-Twilight, just before dawn after the igniting of the goblet.
Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore felt rage, and power. Never had he felt so much power flowing through him. The power didn't make him feel young, for even in his younger days when he and Gellert Grindelwald talked of reshaping the world to their Greater Good, when they dreamed of together becoming the New Merlin, did he have so much power flowing through him.
The Elder Wand in his hand, the Deathly Hallows answering to his will alone, marking him the greatest living wizard, Albus strode to the goblet, and drew upon his connection to Hogwarts, the web of lay lines that connected to the stones of the castle, feeding the magic of all the lands of Britain into this one sacred place where the Founders had gathered the magical children of the isles for safety. He drew upon the wards woven by the Master of Serpents, the Lady of Eagles, the Lord of Lions and the Lady of the Good Growing Earth, and he went forth to do battle.
"Expelle Immunda!" Dumbledore roared, his call to banish the unclean answered by the magics of Hogwarts, the magics of the whole of the lands of Britain, and by the Light itself as called upon by its champion. The phoenix that was his companion gave voice in a wild trill of righteous flame and threw itself at the too pale blue corpse flame of the Goblet of Fire, the Cauldron of Dagda.
An explosion of black feathers resolved into a black haired pale skinned woman, her body lean and hard, two short swords of bronze hung at her hips, but it was a wand topped with a crow skull, with three crow feathers hanging from it that she waved to banish the Lord of Lights spell as if it were nothing.
"Impossible!" Shouted Dumbledore, drawing on his power over Hogwarts as its Headmaster, drawing upon the ancient ties to all those who had served before him, binding the spirits of the past Headmasters to his own will as he became fully the magic of Hogwarts, and cast a curse no one living would have believed would come from his wand.
"Avada Kedavera!" Dumbledore spoke, and all of Hogwarts rang like a bell as the Morrigan opened her arms and drank down the killing curse as if were blood spilled upon her altar.
Dumbledore fell to one knee, crying out as the stones at his feet seemed to suck his magical power from him not in a trickle, not in a flood, but in a raging river that left him gasping and barely able to breathe. Two more figures, almost twins to the Morrigan formed from the cloud of crow feathers and bound Dumbledores arms.
"Badb, Macha, force the old fool to bow before me. He has been a poor host, and requires instruction."
Too late did Dumbledore realize who he faced. The Morrigan, the three part goddess, or the senior of three siter goddesses of war and magic of the Tuatha DeDannan. The Morrigan, wife to the Dagda whose cauldron burned before him.
"You cannot do this to me, I am the Master of Hogwarts, I am the strongest mage since Merlin!"
Dumbledore protested, and Morrigan stepped forward, her bare foot bore nails that were not black as a crows wing, but the near black of dried blood, and he feared that is what had painted them. She pressed his face into the ground.
"Merlin? What pale imitation wizard is that? He is no Amergin who brough the Sons of Mil and their cursed iron to these shores. Amergin would have been wise enough to know that you who have brought the Cauldron of Dagda inside your walls, and lit it as your hearthfire in your own hall have invited us as your guests. Your magic is bound by the laws of hospitality to defend your guests until and unless they raise wand or blade against you as I have not done."
She ground his face into the stones of the hall.
"Great Mother Dana, mother magic, I the Morrigain, Queen of Witches call upon you for judgement. The lord of this place has with unrighteous hand struck with killing power upon a guest he has invited into his halls, has struck upon the victim of his own theft before the very object he has stolen. Mother magic, I call for judgement."
Dumbledore shook. The laws of Hospitality bound all the faery, and they bound the Pure-Blooded houses of the ancient blood of Britain, as they bound the Pure-Blooded houses of the North, of all the land of Celt and Norse, Greek and Roman, Persian and Pashtun, Hindu and Hun, Arab and African. He and Grindelwald had planned to sweep away the vestiges of such ancient and tribal magics from their brave new world, to leave no power of magic subject to any law save the will of the wizard, and the might of the strongest.
Yet, he had drawn into himself the magics of Hogwarts, of the founders, of the wild magic of Britain that flowed like the blood of magic itself through the bones of the world to the beating heart of power at Hogwarts. The ancient and wild magic had dangled before him like ripe and poisoned fruit, and he had drawn it into his sacred self, drank from that bottomless well of power until drunk from it, then violated its most ancient laws to strike down a guest who stood defenceless before him.
The Elder Wand itself burned in his hand, causing his own blood to sear in his veins as the ancient magic of the Hallows judged Dumbledore, and found him wanting. Magic is never free, and Dumbledore had drawn upon ancient and sacred covenants for power to break those very same ancient pacts, and the power of magic looked into the Headmaster, the champion of light, and past their judgement.
