supposedly, healers with it could feel out shite in people really really well, magical issues and curses and the like, sure, but also defects and cancer and shite...somehow. Liz had no idea how the fuck that was supposed to work, honestly, but she couldn't figure how else Dianaimh just holding their hands was supposed to accomplish anything.
"This is what it is sometimes called in English, yes. Your hand?" Liz grimaced, but held out her hand for the bloody midwife anyway. (Slightly odd that midwives were still a thing on the magical side, but the magical world was ridiculous sometimes.) As always, skin contact made people's minds way louder — also, Liz just didn't like being touched, okay — but it wasn't that bad, Dianaimh's mind cool and smooth and mostly contained. Liz couldn't feel whatever she was doing, and it was only a couple seconds before she was letting go again. Turning to the rest of the circle, Dianaimh said, "There is a fresh curse on both their souls, not yet fully...sunk in." Liz suspected Dianaimh had forgotten the French word she'd wanted. "It's hard to say whether they are the same curse, but they are similar. I think Miss Potter is bound the same as the others."
Liz thought that should have been fucking obvious, with how she'd flopped out of her seat and had a panic attack in the middle of the Great Hall in front of the whole fucking school, but whatever.
From there, there was a lot of arguing between the adults in the room, which Liz was honestly barely listening to. It was just stupid politics shite, half the time it seemed like the arguing was only sort of about the problem of Liz being in the Tournament — Liz was aware the politics between their countries were...complicated, to say the least, there were a lot of other things they were annoyed with each other about too, so. There were a lot of references to stuff she didn't know about, a lot of implying stuff that went over her head, and she just didn't care much.
Liz wasn't sure they would have gotten through it without a diplomatic incident if Zabini hadn't been here. After several minutes of bickering, Zabini suggested that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang each select a second Champion, to make it even again — most of the Tasks could be scaled up without any difficulty, though some of them would have to be done in teams, it shouldn't be a problem. Maxime pointed out that their second Champions wouldn't be bound by the Goblet, so it wasn't entirely fair, but nobody had any better ideas. It took a little debating, but the Headmasters and all the judges eventually agreed that would be acceptable. Dumbledore, with significant glances at Liz, said that Hogwarts would be at a disadvantage, since their second Champion hadn't been hand-picked for the competition. Oskarsson suggested their second Champions should be below the age cut-off, so it would be closer to fair, but yeah, Hogwarts would just have to deal with it — consider it a penalty for fucking up the security around the Goblet. Gamp agreed that was an acceptable trade-off, so that was that, compromise reached. The other two schools would pick their second Champion in time for the Weighing of the Wands, this Saturday.
Not that there was any mystery who the second Beauxbatons Champion would be — Liz felt very certain Maxime was going to pick Artèmi. (If you had Artémisia Cæciné in your school, who the hell else would you pick?) Which, before learning about the age restriction Liz had been very certain that Artèmi would be their Champion, so nice to know her Seer shite wasn't just fucking with her. When she'd bumped into Artèmi earlier, she'd had a feeling that they'd be facing each other in the Tournament, which hadn't really been a surprise, since she'd been planning on volunteering for the group events anyway — she'd just gotten the how and why wrong. She guessed she'd get her rematch, at least...
Once that was settled, they transitioned straight into the talk they were supposed to be having down here. As Zabini told the whole school yesterday, there would be nine events, the first one scheduled for the 19th, a little under three weeks away. They'd get more details on Saturday, but it was going to be very duelling-intensive, they might want to start thinking about teammates right away. For the first eight Tasks, each of the judges would give them a score out of ten, which would then be averaged to get their score for the Task; their placement in the final Task would be dependent on their running total score. That way, it did still matter how well you did on the Tasks, but even Champions with lower scores would still be competitive in the final — the disadvantage would be significant, though, so it was still worth doing your best throughout the competition.
Personally, Liz was more concerned with making it through them without getting seriously hurt or making an idiot of herself, so she didn't really care about the bloody scoring, but whatever.
Zabini had come prepared with copies of the rulebook — really more a pamphlet than a proper book, but nobody was surprised the Triwizard Tournament didn't have many rules — handed them out to the Champions while explaining a few things. (She only had three copies, just duplicated one for Liz to look at, she'd have permanent ones for Liz and the other two additional Champions on Saturday.) Most of the rules were about Champions not being allowed to interfere with their opponents outside of the Tasks themselves, with explanations of exactly what 'interfere' meant. Basically, they just couldn't physically hurt each other — directly, with curses or weapons, or indirectly, with potions or poisons or whatever. Finding ways to inconvenience each other, or sabotage their preparations for the Tasks, was perfectly fine. They were even allowed to steal each other's belongings, though they weren't allowed to keep them, or destroy them — there was a process by which the owner could petition for their things to be returned, but they could also just try to steal them back, make a whole game of it. Sounded like a fucking pain to Liz, hopefully the dorm wards would be up to it...
Other people, family or friends, were allowed to fuck up enemy Champions, so long as they followed the other rules — there'd be a safe window before each Task, where Champions would be removed from the general population so someone couldn't hex them badly enough the morning of a Task to stop them from competing. (The Goblet didn't usually punish someone for that, but better safe than sorry.) There were limits to what was allowed, if someone went too far the judges would impose punishments on the responsible parties themselves, overruling the schools' own internal disciplinary systems if necessary, and of course the law still applied, so.
(Hogwarts might be kind of screwed, having Liz, only a fourth-year, as their second Champion, but she guessed the other Champions would have to be worried about getting fucked with way more than Liz and Cedric. There were a lot more Hogwarts students here, after all — the other Champions would have to look out for pranks and shite constantly, Liz and Cedric instead having plenty of people to watch their backs. Had to be some advantage to hosting the Tournament, Liz guessed.)
The Champions' families and friends back home would be permitted to come here to watch the Tasks, there would be rooms here in the Valley for them to stay for a few nights each time — the organisers would even arrange and pay for their travel expenses. There was a somewhat lengthy talk about how all that would work, which Liz pretty much completely ignored. Everyone who'd give a damn one way or the other was already here. Except Sirius, and also Nilanse and the rest of the elves, she guessed, but obviously none of them would need to stay here.
Liz wondered if they'd even allow bloody house-elves in the stands with everyone else. Maybe they could just watch the same way they went around unnoticed, or Liz could just copy memories for them later, since she knew from showing Nilanse the duelling tournament that house-elves could use a pensieve just fine. Whatever, not important just now...
(She realised it was slightly pathetic that, when Zabini said there would be accommodations for their families to come watch them compete, her first thought was the bloody house-elves. When she thought about it, they really had more to do with the House of Potter, the family in the sense the mages meant it, than Liz did, so it did make an odd kind of sense. Also, most of them had actually known James or Charlus, so, there was that. Probably not the sort of thing she should say out loud, though — unless she wanted people to mock her forever, anyway.)