Dumbledore screamed as magic sank its claws into him like a phoenix of fire. His own phoenix burst into flame and fell dying to be reborn, as Dumbledore too burned but was not allowed to die. He had broken the laws of hospitality and drawn upon the sacred magics of Hogwarts as its master to do so. In its rage at Dumbledores double betrayal to invite the Fairy magic inside its wards, and place all of its children at risk, it bound Dumbledore to the stones of the castle itself. As Dumbledore had invited in as guest, and then attacked his invited guest, he had robbed Hogwarts of the ability to strike against the fairy invaders, robbed Hogwarts of the chance to use its own magic to defend against the Tuatha DeDannan, and the darkest of its queens, the blood queen Morrigan, so too would Hogwarts bar Dumbledore from wielding his magic in any place but Hogwarts or for any cause than its service.
The Headmaster rose from the floor to stand before the inhumanly cold and bitterly beautiful goddesses, the battle crows, Morrigan, Badb, and Macha. He felt the power he had gathered, and in mockery it came to him. Never had he been so powerful before, and the bitterness of the truth struck him. He was more potent now than when he faced Gellert all those years ago, more potent than when he stood off Voldemort, yet powerless to leave Hogwarts, or to cast so much as a Lumos were it not in service of the school and its needs.
Fairy gifts, like swords always have two edges. For his crime, he had been made little more than a slave to the school he had thought always to use for his own purposes. For his crime, he held more power than any witch or wizard who strode the earth, but could not so much as raise his wand against those fairies he had in his ignorance and arrogance first invited in, then struck.
Filled with power almost beyond reason, he watched powerless as the Morrigan and her sisters turned into crows and flew deeper into Hogwarts to work the will of the wild magic, bringing the power of Fairy and the twilight lands below the hollow hills into a school full of children he had denied the knowledge to know their own peril.
Breakfast in the Great Hall was chaotic, for the Great Hall hung thick with ivy on the walls, and great trees and bushes bearing fruit rose up. Apples, blueberries, blackcurrants, loganberries, hung from branch and vine, and strange wild house elves clad not in dishrags and towels but wild growing leaves, their eyes bright, their teeth sharp and joyous or mocking laughter fell from their lips in turn.
The Beauxbaton and Durmstrang students sat at the rough hewn round tables on the rush strewn floor and looked upon the wild magic splendor of the hall and gave voice to the supremacy of the Hogwarts magic, for neither the cold forbidding fortress of Durmstrang, nor the bright splendor and craftsmanship of Beauxbaton could compare to the wild magic of Hogwarts ancient Hall.
The Hogwarts students were divided between wonder (All of Gryffindor, half of Slytherin who have a weakness for the forbidden, half of Ravenclaw who have a similar weakness for the forbidden, and half of Hufflepuff who felt the connection to magic, to the earth, the sea, the sky, the dancing flame burn so much brighter that magic seemed to dance under their skin and beg them to follow the tune.
The other half of Slytherin understood temptation was predation and felt for the first time like small tasty forest creatures alone in a forest grown strange and hungry. The other half of Ravenclaw had studied all the ancient tales, the tales of every human people of the world of the before time, of the races that held these lands before man, and of the long and bloody struggle before those too pale lords turned sideways from the sun and earth to vanish into the hollow hills, neither fully gone, nor fully forgotten. The other half of Hufflepuff saw the gifts and drew back, for Hufflepuffs knew to take no thing unearned. There was only reciprocity in magic; if you did not agree on a price before making the magic, you could not argue with what coin it chose to take in payment when it was done.
Harry was a goblin, sure his skin and bones were human, but his blood was goblin, and his blood boiled. When the Sons of Mil came, the Milesians who brought cold iron in mortal hands, and the wizard Amergin so that the numberless humans could bring final death to the long lived but slow breeding Tuatha DeDannan, those the Irish and Scot remembered as elves had turned from their lands and went sideways from the world, taking only their chosen servants with them.
Not the goblins. The Goblins were Unseelie, the ugly and unsightly foot soldiers who had stood in their proud ranks and slaughtered the Fir Bolg to take the islands for the DeDanan, and who had fought againt the comming humans until their lords decided it was not worth their precious blood, and left their unwanted servants behind.
The Goblins had been driven from the face of the world, forced into dank caves and mines they could hold with their wards and with their traps so even the ever breeding humans gave up finishing the last of them. They left the leprechaun, who now were little more than slaves to the Irish ministry, they left the Spriggans, who cut off from the wild magic of the Sidhe holy places had been forced into literal slavery as House Elves to the conquering humans, and they had left the Veela, and Selkie, who at least with one form that was pleasingly female had one coin to pay the new conquerors that would at least let some of them live.
To say those they left behind did not remember the betrayal of the Tuatha DeDannan, was putting it mildly. The goblins did not forget. The goblins did not break faith. The goblins had fought and died in every battle, for every sun bright lord and moon touched lady, for each of the four holy cities and their lords, until the day those lords turned sideways from the world and let the goblins face the wrath of humanity alone.