There were a few other little things, like the procedure for bringing a complaint against one of the other Champions or one of the judges — it was also in the rulebook, so Liz only half-listened — and that was it, they were done already. Or, not quite. The day before the Weighing of the Wands, they'd get a note telling them when and where to show up — it was a press event, there would be pictures, so come dressed for the cameras. (Ugh.) If you were a minor — in each of their home country, because British law was ridiculous (which meant both Delacour and Krum counted as minors, she thought) — they should probably have a guardian around for that, for legal reasons. Zabini wasn't entirely sure what the rules around this sort of thing were like on the Continent, but child protection laws wouldn't cover anything anyone would write around the Tournament for any of them, though you could sue the shite out of them if they wrote something particularly egregious — so the responsible publications would still want parental permission to do proper interviews, to cover their arses. (Liz's immediate reaction was that that was shite, but then she remembered Cynfelyn's cousin saying they'd all been confused why Dumbledore hadn't done anything about those articles after she started at Hogwarts, and Severus had explained last spring that what the Prophet got out of deals like hers with Rita was making lawsuits far less likely, so never mind.) Unfortunately, they didn't really have a concept of credentialed press on the magical side — by their expressions and the flickers from their minds, most of the mages had no idea what she was talking about, but supposedly Zabini was also an executive in some computer company or something... — so alongside reporters from respectable publications there would also be nutty tabloids and shite, so, fair warning about that one.
Liz probably hadn't imagined the sympathetic glance Zabini gave Delacour — yeah, she could imagine the infamously racist British mages weren't going to be exactly tactful about (one of) the Beauxbatons Champion(s) being a veela.
Anyway, Zabini thought that was it, unless any of the judges thought she'd forgotten anything? no? All right, then. She was sure their classmates were preparing parties for them even now, so they wouldn't hold them any longer. Liz picked up a sudden flash of exasperation from Krum's direction — hard to tell, as noisy as the room was, but she would guess Krum was certain there was a party waiting for him back on their boat, and he very much didn't want to go. Yeah, she got that feeling, Liz didn't really like parties either...at least not when she was sober. She had had a bit of wine with dinner, enough to make her sleepy — though that might just be because of the difficulty sleeping she'd been having lately — but she...didn't really feel tipsy at all anymore. Maybe a little bit, but barely noticeable. That was weird, she didn't know how the hell that'd happened, it shouldn't have worn off that quickly. Mages' bodies did sometimes do weird shite, just unconsciously — maybe the adrenaline from the Goblet cursing her had burned it off somehow. That did make sense as a thing her magic would do, if she was freaking out badly enough, so.
Not that Liz really expected there to be a party waiting for her down in Slytherin. There would definitely be one in Hufflepuff — the parties Hufflepuff threw throughout the year were kind of famous (or infamous, depending on who you asked). Liz had been to a couple, just out of curiosity, but she'd never stayed very long, too mentally loud for her. Or, maybe they wouldn't be so bad now? Sometimes the...good vibes — made her feel silly, but it was really the best way to say it — were intense enough that she didn't really mind getting a little carried away by everyone's feelings and thoughts bombarding her from all directions all the time, but it was easier to not freak out about that if she was at least a little tipsy first. And it did have to be first — if the noise of the party got on her nerves too much before she was sufficiently intoxicated, she'd probably end up having to leave anyway. So, maybe it'd be worth trying to hang out at one of the famous Hufflepuff parties this year, just had to prepare properly...
There were parties in Slytherin, especially after quidditch games and toward the end of term, but they were...relatively restrained, compared to Hufflepuff. Liz had completely avoided them in first year, but once she'd joined the quidditch team she was expected to make at least a brief appearance — which either completely sucked, on days her brain was being stubborn about freaking out for no reason, or could actually be pretty fun, when she successfully managed to absorb the good vibes of the crowd. (She hadn't figured out that was easier to do with alcohol involved until Christmas at the Greenwood.) Of course there was always alcohol someone had gotten from somewhere, a bunch of food (conned from the elves?), and loud music, and usually dancing and shite (which Liz obviously avoided), some games and whatever else, most of which were unfamiliar. Liz normally ended up sitting talking with people, because she was just boring like that, sometimes leaving early when she got tired of it or the music and everyone's minds shouting at her started giving her a headache. She had gotten dragged into the dancing once — after the quidditch final last year, by Miles, because he thought it'd be funny watching her make an idiot of herself and she'd been too drunk to care — but most of the time she didn't really participate, just hovering at the edges like an awkward bitch.
(Which, she was an awkward bitch, so.)
They happened less often than in Hufflepuff — and probably the other two houses too, for that matter — and Liz didn't... Well, she was aware she was well-tolerated in Slytherin these days, but not really because they liked her — as generally antisocial as she could be, she'd hardly spoken to the vast majority of the house. They liked having her there in principle, because it annoyed Light kids in general (and Gryffindors specifically) that Slytherin had gotten the Girl Who Lived. That she was pretty good at quidditch also helped. (They'd won the Cup both years since she'd joined the team, making it seven years in a row now — suck it, Gryffindor.) It wasn't personal, you know, mostly just politics. And with the weirdness about being picked as a fourth Champion, and she'd already yelled at the younger kids for clapping, no, she didn't expect she'd find a party in the common room when she got back. Maybe a confrontation, interrogating her about how the hell she'd gotten herself in, because of course, but other than that.
But she didn't want to deal with that either, so she fully planned on fleeing straight to her room right away. Maybe it'd be worth it to track down a secret exit and sneak in the back way...
Anyway, after a couple quick reminders, and joking comments about enjoying themselves, the Champions were dismissed. The judges would be staying here for a bit, apparently they had more details to discuss. Severus initially moved to leave with them, probably intending to corner her and confirm she wasn't freaking out too much, but Barthe called for him to stop. There were rules about how much assistance school staff were allowed to give their Champions, and Severus also being her legal guardian complicated matters — they'd have to discuss just how much contact Severus was going to have with the planning side, he'd probably have to be excluded to prevent him from helping Liz cheat, it was a whole thing. Which, Liz wasn't complaining about him being kept over — she'd guess talking about being entered into the Tournament with Severus, when she finally got trapped into doing it, wasn't going to be fun — but she'd kind of been assuming he would be able to help her cheat, if only to get through this damn thing in one piece. Oh well, never mind...
Liz had fallen behind, eavesdropping on Severus being held back, so was a little surprised to find Cedric, Delacour, and Krum lingering on this side of the door into the Great Hall. "Oh. Um. What?"
"I was saying, we're going to tell everyone you didn't enter yourself." Cedric was speaking French, for the other Champions' benefit — he'd obviously studied it, but didn't use it much, textbook correct but awkward. "I can't stop everyone from..." He trailed off, trying to find the French word for what he wanted to say.
Liz shrugged. "Being fucking idiots?"
Delacour and Krum were both amused by the profanity, the veela's weird mind magic stuff turning the air around them warm and bubbly, but Cedric just rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't put it like that..."