If there were a million goblins in the world, Harry would eat Gringotts. Mankind numbered in the billions, but there were but a few hundred thousand goblins left. The wrath of man was eternal, its memory may be short, but its hatred and prejudice was undying and the Goblins had faced it since the dawn of the iron age in an endless, and slowly losing struggle since the day their bright and perfect lords had deserted them.
Harry hated, he hated as only a goblin could. He had owled his father and mother immediately. He found Seamus Finnegan, Cormac McClaggart, Siohban O'Connel, and Dara McCrimmond also owling their parents. Those children of ancient Scot or Irish blood, like the goblins, knew what had been brought within the walls, and knew Hogwarts could not be made safe while the Tri-Wizard Tournament raged, and the Cauldron of Dagda burned as the sacred hearth of Hogwarts itself.
Hermione had disappeared into the Library, because she did not understand and could not allow that to stand. Milicent and Draco had followed, because they did understand and knew they were not nearly armed enough. Neville dissappeared into the Greenhouses and farmlands because he needed to feel the earth beneath his feet and in his bones to truly think.
The Ravenclaw girls saw the Luna Lovegood they had locked from the tower walk into the Great Hall for breakfast in a long flowing gown of blue and bronze, clasped with chains of gold, with fine sandals of gold and dragonhide on her foot and wrapping gently up her legs with leather worked in runes of power and bound with bells of silver that sang with each step.
She had been locked from her tower, and her shoes had been stolen, yet she walked into breakfast dressed as a queen, with flowers woven into her hair, in a gown worked with jewels and gold worked in strange an ancient patterns. She smiled dreamily and took breakfast in the changed Great Hall as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Silvia Tremont, Fifth year Ravenclaw and a leading student of Ancient Runes leaned over to Luna and hissed at her in alarm, noting the Celtic runework in her gown and on her sandals was beyond her own ability to craft, if not understand.
"Luna, where did you get those?" Silvia hissed urgently.
Luna kicked up her feet, examining the workmanship. "A tea party. Tea parties are very important."
Silvia hissed again, jealously giving way to alarm. "Luna, those are not human work. Those are, I don't even think I understand everything they are, but the bits I know are too powerful to simply walk around in. Nobody gives power like that away!"
Luna looked at her Ravenclaw senior and her eyes grew sad. "Hospitality is important. Not everyone understands that. Leprechauns and Spriggins, Brownies, and Huldra like tea parties too. No one offered them a place to sleep either, so we took tea together, then I made them a bed with transfiguration. When I woke up, my clothes were like this, and I finally had shoes. Hospitality is the greatest magic of all, don't you think?"
If Luna noticed the girls of the Ravenclaw dorms who routinely locked her out, stole or destroyed her goods refused to meet her gaze, or even look up from the ground, she did not show it. A crow sitting above the Ravenclaw table did notice, and cawed thrice, its black eyes bright and cold as only a corpse eater can be.
The laughter and conversation of students, the song of knife fork and shouted, "Hey that's the last one!" That marked a standard breakfast sounded in the hall before an explosion of feathers turned everyone's attention skyward.
The normally open sky of the great hall was now think with branch and bower, so the explosion of post owls became a storm of eerily silent feathers as they darted and wove between branches with their missives and cargo.
More than one sword, axe, and dagger dropped from weary and overstrained owl singles and pairs as alarmed parents sent hoarded treasures in to protect their cherished, and clearly endangered heirs. More than one received Howlers that shouted out the warnings about taking no gift without giving a matching one, testing every food, every object, every person they met with the touch of cold iron to dispel the magics of the troublesome lesser fairy, and to never, absolutely never, give anything that might be a challenge to one of the greater.
Daily Prophets rained from the sky like London during the height of the blitz. Professor Flitwick alone had the sense to cast what amounted to a sine wave protego that darted over and under the table to put a dome over every cup and plate and leave the table between bare so that the falling newspapers struck table not breakfast.
Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had been expecting and waiting for this, so very few casualties. The Gryffindors being very much creatures of the moment were distracred by the many competing howlers, the interesting and clearly dangerous weapons, so the second wave of Daily Prophets caused damage equivalent to a level three all Weasley Food Fight (according to the Percy chaos scale, adopted by Gryffindor for food related carnage).
The fact that the Prophet was a double issue probably didn't help. It was only the Quidditch team defending the first years that prevented Madame Pomfrey from suffering a post breakfast rush of injured students. The chaser girls fielded everything that was even vaguely within arms reach, and the Weasley twins went bats out and redirected every falling prophet in danger of hitting a fragile ickle firsty to instead impact either Percy or Ron, the latter who kept eating during the attack, using one arm to deflect incoming papers in a way that argued he might actually make a decent keeper one day.
The Headlines were not tremendously flattering to either the school or ministry.
"Putting the Dumb in Dumbledore. The Headmaster invites the wicked fairies in to feast on your children, more on page three."
"Minister of Morons. Newly elected Minister for Magic Bartimous Crouch Senior has entered into a wicked pact with an ancient Fairy article to perform a blood sacrifice of your children. Details on the death toll of previous championships on page 3. Pictures of the slaughter of 1792, all champions, all Headmasters, three judges, six audience members on pages 4-7."