"That's because you're nicer than me."
The giggling in her head showing only as a mild smile, Delacour said, "What Mister Diggory is—"
"Oh, call me Cedric."
Delacour dipped her head, her smile going brighter for a moment — Liz scrambled to fight off the slant slipping into the feelings she was projecting, gritting her teeth against the warmth already slowly rising on her face. Apparently Delacour thought Cedric was handsome. (She didn't need to be distractingly horny right now of all times, thanks, bloody veela mind magic...) "Of course. What Cedric is trying to say is that we agree to tell our classmates of what happened here, and to not make trouble for you over it. Being forced into this Tournament against your will is bad enough without the extra weight of false accusations being thrown on you."
"Right, thanks." Liz seriously doubted how much good it would do — people believed the stupidest shite about her for no good reason, all the time — but it was nice of them to try, she guessed.
Liz hadn't even been sure Krum was paying attention, looming behind the other two and staring off into space — quiet enough Cedric twitched when he finally spoke (in surprisingly comfortable French). "We will not go easy on you in the events themselves, of course."
"Viktor," Delacour groaned, turning to give him an irritated look over her shoulder. (The feeling shoved out around her was making Liz's skin crawl, but it successfully chased away the lingering lust, so she didn't really care.) "It would hardly be fair to subject Miss Potter to—"
"No no, that's fine — it's still a competition, I get that. I'd rather you just act normal than try to baby me or whatever, don't worry about it." If she tried her best and got her arse kicked, fine; if the other Champions were obviously going easy on her, and she still got her arse kicked, that'd just be embarrassing on top of everything else. Delacour probably wasn't thinking about that part, though, just felt bad about maybe hurting her for some reason, so, fine. "And 'Liz' is fine. Did your parents really name you flower?" Liz realised it wasn't an entirely unusual name in French, it was just kind of silly.
Surprisingly, Fleur's cheeks pinked, Liz's stomach squirming and face heating with embarrassment. "Ah, truthfully, I picked the name myself, when I began learning French."
Viktor huffed, trying to hide a laugh and badly failing.
"I was five!"
The Great Hall had mostly emptied out while they'd been downstairs — dinner had gone later than usual, waiting for the Champion selection, and presumably people had better shite to do than sit around even longer for no good reason. Also, there were classes tomorrow morning, so. There were still people hanging around, scattered thinly throughout the tables, the weight of their minds on the air still enough to make Liz grimace. Apparently some of Cedric's friends had stayed behind, a clump of people standing from the Hufflepuff table and starting this way, Fleur and Viktor making for their schools' tables. Cedric glanced her way, his mind lurching — probably about to suggest that she come with him, to start on the no really Liz didn't enter herself this whole thing's fucked up message — but Liz darted off before he could say anything, slipping away behind the staff table. She could feel eyes crawling over her skin, she grit her teeth, trying to ignore it, and just kept walking.
There were some people lingering in the Entrance Hall — mostly groups of people from different schools/houses, stalling before heading back to their separate common rooms — far too many eyes flicking her way a few seconds after she'd entered the huge bloody room. The air a confusing mix of hot and cold and sharp and sticky and slimy, Liz ducked her head, and just kept walking, quicker than she normally would, trying to escape the soup of hostility and confusion and...stuff, she didn't know. Someone tried to get her attention at some point, but she just ignored them — she did not want to stay here longer than she needed to, eyes on her skin like wasps (the ghost of it on the air like a bad smell, that nameless hot and twitchy feeling shivering away), she'd like to just go hide in her room, thanks.
Luckily, nobody followed her onto the stairs. The halls were empty, everybody already gotten to where they're going, she didn't run into anybody on the way down to Slytherin — the only exception were a couple of fifth-years, one Slytherin and one Hufflepuff, saying a drawn-out goodnight before returning to their respective common rooms. (Liz didn't get how weird other people could be about this coupley stuff sometimes, honestly, they'd see each other tomorrow...) Liz didn't remember the password, she'd never bothered paying attention to it since she'd realised she could just tell it to open in the silly snake language. Seemed like a security flaw, since there were probably plenty of Parselmouths who'd gotten into the other houses, but whatever, not like they were really that careful about that anyway.
Liz passed through the privacy screen in the doorway, and then hitched to a stop as she ran into a wall of far too many minds packed into a small space. In the couple seconds before people noticed her, she realised she'd guessed wrong — there was a party waiting for her in Slytherin. They were still setting up, the open spot in the middle of the room now featuring a table with snacks and drinks, some people there still opening boxes and bottles. (They'd just gotten out of dinner, but whatever.) A clump of older students were gathered arguing around a turntable someone had brought up, too many of the younger students excitedly bouncing around despite the late hour, the chatter in the room almost deafening. And that was without bringing in the noise of all their minds sizzling away, it only took a breath or two before Liz was already getting a headache.
And then eyes flicked to her, seemingly hundreds clawing into her all at once (snap), Liz jumped, gritting her teeth. A wave of feelings and thoughts crashing over her, she pulled herself in and focussed, glaring at nothing, barely managed to keep her thoughts to herself — she did immediately end up with a stabbing headache, because of course. There was a brief hesitation before the noise in the room surged back even louder, the nearer people moving to—
"Stop." She threw probably more power than necessary into the compulsion, enough that she got the tingle at the base of her skull, copper sizzling on her tongue and rainbow sparks in her eyes — wow, it'd been a while since that'd happened. (She used to have to force her mind magic this hard kind of a lot, at first, but she'd been a weaker mage then.) The force of the magic rushing out of her actually almost hurt, making her slightly dizzy. Unsurprisingly, with how bloody overpowered the thing was, it took well enough, the people approaching her frozen in place and the chatter in the room instantly going silent. Didn't do shite about all the eyes on her, of course, attention like a physical thing pressing in against her, hot and sharp and—
Her pace stiff and shaky and awkward, she started across the room, the eyes following her, constantly battered with an overwhelming mess of feelings and thoughts, too much to keep straight, it was all she could do to just keep walking. After a couple steps, she remembered an oversight from the last time she'd done this, eased off the compulsion a little bit — it didn't happen with everyone, but she'd noticed that some people took her stop command so literally that they even forgot to breathe. That hot twitchy thing was getting more intense, burning, seeming like it was trying to shake her apart from the inside out, all the eyes on her skin like wasps, stinging and crawling, making her feel bloated and clumsy and misshapen, she knew what was coming, like a cloud passing overhead, leaving her in a shadow deep and cold, her heart pounding in her throat and echoing through her scars, cloth scritching harsh at her skin, and—
As Liz felt the phantom hand closing tight over her shoulder (snap), she took a hard right turn, slipping into a side hallway — she wasn't going to make it to the stairs down at this rate. The walls tight around her reflecting her magic, turning the air thick and suffocating, she cut the compulsion off, and kept walking, the pressure of the eyes on her fading with each step. They didn't entirely go away until she took a corner, short of the...the duelling arena was this way, okay. (Everything moved around in here, very confusing.) The lifting of the attention on her an intense relief, Liz staggered a couple more steps before coming to a stop, leaning on one arm against the wall. Her forehead resting on her forearm, she took a moment just to breathe, trying to fight off the echo of Vernon and the sofa clinging around her — which was just stupid and fucking infuriating, honestly, she hadn't seen Vernon in years, what the fuck did she think was going to happen...