"Fact and Fiction about Fairies, what Dumbledore stopped teaching since 1956. Pages 12-24"
"Educational alternatives for sane parents. Homeschool and transfer, how to make the Ministry get your children an education without wicked fairy blood pacts. Page 25"
"Minister Crouch proclaims your children are safe, he guarentees it. See Bartimous Crouch Junior convicted Death Eater sent to Azkaban, Bartimous Crouch Senior swears he had no clue. Page 8"
Possibly unrelated, but financially quite sound, there was a full page add for family vacations to the Academy of Gondishapur , Iran. The ancient seat of Sassinian learning had been maintained since the sixth century, weathering the Greeks, Romans, Crusaders, Mongols, and Turks before the Statue of Secrecy made it unplottable for muggles. They offered full family vacations and tours of the university of the old Persian Empire, not directly citing the problems at Hogwarts, but mentioning the ancient wards that blocked all magical beings other than witches or wizards, without even a single House Elf permited inside its sacred boundaries.
Harry was willing to be whoever handled their owl post was going to be buried this week with families needing to be out of Britain for a bit.
Hermione had her fingers in her ears long before Delores Umbridge cast her Sonorus and shrieked, honestly not a combination anyone wanted to encounter, her demands that "All students were to hand over their copies of the Daily Prophet at once, or be whipped!" were repeated twice before Poppy Pomfrey had enough and cast such a beautiful Stupify, Expelliurmus, and Incarcerous combination that her wand seemed to simply carve a single blazing rune in mid air before the pink toadlike inquisitor was stunned, dissarmed, and bound, before being gentle caught by a quiet but firmly worded "Levicorpus" to hover silent, bound, and stunned beside the faculty table.
It was Professor Flitwick, Ravenclaw head and noted duelling champion that stood upon his chair and began the round of applause that eventually rocked the Great Hall and had a blushing Mediwitch finally forced to stand and take a bow before the students who had previously, and clearly erroneously, thought the mediwitch harmless rather than simply gentle.
"Morgana's tasty left nipple. Next time Madame Pomfrey tells me to take one of the nastier potions, I will think twice, maybe three times, before arguing." Neville swore softly, impressed at the Hufflepuff mediwitches wand prowess.
Hermione frowned. "You should never argue with Madame Pomfrey. She is at least as qualified as the Healers at St Mungo's and a lot more experienced. You can work decades at St Mungo's without seeing half the injuries you get at Hogwarts in a good term."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, and I've never been here for a good term." Harry noted, drawing nods from the rest of the Hufflepuffs.
Neville looked at the Goblet of Fire, the revealed Cauldron of Dagda, the Cauldron of Brave Deeds, also known as the Cauldron of Dead Heroes and shuddered. "At least with the Daily Prophet article out, we won't have to worry about idiots putting their name in the damned thing."
Hermione sighed. "I tend to forget that I am the only one here. Neville, I hate to break this to you, but a thousand galleons and unending glory is more than enough to make people put their name in."
Harry looked shocked. "What are you talking about, that isn't' worth dying for!"
Hermione looked angry. "Says Lord Potter, one father the Lord of one of the greatest houses in the Wizagamot, the other a senior account manager at Gringots, probably with more gold in his vault than half the families of the wizagamot combined.
Did you ever wonder why Tom Riddle left as Head Boy with a record number of OWLs and NEWTs all at Outstanding and the best he could do was a job at a dodgy shop in Knockturn alley? Did you ever wonder why Remus Lupin, who taught us as the best DADA professor we have had came to teach in robes that were so patched and thin he shivered half the year?
Riddle was a halfblood, Lupin was a werewolf, most of the people working in Knockturn Alley in jobs that range between immoral, illegal, and deadly are doing so because they lack the blood status and connections to get a decent job. Did you never wonder why Madame Rosmerta with a Mastery in Potions is working as the barmaid of the Three Broomsticks? She's halfblood, and if you don't get into the Ministry, then menial work is the best you can do, she made it all the way up to being owner and sole employee of a pub that survives off Hogwarts Hogsmeade weekend trade, and that is with a mastery."
Harry looked insulted. "My mother was a muggleborn and got a job as an enchantress!"
Neville grabbed his shoulder. "Look mate, your mother got a job at a Potter family business after marrying your dad, the sodding heir. It's not the wand in her hand that got her the job, but the wand stirring her cauldron."
Hermione winced. "Ignoring the blatant misogyny of that remark, it is the absolute truth. Wizard society since the Statue of Secrecy is closed. A small number of Pure-bloods own all the businesses, own all the government, and make sure than only those of their own kind have a chance to rise to the top.
That everlasting glory means that you won't just compete as the equal of the pure blooded puppies for positions of actual power and wealth, you will be the one every business and government is competing to hire, just to say they have the most powerful witch or wizard in all of Europe.