(She did get the not-logic, sort of. When something conspicuous happened around her, it didn't matter if she wasn't responsible — it wasn't that things she did were bad, she was bad, so naturally everything involving her was also bad — she could expect to be punished for it when she got home.)
Her fingers shivering, Liz reached for a calming potion...and then remembered they didn't mix with alcohol, so she... Actually, her freak out back in the Great Hall seemed to have burned off the alcohol, so...maybe it was fine? Oh well, the worst that could happen is that she'd sleep for, like, a whole day, and she honestly didn't care at this point. Liz took a sizeable gulp, teetering a little as the numbing cool wave washed through her, leaving her feeling weak and slightly dizzy. Right, the tingly weakness in her limbs was odd, but she hadn't passed right the fuck out, so she was pretty sure she'd be fine. The echo pushed off for now — mostly, she could still feel it there, indistinctly aware of it like someone moving around just behind her — Liz tucked the bottle away again, and kept walking.
The Slytherin dorm was kind of a tangled, space-bending mess, it took her a little bit to find her room, wandering randomly around the passages. After what had to be at least five minutes, she stumbled across the third-year boys' circle, and from there it was easy to get to the third-year girls' circle, and then on to theirs. Liz wasn't really surprised to find people waiting for her at her door — someone must have realised she'd be coming here as soon as possible. (Also, it was kind of hard to feel all that surprised with the calming potion still in her system.) Rather more people than she would have expected really. Daphne and Tracey, sure, but also Millie, and Dorea, and even Hermione, Katie, Padma, and the Hufflepuff girls (Susan, Hannah, Sally-Anne, Sophie), who must have been snuck in here for whatever reason. That Daphne, Hermione, Tracey, Katie, Padma, Susan, and Hannah might want to check on her wasn't so weird, she guessed, but she was kind of surprised by the rest...or as surprised as she was capable of feeling at the moment.
(She was always a little confused when people voluntarily chose to spend time around her, she'd just learned to not make it obvious by now.)
Seemingly all of them started talking at once as soon as they spotted her, starting to cross the circle toward her, the sudden noise pounding against her head (both audible and mental) making her hitch in place for a second, gritting her teeth. Okay, that was making her headache worse. She hardly heard what anyone was saying, just a meaningless smear of noise — too many people talking at once really wasn't helping — without really considering it she threw off a silencing charm. Wandlessly, which kind of burned a little, but it wasn't that bad. It didn't work on everyone, the lack of focus making the charm much weaker, but throwing magic around startled everybody else into quiet too.
Physically, of course — the flashes of confusion and irritation and whatever from multiple minds all at once made her grimace. She nearly apologised, said something about having a headache, but it was strangely hard to summon her voice, her throat tight and slow to react, her mouth feeling numb and clumsy, so after a couple seconds of awkward silence she just gave up. She lurched back into motion, her legs stiff, as she approached the group multiple people started talking at once — Hermione, Katie, and Susan had all resisted the silencing, of course — but it was hard to follow the same voice word to word, getting all jumbled up, might as well be a foreign language for all she understood it. So she just kept walking toward her door.
Someone tried to reach for her as she went by — Daphne, probably, or maybe Hannah (whose mind also felt pretty warm), it was hard to tell for sure through the dense soup of thoughts and feelings surrounding her — but Liz cringed away, thoughtlessly shoving a silent compulsion to stop in that direction. She immediately let it go, ground out a sigh. Her request to be left alone until at least tomorrow came out, "I can't, right now," which wasn't what she'd wanted to say, but talking was weirdly hard at the moment, her throat tense and words swirling aimlessly around her head, so she guessed she'd settle for it.
She wished people wouldn't try to talk to her when she was having a stupid brain moment, or shortly after taking a calming potion. It was always bloody impossible, and then they just got annoyed with her for being even more asocial than usual and she had to deal with that later, it was frustrating...
(Sometimes, she really wished people would just leave her alone.)
She managed to make it to her door, someone was saying something about talking about it, someone asked (or maybe thought?) if they should get Severus, but before they could try to get her to stay she was through the door, yanking it closed behind her. Probably a little harder than she had to, banging into its frame, oops. The wards snapped into place, immediately cutting off all the minds out in the circle and the common room behind, silence — the last of the tension seeping out of her, Liz teetered back to lean against the door, letting out a shivering sigh.
As much as she knew she'd be much worse off without the mind magic, she wouldn't really consider getting rid of it if she could, sometimes it fucking sucked.
Not complete silence, it turned out: Liz could hear the murmuring of voices from the other side of the door. The rooms weren't completely isolated, for safety reasons, Liz knew — there were situations where people might need to be able to understand each other shouting through the door. They were just talking out there, not trying to pound on the door or anything (yet), so Liz decided this was good enough.
She started reaching for her boots, but as weak and dizzy as she was at the moment, she'd probably just end up falling like an idiot. So she stumbled toward her bed — the room still dark, she hadn't turned the lights on, but she knew the layout blind by now — turned and flopped limply on her back. She bounced on the mattress for a second before settling, the blanket faintly warm against her (despite the chill on the autumn air, there were enchantments for that). And she just lay there, staring blankly up at the shadowy ceiling.
Liz was tired, but she doubted she'd be able to sleep. Or, more to the point, not for very long — even with the reprieve from the calming potion, she expected she'd be having nightmares again. Probably a Vernon one this time, because of course.
She realised worrying she was going to get a Vernon nightmare was a good way of giving herself one, but she couldn't help it.
It'd probably happen no matter what she did — she could still feel the binding from the Goblet, if she thought about it, a cold, tight pressure deep in her chest. Liz hated feeling trapped. It always reminded her of the sofa, always, because her brain was trash and would never stop obsessing over stupid shite literally ever.
Like, she hadn't even seen Vernon in years, she'd never see any of the Dursleys again, and they wouldn't be able to do shite to her anymore anyway even if she did, it was so fucking stupid...
"Liz?" a voice called through the door, muffled enough that it was hard to pick out who it was. "Can you talk to us, please, just for a minute. We only want to—"
Liz cast a sound barrier over the door, immediately cutting the voice off — um, one of the magic-raised kids, definitely, from the Celtic-sounding accent (but not Katie, who sounded different), but it was hard to say who that'd been. Whatever, didn't matter. She'd send them all a written apology for being a bitch later, because apparently that was a thing she could do. Tamsyn was right, that shite was way easier to get through when she had as much time as she needed to figure out what the fuck she was saying, and didn't have to feel the person's reaction the whole time. Tamsyn was a big help a lot, which was weird, Liz didn't know why she bothered...
Well, she'd explicitly said it was at least partly because Liz reminded her of herself, but that wasn't really any less weird.
By this point, Liz believed Tamsyn hadn't meant to freak her out that night, Liz's brain was just trash and Tamsyn hadn't thought it through that well. But Tamsyn was still really intimidating, kind of just in general — she hadn't bothered hiding the fact that she'd killed people, so. Liz was much more comfortable with only talking to her in letter form, thanks.
Actually, she'd probably be more comfortable if all of her relationships were done entirely in letter form, but she realised that was unreasonable.
She wished she'd thought to ask Severus if she could keep a dose of dreamless sleep potion before all this had happened — she'd meant to do that once all the shite around Hallowe'en calmed down a little, but that hadn't ended up being soon enough, because of course. She could already feel it itching away at her from beneath the false peace enforced by the calming potion, and these things never lasted more than a couple hours. There was no way she'd be sleeping well tonight, and she had to—
Oh, she didn't have to be at Transfiguration in the morning! She probably would have taken a mental health day anyway — partially just to avoid people, but she also she had a feeling she'd need it — but Zabini had said Champions were exempt from exams, and had blanket permission to skip classes if they needed to. She'd meant so they could prepare for the Tasks, not just in general because they felt like it, but nobody was likely to make a fuss about it. Actually, she'd probably end up skipping class a lot — as long as she had an excuse, she might as well focus on catching up on Competency stuff instead. Though that would mean her marks might fall considerably, so she should probably talk to Severus about it first...and probably also Flitwick and Babbling, if she wanted them to write recommendation letters for her...or she could just keep doing the work for those classes specifically, she didn't mind Charms and Runes...
The presence of the wards around her, toward the outside, was getting heavier. She'd noticed she could feel that, sometimes, though she wasn't really certain how to describe what it felt like — kind of, how a glass might ring if exposed to the right pitch, the wards reverberating from the magic they were bouncing off. It was pretty subtle, it was never distracting or anything, but if something wasn't occupying her attention she could still pick up on it sometimes. (She was pretty sure that kind of sensitivity wasn't normal, probably a Seer thing. Or maybe the spirit magic, come to think of it, she still wasn't certain what that even was.) Liz twitched at a low boom echoing through her room — not overly loud, but startling in the silence — a brief flare of red light glowing through the door before fading again. A moment passed, maybe ten, fifteen seconds, and there was another boom, another glow.
Liz had never actually seen this before, but she knew what it was — a prefect was knocking on her door. The prefects had special permissions in the Slytherin wards, and this was one of the things she knew they could do. The seventh-year prefects could also just barge in — normally, the door would only unlock for the person the room belonged to (or anyone they gave permission to) — but they still needed permission for that from Severus or, as of this year, Sinistra or the dorm supervisors. Unless there was an emergency, but they had to call an elf to trigger that exception, meaning there would be at least one witness so it couldn't be abused. (The elves who watched over the Slytherin dorms reported to Severus, so he would find out, and nobody wanted to make Severus angry.) They were supposed to answer a knock from a prefect, there could be disciplinary consequences later if they ignored it, though not automatically — Liz had heard about two incidents during her time that had been excused, one due to undisclosed health reasons and one due to the prefect being the person's ex and just not wanting to talk to them at the moment.
She was pretty sure, just, not wanting to talk to anyone right now wouldn't be considered a reasonable excuse. Also, she suspected they'd eventually go get permission to open her door, or even declare an emergency and barge in, if there was a seventh-year prefect around. It wasn't a secret that Liz was seriously fucked up — she wasn't exactly subtle about it at times, and also way back in first year she'd come out and said in front of all of Slytherin that she got episodes she took claming potions for — and even if they really just wanted to bother her about the Tournament, they could probably use being worried that she might be hurting herself in here as an excuse. Which, she wasn't thinking about that at the moment, mostly she just wanted to go to sleep and not have to deal with anything for a little while, but they didn't know that.
...Actually, she thought that might be why whoever had been shouting through the door wanted to talk to her quick, just to make sure she was okay in here. She probably wouldn't have answered even if she'd realised that at the time, because she just wanted to be left alone right now, for fuck's sake, why was that so hard to understand...
It was probably only a matter of time before someone would be opening that door — Severus hadn't had a chance to talk to her about it privately, so it wasn't out of the question that he would sign... No, he'd know how uncomfortable someone just barging into her room would make her, so he wouldn't sign off on one of the prefects doing it, he'd just come in here himself. Which wasn't ideal, but at least she'd be able to ask him for a dreamless sleep potion. Assuming she was even allowed to take one, with the calming potion still in her system... Whatever.
Also, she had to pee.
Another knock echoing through the room, frustration clawing at her throat and her eyes burning, Liz pressed the back of her hands against her eyes. She really didn't want to deal with anyone right now — the possibility that she might actually get something she wanted out of it didn't even help. She just wanted to be left alone, she didn't know why that was so difficult. (Liz hated feeling trapped.) It was just a matter of time, she should probably take care of it herself, that would be quicker — also, doing this before the mixed up tight hot whatever in her chest made her start crying, because that would just make the whole ordeal worse — it wasn't like she'd be able to actually hide, since everyone knew where her room—
Oh! Severus had said ages ago that there was a spare bedroom in his apartments she could use if she had to. She would have to go through the whole bloody house to get there, which would suck, but, who the hell knew how long it'd take everyone to settle down tonight, with all the excitement over the Tournament going on, they'd been setting up a bloody party up there — and she couldn't actually hide here, everyone knew where she lived, they'd probably bother her all fucking night. But they couldn't get into Severus's apartments. Right. That sounded like an excellent idea.
The only problem was getting there.
No wait, that was actually easy to solve. Liz pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, moved to dispel the sound barrier over the door...and then changed her mind — her throat still felt tight and blech, she had no idea whether she'd be able to talk properly. Instead she went to her desk, wrote a quick note that she was calling a house-elf to bring her to see Severus, piss off. (She half expected the prefect to confirm that with Severus, but by then she'd be safely away, and it wouldn't be her problem.) She tucked the note under the door, and then paused for a second, wondering if there was anything she needed to bring with her. Probably not. "Nilanse?"
The little red-eyed elf appeared with the usual pop. "Hello, Liz. Are we going home, or to see Mister Severus?"
...Liz probably shouldn't be surprised Nilanse had guessed what she needed. The words slow, grinding in her throat, "How much do you know about what happened tonight?"
Nilanse pouted. "I was listening. Cediny said we can't break the binding."