Of course people will die for it. Poverty doesn't make your life hard to risk at all."
Three figures in royal blue robes escorted by Madame Maxime stalked towards the Goblet of fire. Each clutched a piece of paper in their hand. The boy who was first was muscled like a swordsman, he moved with the predatory grace of one who had fought well and often. He strode to the first line, and it blazed as it verified his age. He strode to the second, and it verified his core power.
Smirking, he strode forward. The Cauldron began to sing, three female voices sang in Gaellic as he pushed forward.
"Curfá
'Sé mo laoch mo ghille mear
'Sé mo Shaesar, ghille mear,
Ní fhuaras féin aon tsuan ná séan,
Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo ghille mear.
x2
Bímse buan ar buairt gach ló,
Ag caoi go crua is ag tuar na ndeor
Mar scaoileadh uaim an buachaill beo
Is ná ríomhtar tuairisc uaidh, mo bhrón.
Curfá
Ní haoibhinn cuach ba suairc ar neoin,
Táid fíorchoin uaisle ar uatha spóirt,
Táid saoithe 's suadha i mbuairt 's i mbrón
Ó scaoileadh uainn an buachaill beo
Curfá
Is cosúil é le hAonghus Óg,
Le Lughaidh Mac Chéin na mbéimeann mór,
Le Cú Raoi, ardmhac Dáire an óir,
Taoiseach Éireann tréan ar tóir.
Curfá
Le Conall Cearnach bhearnadh poirt,
Le Fearghas fiúntach fionn Mac Róigh
Le Conchubhar cáidhmhac Náis na nós,
Taoiseach aoibhinn Chraoibhe an cheoil.
Curfá x2
The boy struggled as he tried to push forward, his muscled trembled, his brow sweat, and visions seemed to torment him, finally he screamed in fright, and broke to run from the hall, throwing his wand and name paper from them as if their touch burned him.
Hermione looked at Neville who was wincing. "Neville, did you understand that song?"
Neville nodded. My gran used to sing me to sleep with it after we visited mom and dad. I had such a hard time dealing with their pain, with them always and forever being in pain just for the crime of daring to stand up to Voldemort. She would sing it to me, and tell me that my parents were heroes, that I was supposed to grow up and be a hero like my da. "
Neville began to sing softly in English.
"Chorus
My dashing darling is my hero
My dashing darling is my Caesar
I have had neither sleep nor good fortune
Since my dashing darling went far away
x2
I am perpetually worried every day
Wailing heavily and shedding tears
Since my lively boy was released from me
And there is no word of him, alas
Chorus
The pleasure of the cheerful cuckoo at noon is gone
The affable nobility are not bothered with sport
The learned and the cultured are worried and sad
Since the lively lad was taken from me
Chorus
He is like Young Aonghus
Like Lughaidh Mac Chéin of the great blows
Like Cú Raoi, great son of Dáire of the gold
Leader of Éire strong in pursuit
Chorus
Like Conall Cearnach who breached defences
Like worthy fair haired Feargas Mac Róigh
Like Conchubhar venerable son of Nás of the tradition
The pleasant chieftain of the Fenian Branch
Chorus x2
Since my dashing darling went far away"
Harry snarled. "The Cauldron only wants heroes. The blood of heroes, the souls of champions. For a thousand galleons and the promise of bloody glory, it wants to bind our best and brightest to the damned cauldron and the DeDannan."
Hermione watched as the second French would be champion faltered and turned away. The last one, the one whose beauty tore at the eyes and mind, whose blond hair flowed as beautiful as any fairy, whose face could grace any statue of queen or goddess alone strode forward.
"Who is that?" Harry asked, feeling her beauty pull at him, but his own runes of rulership not allowing him to be swayed.
Hermione spoke flatly. "That is Fleur Delacour. She is part Veela, so she is about as screwed in this society as Remus was. Her blood is magical on both sides, but you should know as a goblin Harry, she isn't quite human enough to ever have a chance as anything other than trophy wife unless she wins this."
The first line flared and Fleur did not slow. The second line flared and Fleur did not pause. The Cauldron began to sing, and Fleur's flesh began to burn with fire.
Fleur screamed, but it was not a human scream of fear, but an eagles cry of defiance. Her face morphed into an eagles beak, her long delicate legs became clawed like those of a harpy or griffin, her arms became wings, and each feather dripped with fire.
Fleur stepped forward, and red flame from her wings beat at the blue flame from the cup until the latter broke and again a too pretty girl in blue robes stood with a piece of paper in her hand. She stepped forward like a dancer, and placed the scrap of paper in the blue flame without fear of its touch.
Turning to the hall, she curtseyed deeply, then strode to the side of Madame Maxime who looked down her nose at the entire hall, as if daring any of them to equal her champion's feat.
"Morgana's teeth, I would not want to stand between her and what she wants." Hermione said, gripping the table fiercely, admiration shining in her eyes for a girl who had chosen to rip her worth from a wizarding world that thought to allow her only for her beauty.