"...Oh." She hadn't even considered asking the elves about it — their magic worked on different rules, it wasn't out of the question that they might have been able to do something. With what little Liz knew about how their magic worked, she'd guess they'd be able to break a binding forced on themselves without their consent, but doing it for Liz was probably beyond them. At least without permanently altering her fundamental identity, which was probably a bad idea (even if having access to elf-style magic would be neat). It was unnerving to be reminded that Nilanse was always listening, but the silly little elf was on Liz's side, so she very consciously decided to not worry about it. "Um, Severus. Can you get me to his apartments?"
"No, his wards are being too good. I can go to the office there, if the door is being open."
"Right, let's do that."
"One second." Nilanse popped away again, but then reappeared barely a blink later. "Mister Severus is arriving there right now." She held one of her odd long-fingered hands up toward Liz.
Oh, she'd been checking if the door was open, right, okay. Liz took Nilanse's hand, the solid blackness of elf apparation slapping against her, lifting away to reveal Severus's Slytherin office. It was darker than usual, deep with wild, flickering shadows — there was a fire in the hearth, but all the other lights were out. It was also unusually loud, the music being played out in the common room coming through the cracked-open door, bleed-off from the dense mess of too many minds in too small a space crawling through the air. There was one closer mind, just coming through the opposite door, Liz recognised it as Severus in the instant before he spoke. "Elizabeth. I was just wondering if I should come find you."
He didn't say out loud that he'd just gotten out of the meeting a minute ago, but she caught it anyway — one of the doors in his office upstairs led right into his apartments, despite being in completely different sections of the castle, so this was actually the quickest way to get from the Great Hall to the dorms. "I don't want to talk. Just, later, please. Can I have your spare bedroom tonight?"
"Of course." There was a brief hesitation, something flickering in Severus's head she couldn't quite make out. "Is something the matter?"
"People crowding at my door. A prefect was knocking."
His mind sizzling with irritation, Severus drawled, "Naturally. I will address the house on the matter. In the meanwhile, go in and have a seat," he said, pushing the door into his apartments wider open behind him. "I will return momentarily."
"Can I have a dreamless sleep potion? I can feel the Vernon nightmare coming." Tension thick in her throat and chest, she'd almost unconsciously stopped herself from admitting that, but she'd managed to get the words out. It was only Severus, it was fine — and he was less likely to give her what she wanted if he didn't get what was wrong, so.
"...Have you had any of your potion since you left the Great Hall?"
Liz grit her teeth, hissed, "Yes." She couldn't think off-hand why the two potions should interact badly, but Severus wouldn't be asking if they didn't.
"Then I will need to retrieve an antidote kit. Go wait inside."
Oh, well. Good then.
Severus's surprisingly normal sitting room was exactly the same as she remembered it, though, like his office, darker than usual, illuminated only by the low-burning hearth, casting deep shadows — he'd only been passing through, hadn't bothered turning the lights on. Liz didn't know this room as well as her dorm (she'd only been here a couple times), so she switched the lights on with a muttered igniat. Oddly, there was a brief delay, but the lights came on after a second — rather dim, must be what he'd set the default to, but still plenty to see where she was going. Feeling stiff and oddly jittery, even through the calming potion, Liz didn't feel like properly sitting down, leaned against the back of the sofa instead. And she settled in to wait.
Thankfully, she didn't have to wait very long — Severus was back within a few minutes, pulling the door into his office closed behind him, his obsessively thorough wards crackling into place. He'd picked up a little wooden case from somewhere, about the length of a book but half the width, didn't know what that was. "Have a seat," he insisted, gesturing with the little case. "It will take me a moment to prepare the antidote."
Alright, fine. Liz lurched unsteadily back into motion, circling the sofa and plopped down onto it. She shivered a little at the release of tension, something hot and mixed up crawling at her throat again and burning at her eyes, even through the calming potion — leaning back against the sofa, she bit out a sigh, pressing her knuckles against her eyes, firmly enough she saw blotches of random colour. Honestly, what the fuck was wrong with her, she'd already taken a fucking potion...
Severus had been tinkering around somewhere else in the room, Liz felt his mind approaching again, she dropped her hands, forcibly blinked her vision back into focus. He set a little mug of something down on the coffee table in front of her, and then hunched over, splaying open the case on the table. On one side was a diagram, a long colour gradient with notation of some kind along the length, inset on the other side a bottle of a translucent reddish potion, something that looked very much like a muggle syringe, and lastly a little felt bag. "I will need a drop of your blood." He picked up the little bag, undid the tie, tipped it over — a clear reservoir stone fell into his hand, tiny runes etched into the surface barely visible from lack of contrast.
"...Okay." He wasn't going to inject this stuff, was he? Liz didn't think she'd ever gotten a shot before — Dudley had gotten all the normal vaccinations kids got (and whined like a baby about it every time), but Petunia hadn't bothered with Liz. Which wasn't a big deal, because she hardly ever got ill anyway — mages had a higher resistance to infection than muggles — and she didn't expect it to be super horrible or anything, but still, was just kind of freaky was all. Liz held out a hand, Severus gently took her wrist, pricked a finger with a conjured pen-knife. (Didn't have to worry about contamination if you just conjured and vanished it every time.) He squeezed a single drop of blood straight onto the reservoir, healed the little knick with a silent flick of his fingers.
Liz knew enough about healing magic to realise that was insanely difficult, but Severus was just like that sometimes. Snapping his fingers to cast a time charm, an illusion of numbers counting down from sixty appearing in mid-air, was actually way less impressive, despite looking rather flashier. He turned to sit on the sofa just to her right, retrieving a glass of something she hadn't noticed a second ago. Rum, probably, she knew Severus liked rum.
"What is this?"
"The antidotes to mind-altering potions are themselves mind-altering potions."
"Yeah, I know that. So?"
"So, when possible, it is ideal to calibrate the dose to precisely counteract the first potion while avoiding any untoward side-effects. Unless you wish to experience a chemically-induced panic attack."
"...No, that makes sense." She hadn't realised that was possible to do — she'd assumed that rule meant that antidotes for mind-altering potions would always have unpleasant additional effects — but if he could do it precisely, that was obviously better. "You had this little case just sitting around?"
"You are not the only student on a regiment of calming potions. An overdose can be quite dangerous if left untreated — Poppy and I prefer to be prepared."
That was almost funny — saying that Severus preferred to be prepared was an understatement if Liz had ever heard one.
Once the time was up, Severus picked up the reservoir, and held it against the diagram, finding the spot on the gradient that matched the colour the previously clear crystal had turned to. It was a sort of pale greenish colour, which was toward one end of the gradient, Liz assumed the low end — he'd said this was designed to deal with overdoses, and she'd only had a little bit. Severus picked up the bottle and the syringe, sticking the pointy end of the syringe through the top of the bottle — the cap looked perfectly solid, Liz assumed it was some magical material that was designed to let the syringe through — carefully pulled up on the plunger. Liz felt a faint tingle of nerves, even through the calming potion — she was sure it'd be fine, just, she couldn't remember ever getting a shot before.