Harry shuddered. "Too right. That look in her face reminds me of mum." He thought for a second, shuddered again. "Both of them."
It was about half an hour later that Igor Karkarov stalked forward, stopping at before the first line and gripping his left forearm as it began to smoke. Snarling he stepped back as Victor Krum strode forward.
His uniform was plain unadorned brown, his face a thing that might have been hewn from the bare rock of Bulgaria. Cold blue eyes stared at the cup, his face showing no emotion whatsoever, yet this was the Krum of the world cup, his face flickered in the ghost of a snarl and he stepped forward.
The first line flared, and he made a brushing off motion as if it were an annoyance. The second line flared, and he slapped it down, as if it were an obstacle. He was moving faster now as he hit the wave of blue fire that lashed out from the goblet to strike at him.
He was no Veela with magic over charm and fire, he was nothing but a poor half-blood from a forgotten farm village in mountains of Bulgaria so poor the government barely bothered to oppress them, no matter who conquered last.
The goblet sang to him, the song of heroes, the song of love for the fallen brave, and Victor Krum pushed forward.
He screamed as the fires lit him, the blue fire burned into his flesh and the bones of his face shone through his skin as he fought forward with more than magic, with the will and rage of a dragon, with the blood of one who had nothing but his will to wield against a world, but for whom that will would be, must be, enough.
The fire broke before he did, and the Cauldron of Dagda sang its love for heroes and the damned who died trying to be one, as Victor Krum placed his name in the goblet and turned to face the hall. His eyes were wet with the tears streaming down his face, but his mouth was a hard uncompromising line of iron.
None dared to meet his gaze as he strode from the hall.
"Merlin's bloody balls." Neville swore, then shuddered. "Not me mate. Not on a bet."
Harry nodded. "Not me either. If Griphook or Fangborn found out I bound my soul to the Cauldron of Dagda for a thousand galleons I would be cleaning dragon shit out of the deep tunnels with my dessert fork for a month."
There were a dozen students who tried to enter their names, and none of them succeeded. Most were Hogwarts, but not all.
Milicent, Fred and George were arguing about rune homework when they saw Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Prefect, Quidditch Captain, and if his father Amos Diggory had anything to say about it, future Minister for Magic strode forward.
"Bloody," began Fred
"Hell" continued George
"What is he" marvelled Fred
"Doing?" finished Fred.
Milicent looked as Cedric passed the first and second lines without effort.
"There boys, goes a boy whose father has his whole life planned out for him. Not a single obstacle in his path, his future a path lined with flowers, and not a single chance he can be denied." Milicent said softly.
Cedric pushed into the blue flame of the goblet, the song of heroes playing again as the flame seemed to form claws that tore at the boy like a cat playing with a captive mouse. The boyish blushing face of Hufflepuff's golden boy grew bloodied as his nose fountained blood as Cedric gave his all, every ounce of will and magic in his body, pushing his body beyond the limits of flesh alone to drive into the fire, his legs pumping like the third rank of a phallanx pushing the dead onto the spears so he can reach the fight.
Milicent listened to the song of the Cauldron sing welcome as another brave or damned put his name in the fire and saw it blaze its acceptance.
Milicent shook her head, her face made of cold arctic ice and the pitiless open sea. "That right there boys is a man who would rather die than live the life someone else made for him. I am very much afraid that he will."
-History of Magic class
Harry, Hermione, Neville, Milicent and Draco almost piled up in the doorway to History of Magic, because it was not the ghostly professor Bins who stood at the lectern. Instead an old man in ancient druidic robes sat on a simple stool of wood, a large harp before him.
The old man smiled and raised his head, his ears tapered to a fine point and his skin was too pale to have ever seen the sun, but his eyes sparkled with wit, wisdom and knowledge.
"Come children. I am Coirpre Mac Etaíne, and among the bards am certainly not held the least. I have learned and lived the history of magic since before your ancestors learned to take up staff or wand, and for all that you have given me guest rights in your hall, and feasts from your table, I have as yet given nothing in return.
Bards are the keepers of history, and of knowledge, the instructors of children. If you allow me, I will this day sing for my supper, and teach you much that has been forgotten."
Milicent hissed out and grabbed Hermione. "Hermione please, I didn't bring any parchment. I never learn anything here, I only brought books to study!"
Wordlessly, the Queen of Revision and Note Taking opened up her pouch of spacial expansion and pulled out enough parchment to properly reskin all the cows in Scotland. There would, for once, be notes to take, and the true History of magic to learn.
-Tea Party 2, again locked out of Ravenclaw tower
"Luna, I don't think you are taking this seriously enough. There are things stalking the halls that don't exist. Things the wards didn't stop. Things out of fairy tales and nightmares." Draco insisted
Luna set her places carefully, the spriggans and brownies gathered around and on the heads of each were woven crowns of flowers Luna had set.
"I think it's lovely that other people can see them now. They were ever so lonely when it was only just me. But I do think tea parties are important Draco. Tea parties are the most important things in the world."
Draco Malfoy was raised to be lord of an ancient pure blooded House and his manners were driven into him on a level below reflex or instinct, to the point that he could no more think about not following them than he could simply decide his heart should stop beating.
Draco pulled for the chair for Lady Ravenclaw and seated the Silver Lady, Ghost of Ravenclaw after he did the same for his own Luna Lovegood. Spriggans and Brownies danced and cavorted about, but pale and too perfect ladies sat with inhuman grace as he pulled their charis out for them. Draco Malfoy sat down to a tea party with Luna Lovegood, the Ghost of Ravenclaw, and two of the Tuatha DeDannan.
Luna cut and served slices of pie, plating pie, scones, and tiny minced meat tarts for the guests. Luna babbled happily as she served the living and the dead, the real and the Unreal.
"This is treacle tart, it is new since your time. The scones are not new, but the loganberries are probably new. The minced meat is just minced meat, but none of it used to be people, so that might make it different from what you are used to." Burbled Luna happily as she served.
Without any notice, she took a plate served with each offering that she had put before Draco and the two DeDannan ladies, and cut her finger, dripping blood onto each, then tipping it into a burning brazier beside the table. Passing the plate through the smoke, she let her blood drip onto the plate, and ghosts of the food formed in silver light, which she placed before the Ravenclaw Ghost, once the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw herself.
Draco watched with something between wonder and horror as his girlfriend casually performed what amounted to food necromancy so that her boyfriend, elven guests and dead guests could all share the same snack food.
Mother hadn't prepared him for this, which was odd. Draco Malfoy was sure his mother had prepared him for every tea and dinner party possibility. He was quite shocked to find that his education, rather than being wastefully over complicated, had missed some critical points he would like clarified. Now if not sooner.
Draco mustered his best and most polite behaviour, and wondered if he would leave with his soul, his magic, and his testicles intact. At least two out of three at the minimum. Three would be better. Three was his definite goal for the night. Luna oddly seemed unconcerned.
She poured tea for the living, then the Unreal, then poured out the rest of the pot with a muttered prayer "To absent friends". Dropping a single drop of her own blood in the cup, she tipped the empty tea pot over it, and Draco tried not to react as silver light poured like hot tea, even steaming, into the cup, which she offered to the Ravenclaw ghost.
Draco held his own in conversation, while sweating out at least twice as much fluid as the tea was pouring in. The elven ladies were like his mother without any morality or limitations, which considering Narcissa Black's well earned reputation was something Draco had not thought was possible. They were bright, intelligent, and amoral in the way that sharks can only dream of being. They were civilized, and Draco swiftly came to realize that the only rules that constrained these beings of ancient power and magic were those of courtesy, and Luna Lovegood was talking to them.
It was possible Draco had been more afraid, but he could not remember when. Luna had no fear, nor conversational filter, and the elven ladies took delight in the wild human girl who dared to invite pale queens of fairy to tea. The Silver Lady matched the elven ladies for grace and poise, but her mother had often guested the Good Neighbors when she lived, and the rules of the court of the pale princes underhill were known to her of old.
One of the elven ladies had complimented Luna on finding and training Draco to an acceptable degree of courtesy and honesty, but warned her against the human male's inevitable betrayal. They had gone on for several minutes to list ways she could bind Draco's heart and soul to her eternal servitude, which he was oddly glad his mother could not hear, just in case, and he was warmed to hear Luna protest.
"Draco is a good boy, and he will make a fine man one day, unless he makes a fine dragon. I don't mind, I mean, I never planned to lay eggs, but if a girl won't lay an egg she can't really say she loves a man, can she? Or is that loves a dragon. I get confused. Men are much more trustworthy now" Luna admitted.
The Silver Lady spoke softly. "I thought that was true once. I knew a boy, or thought I knew a boy. A promising wizard. Tom Riddle was his name. I talked to him, and he to me. He shared his heart and his dreams with me, and I with him. He shared with me his greatest treasure, the ring of his fathers, the Ring of Gaunt that he had stolen from the last lord of that house when he decided to become the Heir of Slytherin."
Draco froze, knowing this was the history of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Heir of Slytherin, Lord Voldemort.
The Silver Lady looked down.
"I shared my own shame, that I had stolen my mother's diadem, and hidden it in Albania. Mother had sent the Bloody Baron after me, and when I refused to return we fought, and he killed first me, and them himself. The diadem lay where my bones did, even as my soul returned here to forever serve the House of my mother for the crime of robbing her and it of her greatest legacy."
The Silver Lady looked up, her face transformed with rage and for the first time Draco feared the beloved Ravenclaw ghost.
"When he returned, he had betrayed me. He had cut a part of his very soul, needing to murder another just to have the power to bind it, and bound a bit of his evil soul to not only my mother's diadem, but his father's ring.