Severus pulled the syringe away from the bottle, and Liz was just wondering how this was going to work exactly when he reached to empty the syringe into the mug he'd set in front of her earlier. Well, um, okay then. He tapped a finger against the rim of the mug, casting some kind of charm (mixing it, probably?). "Drink the whole thing." And he started packing away the antidote kit again, so apparently that was it.
Right, that was a little bit of a relief, she guessed — even if she didn't particularly feel like drinking anything at the moment, fine, she could do that. The mug was a little warm to the touch, and— Oh, this was spiced mead, one of the ones that was dry enough Liz could actually drink it. (Which meant they had a higher alcohol content than the sweeter ones, but whatever.) Severus had heated it, which was something they'd done at the solstice party at the Greenwood but Liz had never really bothered with since, it was actually pretty good. Plus, the heat helped to loosen up her throat a little, so. "Didn't know you had this in here." Liz was aware that Severus didn't like mead much, he'd avoided it at the Greenwood.
To clear her blood from the reservoir stone, Severus just squeezed it in his fist for a second, there was a little crackle of magic, and when he opened his hand it was perfectly transparent again — that was neat, wondered how he did that. "Unless I expect a visitor who prefers mead, I normally don't. I took note of what you had at home over the summer, and purchased a couple bottles to keep here."
"...Well, you do like to be prepared." Liz had only really been in here twice — once on her really bad downswing last winter, and then last spring to hand over Pettigrew — but that was Severus for you.
Severus just nodded, silently took a sip of his rum. After a couple seconds, he said, "I assume you would prefer to go to bed immediately."
"That'd be nice. Haven't been sleeping well." Also, she was quite done with being conscious today, thanks.
"Once you've finished that, I'll show you to the room. I'll go to retrieve the potion while you prepare for bed. After you take it, I will need to remain in the room for about two minutes — a minority of patients have serious adverse reactions to this particular potion, so it is recommended for the first dose to be administered under observation. I realise that may be uncomfortable, depending on what you normally wear for bedclothes, but I'm afraid it's not negotiable."
"I sleep in those vests and shorts, it's fine." Well, normally she'd take off the shorts before going to bed, but she wasn't going to sit around in her knickers in front of Severus. Which she realised was slightly silly, since he'd seen her completely naked several times by now...though never when she was conscious, which was a little weird when she thought about it, but, healer stuff. So. Of course, she was silly, so she fully expected she'd be neurotic about it anyway, she was just saying, the warning hadn't really been necessary. "What happens if it goes bad?"
"Assuming I counteract the adverse reaction quickly enough to prevent a hospital stay, we'll try an alternative. There are other options, this is simply the least risky."
There was a chance she'd be hospitalised, and this was the least risky — she realised healing could be a crapshoot sometimes, but honestly. Though, he had implied it wasn't super likely she'd have a bad reaction, and if she was hospitalised she'd probably be unconscious for that anyway, so, whatever.
The next couple minutes passed in silence, Liz gradually draining her dosed drink. (She'd like to get to bed now, but it was hard to just gulp down spiced hot mead.) Honestly, she'd expected Severus to use the opportunity of having her in here to corner her into a conversation about all this shite, but it seemed like he was respecting her request to leave it be for now. Which was good, if a little bit of a surprise — she'd gotten roped into a lot of uncomfortable conversations with Severus, at some level she still didn't expect him to just...not, because she said she didn't want to. Nice of him, that was all.
(It was still slightly surreal that Severus could be nice sometimes — he was Severus Snape, and he had the stereotypical villain goatee and everything.)
(Liz didn't know why she still found it funny that Severus looked exactly like the bad guy in a silly cartoon for kids, she just did.)
She thought the antidote was starting to work — the hot tension was getting worse again, clawing up her throat, making it a little hard to breathe. The mead helped, but not really enough. Also, just sitting here not talking was starting to feel awkward, so. Just to give herself a distraction, she asked, "What'd you say?" There was a little flicker of confusion from his mind, unusually noisy from this close. "You said you'd talk to the house. What'd you say?"
"That the judges have determined that you were entered against your will by an unknown third party, and that you do not consider being forced to compete in a potentially dangerous tournament designed for NEWT students before the eyes of half of magical Europe to be something worth celebrating. I also suggested they should not approach you to speak of the Tournament at all for the time being, unless it is to volunteer for the upcoming group task. Should I not have? You didn't protest when I mentioned it, but it hadn't occurred to me that you might not have had the attention to do so at the time."
"No, that's fine." The implication she was freaking out over it was a little embarrassing, but she had kind of freaked out over it (she'd literally had a panic attack in public, she'd almost forgotten about that...), so she guessed that was fine. Besides, they were more likely to actually leave her alone if Severus told them to — he was rather scarier than Liz was. "I guess Cedric and I will each make our own teams." Oh, people were going to be so stupid about that, directly competing against the proper Champion, and what if they both wanted the same people for their teams...
"The judges have decided that each school will have a single team for the First Task — you and Mister Diggory will not working together for this one. I expect this will also be the case for future group tasks."
"Oh, that's good." People didn't need extra reasons to be idiots at her, so. Liz was quite done sitting here and worrying about shite, so just threw back the rest of her drink — it took her a couple seconds to actually get the oversized mouthful down, split up into multiple swallows, but she managed it. "Right, I'm done, let's go."
Severus's spare bedroom looked very much like the sitting room, the same black and deep red cloth everywhere, the wood of the bed frame and the desk and the drawers and the bedside table with a bit of a reddish sheen where the light hit them. Pretty plain, without any decoration or knick-knacks or anything anywhere, but it seemed nice enough, and Liz wasn't picky. Severus asked if there was anything she needed — like, pre-bed grooming and stuff, he meant — but she was fine, honestly, if she did need anything she could just call Nilanse again. He left her alone, and about at this point she belatedly remembered she needed to pee — there was an attached bathroom, with a toilet and a shower, so. Getting her boots off was kind of a pain, still stiff and unsteady, but thankfully she could just undo the laces with a swish of her wand and kick them off. Her robes got a little stuck over her head, the frustration biting even harder at her throat, once she was free she just flopped back on the bed, her hands over her face, gritting her teeth against the prickling in her eyes.
She didn't know what the fuck was wrong with her, nearly crying over practically nothing. She was blaming puberty again, bloody hormones...
When she felt Severus's mind approaching again, she shoved herself back upright, started peeling off her socks — her vision was a little watery, which was embarrassing, but she doubted it made any bloody difference. (She had cried on Severus once, so there was that.) She wiped at her face with the back of her hand (ugh), glanced up to find Severus standing nearby. Holding out her hand, Liz said, "Gimme."
A flicker of amusement pushed its way through the cold shifting...something in Severus's head, didn't know what that shite was. He handed over a little bottle, the contents a vivid purple — there was a label tied onto this one, curiously. She wondered for a second if they'd actually bought it, but she recognised the handwriting as Professor Vitale's. Mm, maybe when it'd just been Severus and Pomfrey they hadn't bothered labelling them, since they knew what and where everything was, but now that there were junior professors and dorm supervisors and even trainee healers they'd decided it was necessary. Whatever, not important, she popped off the cap and threw the thing back with a single gulp.