He turned my mothers greatest treasure into a Horcrux and hid it in the room of lost things here in the castle, where no man can find it. He hid the ring of his father's back in the fallen manor of his family, hiding each of his soul anchors behind magic deep and strange enough its foulness could not easily be seen, even if you knew to look for the abominations.
He took my trust, and used me to betray my mother a second time. He turned my mother's legacy into something that taints the very stones and magic of Hogwarts, even as his own family ring taints and corrupts the stones of his ancestral hearth. Tom Riddle only claimed to love and value two places as his home, and he hid Horcruxes in both of them.
No, Luna, men have not changed. They are liars and scum. Bind this one, bind him before he betrays you!"
Draco, to his credit was too shocked by the revelation of two Horcrux to realize he was in mortal danger, or immortal danger depending on what solution for his male inevitable betrayal was chosen.
Luna turned to Draco, her eyes serious, her magic welling up inside her. Wand in hand, she turned and all Draco had time to realize was that it was too late for him to dodge or free his own wand.
"SCOURGIFY!" Luna said as the spell hit Draco in the throat, or more precisely in the cravat. Luna looked at him fiercely. "Your mother gave you that cravat. You had a berry stain on it, and she would not be pleased."
The Silver Lady asked, sounding shocked. "You are not going to bind him?"
Luna looked surprised, and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. "He is my dragon. They do not do well leashed."
The two elven ladies sighed. One whispered "Young love!"
The second tittered. "It will end in tragic betrayal!"
They both sighed, loving love as much as they loved betrayal.
A good time was had by all, except perhaps Draco who would need years of therapy to get over this tea party, even though he was sure there would be more in his future, and Draco remembered to send an owl to Sirius and his mother about the nature and location of two of the three outstanding Horcrux.
-The Greenhouse Gate, Hogwarts.
Three sisters in black dragonscale armour stalked from the forest, their armour slick with blood, their black crow eyes bright, their laughter fierce. Pomona Sprout stood before the gate, her legs planted shoulder width apart, her hands on her hips.
"You shall not pass." Pomona Sprout stated soflty.
The Morrigan sneered "We are invited."
Crow Badb laughed. "We hunger."
Macha crooned. "We have needs."
Blood littered the ground as it fell from them, what creature dared to face them, or what had failed to flee fast enough before them she did not know. These were creatures of the wild and fairy who some had called and worshipped as goddesses in ancient times.
No power Professor Sprout could command, including the Hufflepufff cup could stay them should the three sisters choose to kill. They could not be stopped, they could not be bound, but they could be placated. It was the custom in ancient times to set the offering before the door, outside the gates, that the wickedest fairies, the crow goddesses of slaughter and battle, the dark witches of earth and root, of rock and tree find what they need in field and farm, flock and forest, and be fully satisfied before they pass your door, and family.
Neville Longbottom stepped forward. His wand blazed gold in the black of the night and the scythe of his rune, Jera the Harvest, the bounty taken in time, the cycle of life, death, and rebirth shone in his hand, and blazed from his chest.
He reached down into the earth for the power that slept within it, and called. The earth answered. Green life tore from the earth, months of growth in heartbeats as the Lord of the Land held forth his hand and demanded abundance, and Mother Earth herself gave answer.
The Morrigan stood, her eyes hooded, her face unreadable.
"He was taken from me, my Dagda. He was taken from me, and not even his child within me to console me. I will have my due. A life for a life."
Neville Longbottom held out his hand, and the Morrigan took it. Crow Badb took the other, and Macha trailed her hand in his hair as they led him away to the soft grass of the fields where the Lord of the Land would see if he could repay the life of a lost elven lord, gone before his first ancestor thought to put his keel out to see and seek the Isles of Britain.
Pomona Sprout sighed. "I definitely owe Augusta and apology for this. Throwing her son under three Fairy Queens just to keep them from murdering students."
Professor Sprout felt the song of the earth change, the killing song of the fairy slowing and merging with the soft song of life and love, the song of beginnings not endings. Poor Neville, if he survives the night, he will be a very tired wizard.
She listened for a time and felt the song of the earth begin to sing with joy and smiled. She would send August a gift basket. She had a feeling her main problem in the coming weeks would be an over abundance from the fields, greenhouses and flocks.
The ecstatic cry of a crow shattered the night.
Pomona Sprout smiled. She did love those old fashioned magics. If Dumbledore didn't have such a stick up his ass he would remember, not all ritual sacrifices were about power or killing. A second crow gave voice to its delight. She was going to have one tired badger tomorrow, but sometimes life, not death was the right offering.
She could see the small herd of unicorns come from the forest to circle the happy, well, not couple obviously, but certainly coupling. Neville was her most innocent badger, and if the Morrigan bound to him, the odds of her wetting her blades on students dropped to near nil.
Humming a happy tune, she went inside. She would at least provide Neville his privacy; assuming you could ignore the unicorns.