And then shivered at the sharp, sour taste, ugh, didn't know what the fuck that was — the lavender aftertaste helped clear it out, but it still wasn't great. But Severus had already conjured a glass of water for her, good thinking...
Severus had cast another illusion, this time the numbers counting down from a hundred fifty, which was actually two and a half minutes, but fine. Silence hung around them for a moment, Liz sitting on the edge of the bed and Severus standing looming nearby (tall bastard), something she couldn't make out shifting in his head — politely averting his eyes, despite the fact that she'd walked around his house in these vest and shorts all the bloody time, but she wasn't exactly complaining about him not staring at her. Liz picked at the straps of her wand holster, her fingers annoyingly clumsy, ugh, bloody thing...
"It will be all right."
Liz blinked up at him for a couple seconds, the timer ticking away in her peripheral vision. "Huh?"
"The Tournament. We will get you through this."
...Okay. She realised people did used to die in these things all the time, he was probably assuming she was freaking out about getting hurt, but she wasn't actually thinking about that so much. At first, a bit, but now this was mostly Vernon stuff... "We, aren't you not supposed to help me? They were just talking about that when I left."
One of his eyebrows arching up, Severus gave her a flat look. "Elizabeth, I was a spy, in far more pressing circumstances than the ones we find ourselves in. I will find a way to cheat."
"Oh." Yeah, that was obvious when she thought about it.
"I have been barred from any future planning meetings, but I am certain I am far more adept at uncovering information than the staff and the judges are at hiding it. And some may be motivated to assist us, so I may not even need to try. It is possible they may be forbidden from speaking with me about the Tournament in general, but in that case we may simply pass information through a third party — Black, perhaps, or maybe even your Latin tutor. We will figure something out."
"Right. I know we will, I'm not worried about that." Not seriously, at least.
"You may consider writing Black in the morning. I will continue to be occupied with classes, brewing for the Hospital Wing, and the alchemy club — but, as I am certain you are aware, Black has far too much free time on his hands. I have no doubt he will be eager to help you learn whatever you might need for the Tournament."
Liz tried to give Severus one of his own sceptical looks back at him, but her lips were twitching a little, ruined it. "Are you really saying you want Sirius to teach me stuff? unsupervised?"
Severus let out a sigh, his eyes flicking up toward the ceiling. "I don't deny I have serious criticisms of his judgement and his temperament, but I cannot deny that Sirius Black is an exceptionally talented battlemage. If he is willing to teach you what you need to protect yourself while I am occupied by my other obligations, so be it."
Wow, that was all mature and shite, she was almost impressed. Sirius had always been worse about their old teenage rivalry, and Liz was definitely just mocking him in her head because she didn't feel like saying it out loud, but still.
"It is possible whatever lessons you have with him will require you to skip a large number of class sessions."
"Yeah, actually, I was thinking about that, and I might skip a lot of classes anyway. I'm allowed to, because of the Tournament, but I also thought I could use it as an excuse to focus on studying the Competency stuff. I was thinking I'd still go to Charms and Runes, 'cause I might want Flitwick and Babbling for recommendation letters, but. Oh, and also alchemy club, but that's not really a class..."
Severus nodded. "Not unreasonable. I imagine the reaction of your peers to your presence in the Tournament over the course of this year will only convince you further as to the desirability of transferring schools." It'd only been a couple hours, and yeah, that sounded like a good fucking bet. "I will cover for you with my colleagues. In exchange, on occasion you will check in with me with an update on your progress, to ensure you are staying on task."
"Sure, that's fine." And she might occasionally run into something she needed help with, if only for a recommendation on which book to read, so that wasn't a bad idea anyway. "My marks are probably going to drop, though. You know, we had that deal..."
Waving a hand dismissively, Severus said, "Consider our wager concluded — you won, as of your year-end report this June. Going forward, you may borrow books from my library upon request, within reason."
Oh. Well. Good, then.
"Have you noticed any unpleasant effects from the sleeping potion?" The timer had actually run out a little bit ago, but Liz guessed they'd been in the middle of something.
"No. Well, I'm a little dizzy, but it's not really bad."
Severus nodded. "That's an interaction with the alcohol in your blood — it shouldn't become a problem. Unless there was anything else you wished to discuss, I will leave you to rest."
"No, I'm good for now." She was starting to feel the potion dragging her down now — she hadn't noticed at first, the nerves sizzling away and talking to Severus distracting her — but she had a feeling she wouldn't be able to stay awake for very much longer anyway.
"Very well. I will likely be gone when you wake up in the morning. If you wish to have breakfast in here, you may simply call for an elf. Be sure to close the door behind you when you leave." He waited for a second, probably for her to ask a question or whatever, but she just nodded. With a little flicker of something she couldn't read, he gave her a final nod, started for the door out.
"Severus?" she muttered. He stopped pretty much right in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder at her. And waited for her to say something, which didn't come right away — she wasn't even sure why she'd stopped him, really. And the potion was starting to hit hard now, she felt like she was falling — almost like doing her spirit-walking thing, though much less intense — her body going all warm and numb and tingly, like it did just before falling asleep but more quickly, making her rather more dizzy all of a sudden. Liz flopped to the side, ending up on her back with her head...near the pillow, at least, blinking blearily up at the ceiling. "Thanks. You know." At least, she hoped he knew what she meant, because she couldn't say she did, exactly — it just seemed like the thing to say.
"Of course. Goodnight, Elizabeth."
She heard the door click closed, privacy wards snapping into place, making the room feel very calm and quiet, warm and soft. Liz wasn't even certain she'd managed to get properly under the covers before she went far too numb to bother anymore, the sleeping potion pulled her down, down...
Well, Liz is having a great time. This whole Triwizard Tournament thing should go swimmingly! :D
Took me a bit longer than expected, due to being distracted by First Contact and exhausting myself gardening. Also, one of the kittens has started meowing incessantly in the early morning, it's very annoying. And then this chapter went way longer than I expected, because I'm a wordy bitch. There's actually another scene right after this that was added to the plan late (not on the original outline), which I thought I'd be able to squeeze in at the end of this chapter, but that didn't work out. It should be relatively short, so I might have it soon-ish, we'll see. And then there will be another short scene with Tamsyn, and then the Weighing of the Wands, and the First Task should be only a chapter or two after that. Woo.
Oh, there might have been a comment earlier in the fic about Liz only going to the doctor for required vaccinations — I know I've said something about that before, but I searched key words and didn't find anything, so it might have been in a different fic — but apparently England doesn't have vaccination requirements to attend school. The United States does (though which vaccinations are on the list varies by state), and I just assumed that was normal. Oh well.
Anyway, that's it from me. See you all next time.